CRITIQUE THREAD I GUESS

>bumping

>>9467109
If such a sublime cyborg would insinuate the future as post-Fordist subject, his palpably masochistic locations as ecstatic agent of the sublime superstate need to be decoded as the “now-all-but-unreadable DNA” of a fast deindustrializing Detroit, just as his Robocop-like strategy of carceral negotiation and street control remains the tirelessly American one of inflicting regeneration through violence upon the racially heteroglossic wilds and others of the inner city.

>>9467175

Good stuff. Post more? Assuming that's not pasta

>>9467109
Why did I cringe at allaying?

I liked the narrators integrity. Also, it sounds like a diary entry tbqh

>>9467377

Couldn't think of a better word while retaining the meaning. Its first usage is kind of cringey though, I agree.

Use paragraphs. It will make things neater.

Watering hole

Most people affect me as much as a pimple does. They swell me up a little at first, convincing me that I’ve gained something only to leave me with a pock mark reminder of the time I lost popping it. Letting it die naturally is never as satisfying, is it? By comparison, her affection, and the subsequent lack of it, felt like an improbable impact event. A blinding cannibalistic fusion slowly cooling in pieces, her vacant eyes left like craters on the dead moon, reflected as a distant memory off the black tides it still held sway over. A light in my eyes I couldn’t avoid no matter how many times I rolled over. I should probably wash my sheets.

Some women were a pretty shell you felt lucky to find on a beach. Resting your head on their conch hearts you could still only hear the distant echo of blood rushing through your own searching ears. Her attention was the hushing sting of the man o’ war, slicking away moments by the syncopated rhythm of the heart. I knew she didn’t love me but rather loved me loving her, and you could call that vain but honesty goes a long way with me. So I gave her all anyone really has to give, time. If she would have let me, I would have given her more of it.

Space and coursing time had refined her to smooth prismatic lines shining, she will tell me this portrait of her is too ambiguous. Channeling the whole of life in singular white light through her riming eyes she projected a spectrum out the back for the world to see. With a hydra for hair I could see why she cried, but I still asked her why. Once, I noticed a shadow in the projected frame. I stood holding her eyelids open like the Venetian man, standing between the order of her mind the chaos without. Offering myself like a coin to Charon, I’d suddenly been struck by a strange experience; to smell your own saliva on a lover. I thought if she wants to fuck me, how perfect can she be? She read the relief on my face, I cast myself into her, wishing well.
I swear she could smell the fear exuded from my nervous pours, working up a sweat feigning laughter while we splash about in the aqua vitae. As I talked the talk, she grabbed my hand with hers and she showed me how to walk.

After that I wondered if I was consuming her or she consuming me, and whether or not I should care. I’ll wake up, and she’ll be gone. The cursed liver regenerates, I’ll forget all that I’d seen and felt, and probably for the better. So I dropped the act and got off my knees, I begged her to take me all the way, to tell me how to be free. Parting her brittle glass lips, stained with my blood she whispered, “You couldn’t handle me.” The world had made her hard and pellucid as ice but she would have told me my tongue felt cold on her bottleneck as we rushed to spill our hearts.

cont/

>>9468007
An ambulance cries outside the window as she groans with the baseboard heater, we melt together and the wooden keel tightens in our pitching urgent sea. The bed frame was giving its death rattle, a man was dying at incredible speed, knock on wood.

On dead calm open water a tragic chorus ever rises from the deep, sweet breath boiling to my ears in countless clear crystal spheres, a siren song composed of notes blown round in glass bottles, never to be read. Didn’t think I was quite drunk enough to drop off, but whether I fell or jumped, I was baptized plumb blue in the sea of formless shadows on my sleepless ceiling. Holding my breath I try to touch the bottom, diving ever lower, down the hall of mirrors...I would die before I got to the bottom of it.

I woke from the dream. This one, where she kills me. That was all the context I needed, a life is defined by a death. Rubbing sleep out of my eyes I’ll vaguely remember the easy flick of her wrist as she flipped me on my head. By supply and demand it`s me grinding out my now so valuable golden sand.

>>9468007
>>9468018

Is the entire story, or some self-contained part of a larger one?

I quite enjoyed it. It's finer prose than the vast majority I read on here. Although would benefit from some punctuation here and there, especially commas to guide the pacing with a bit more authority.

A good deal of it reads purple to me. It may just be because I don't often read this 'kind' of overwrought literature. It appears to me to be more verbose and descriptive at the cost of any emotional relation to the narrator. I'd suggest attenuating your natural bend toward metaphor in favour of more direct plot development. In the latter, this is clearly lacking.

E.g.

> I was baptized plumb blue in the sea of formless shadows on my sleepless ceiling

What ceiling, and what's 'sleepless' about it, exactly? Passages like this are distracting me from the narration.

>>9468007

>Most people affect me as much as a pimple does. They swell me up a little at first, convincing me that I’ve gained something(...)

How does a pimple convinces you that you've gained something exactly?

>>9468115
Thanks for the critique dude, really appreciate it.

It is part of a larger story but if a traditional narrative is what youre after I doubt youll like it, its metaphor stacked on metaphor.

I totally agree with the pacing bit and the 'plot' is very vague. The woman basically represents truth and accepting you will never really...possess it. The development of said plot is a criticism Ive received before but Ive never really written plain old prose, you know? Something ill obviously have to do if I want this to be worth anything.

Not sure how obvious it is but this started out as a poem and I just had too much to say.

As for the ceiling, hes staring up at it intoxicated, falling asleep after banging the woman. The woman being the intoxicant, (truth), and hes kind of acknowledging this will be his demise as it is a siren song, a false hope. There are a few references to alcohol in there, you might have noticed.

>>9468175
Literally just having something you didnt have before, simple as that. Maybe its a bad start

about to take a long walk so Ill toss out some other shit, part one is confronting the abyss.

Washed Up

Meet the protagonist shipwrecked and regaining consciousness on the beach, apparently unscathed:

He’s charging a beach front pressed for permanence, dragging his feet across the carpet in an empty room. He stubs a toe on stubborn stones as he laps upon the so called solid ground, he only has a moment of idle ecstasy to pass gas in a coughing froufrou froth, then he’s gone, ebb to terror. Deciding where to go all he knows is where he’s been, but not where he came from:

Sun baked and faded like our old photos of summer vacations, I try to find him but I’m blinded by the chard red giant burning down. Short of breath I torture myself with every burning step taken on this sedimentary death. No rest, no shade, no trees. Even trees know better than to build in sand. I cool off standing ankle deep in a river bed, this river gushing from my head. Steady flowing slowly, thickly, red. I see a queer vision of dad floating away on a raft. Run in, rash. Splish splash my stitches tear, and widen the gash. The waters rising to my waist, I look back. The dune ridge western face’s frown says its time I leave this place. Shoulder height now, soaking, suns down, breath is smoking, going into shock. Water’s alkaline, swallowing it, choking... Spit it out and try to turn around but the alternating currents already pulling me out. Tastes like frozen eons of blood and semen and tears, I’m probably just being dramatic. Life or death now, sink or swim, oh my poor shrunken head. Fuck it, either way I end up dead.

“Don’t think like that”, that’s what dad would have said. Where the fuck is he by the way? Fuck him. Got me treading water like an idiot, he never taught me how to swim. Most men don’t swim until they know how to. Maybe I’ll give him a call, shoot the shit. “Dad?” *cough-spit* He shows up, “swell”, from out of nowhere, hell...he’d just been there the whole time looming in the dark, looking down at me with a beer in his hand. Fucking boomers. He pulls out this torch right, a barbecue lighter. He holds it out flame first expecting me to grab it but my look says “You can shove that right up your ass.” I can tell he’s disappointed, and he drops it. Engulfed in flames, he’s burning to death right, get this; he says

“Kick off your shoes”.

“What the FUCK, Dad?”

(that ending is fucking bad)

>>9468481

Not good throughout. Weird choice of diction (e.g. "queer vision of dad floating", "pressed for permanence").

>He stubs a toe on stubborn stones...
are you trying to use distracting alliteration and weird homophone-ish sounds?

Off-putting overuse of 'fuck' etc.

>>9468556
A stone on a beach is stubborn because it wont just give up and turn to sand, he stubs his toe on it as he moves in the opposite direction, pressed for permanence.

>>9468481
You're forgoing clarity of both wording AND imagery in order to show the reader how clever you can be.

I'm currently without internet and don't have time to critique right now, but if someone wouldn't mind reading this and giving some pointers. It's a short story that I've just started and I'm curious how well it grabs attention. I usually critique in these threads, and promise I will return the favor eventually. I simply don't have time right now. I can only borrow internet occasionally since my is turned off.

https://pastebin.com/FDFHKmmX

Thanks in advance to anyone who does. Bookmarking for archive.

Part of My article. What do you guys think?


There's a new type marketing campaign. Form the deep underground webpages of the internet disillusioned nerds utilize "the law of attraction" hoping to use memes to bring magical ideas into existence. To the raising popularity of mainstream “meme” pages on social media sites making money from promotional content. To memes are created by C.I.A and even political campaigns of President Trump himself. Everyone is trying to make their own memes. Why? To explain, let's first break down what we mean by "meme" and why is important to know.


A (internet)meme is an idea or concept which evolves over time; usually seen in text-image format or video format via vines or small Instagram videos. Many memes are simply funny combinations of images and/or videos describing a general thought or situation many people experience on a day-to-day; other memes might have more serious messages dealing with politics and even philosophy. Another feature of memes it's ability to go “viral” meaning it spreads throughout the internet due to large numbers of people sharing or creating their own variations. A viral meme could grow potentially up to million of viewers; as many on the internet have stated, the term “meme” itself has surpassed even the searches for “Jesus” looking at Google trend data[1].


Ignoring the overwhelming popularity of memes another important factoid is their advantages over ads. Marketing weekly reported in a blogpost


“Nectar-owner Aimia,recorded 30,000 minutes of data, with evidence relating to around 15,000 digital ads. It found that only 35% of digital display ads received any views at all. And, of those, only 9% of ads received more than a second’s worth of attention. Only 4% of ads, meanwhile, received more than 2 seconds of engagement.”[2]

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The moon was laid quiet behind the curtains of a cloudy night, and all of time seemed to have frozen there in that sky. I was caught mesmerized, sitting in my car parked at the lot of where I worked, I was clocked out, dead tired, my joints were sore, and I was relieved to be done with another day of undead shuffling. The sky portrayed itself like a painting from the windshield, and I was plucked from the world around me. Reality only seems real in those kind of moments. The moments of awareness, of clarity, of stillness, the occasional dots on the short line that is our lives. Those dots represent those periods where we become aware of time itself, the now, and we come into ourselves totally aware as if to say "yes, I am here, I am living, now is now." Everything between those moments is just fuzz, it's unawareness. We go through the motions of survival, punctuated by brief moments of actual full bodied experience.

The charm broke off, I shifted into drive and I took off, my co-workers already ahead of me by minutes now. Ahead of me to see their family and talk about their day, to watch sports on TV or play videogames, to yell at their kids, to look at a miasma of contextually bankrupt internet jargon, to jack-off, or fuck, then sleep and go through it all again. Again and again and again and again. That's what life was all about in the end right? "Gotta feed the kids, gotta feed myself, gotta have a roof over me." Who could refute that? I wish I could, but here I was, just another fucking loser with no true dreams and no real answers. The universe is a prison for the living and a grave for the dead, it doesn't matter how you twist the materials.

>>9468949
>type marketing
missing "of"
>Another feature of memes it's ability to go
this is fucked "are their" sounds better
>internet disillusioned
put a comma between, also rule #1
>the law of attraction
I wouldn't say that people use this law to make memes that law is pseud shit why even cite it... if you want to cite something cite viral biology
>To memes are created by C.I.A
missing "that", also you better cite this CIA shit or people will think you are nuts, and even if you cite it they will think that
>why is important to know
I figured you already made that point above
> (internet)meme
space here. also this whole paragraph is kinda shit, neil stevenson had a better description of memes in snowcrash and that was almost 20 years ago

Your argument about memes over ads misses the point that memes are only trying to sell themselves to get reproduced, ads are selling shit. Apples to oranges.

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>>9469035
>sci fi, on going project

All Blone’s roads led to City Hall. Five square kilometers of square building, 75 stories tall. The cube was holding millions of citizens and minds, computer mainframes, communication equipment and a dozen bureaucrats. Sporting an enormous parking garage, common meeting halls, branded shopping malls, exclusive coffee shops, art collections, stadiums, and all cases of superfluous civic services. Those tired of physical reality drove or walked inside and were relegated to their personal icebox and mainline from brain to stream.

Bandwidth dictated density. The City Hall’s mass of organic and synthetic computorium, connected adjacent consciousnesses, offered low latency total communication to those inside and with the rest of Blone. From the roof an antenna stretched up past the stratosphere, connecting to passing gships. In context City Hall was a primitive example of the acros which studded Earth’s surface like the spikes of a mace, the blueprints and materials of acros were outside of Blone’s price range.

The MOART reached the outside of City Hall, looming box, sunlight absorbing into its dull soft exterior. Assistant blinked, then said, “you might want to check the stream.”

Gluos closed his eyes and saw a battered MOART pulling up beside the towering square mass of City Hall, the Mayor's cape blowing in wind as he jumped from the back. He saw Assistant stepping out of the cab and an attack helicopter roar overhead down the street. In the truck there was Gluos with closed eyes gritted teeth. The stream mummered in interest, Gluos was tasting ozone. He messaged Assistant.

"We’ve got to get inside."

>>9468863

OP here, going to critique yours to keep the thread going.

>first line
small typo: "she'd begun a new a block"

>third line
small typo: "inbetween it's worn edges" , you don't want to use it's as a contraction

>she did it to spare the opportunistic bunch of blades from being crushed
What makes an inanimate object 'opportunistic'?

>the slowly dropping temperature--visually indicated by the occasional wisp of breath
This doesn't have the mark of good narration. You don't have to hold the readers' hand with "visually indicated". I'd suggest something like: (...) the cooling temperature, with the occasional wisp of breath, lingering before her rosy lips, being swept away by a chilling breeze.

>label it as the Midwest Bank
consider: "the lettering...read Midwest Bank"

>indicate her being along the town's central road
again, with the hand holding

>Though she is on the main road
We know that she's on my main road from the passage just before

>A gust of wind, larger than the other zephyrs of the day, heaves itself on her and blitzes the town behind her at that moment.
Is the wind a recurring motif? It's quite nice, and this sentence is one of your better ones

>allen leaves scraping and stampeding the ground around her
Stampeding? hmm

>attach and detach to her black leggings
hmm. Maybe, "temporarily cling to her black leggings" or something to that effect, rather than repeating verbs like that
This paragrpah is your best so far in its descriptiveness.

>When the calm resumes
Was the gust of wind really that bad? If so, how did she not pick up on the temperature changing? If the weather's gotten that coarse, she better be adamant on getting somewhere important

Why such an extensive description of the town in the lattermost section? Is this going to bring anything to bear later in the short story?

Overall, this has potential. A little heavy on the description. No emotional engagement with the character or narrator after a handful of paragraphs and I'm out, though. Keep working on it.

>>9469020
Full of cliché, with a nice bit in the middle. Show, don't tell, is what I would advise you to do

You should strip it down further

This bit was great:
>I shifted into drive and I took off, my co-workers already ahead of me by minutes now. Ahead of me to see their family and talk about their day, to watch sports on TV or play videogames, to yell at their kids, to look at a miasma of contextually bankrupt internet jargon, to jack-off, or fuck, then sleep and go through it all again.

>Vaguely autobiographical twenty or thirty-somethings with empty lives

Interesting stuff in here guys

>>9469020
>>9469020
listen dude hopefully youre in your early twenties or teens because while all of this is "true", its wrong because its fucking draining and no one wants to hear this shit. bear your fucking cross and find a way to distill this into something that people will want to read.

If you dont care about people reading it then start a journal for your saddie baddie thoughts. Your post has been made a billion times

>>9469103
>he thinks creative writing is ever not vaguely autobiographical

>>9469103
post something then, meta critiques are even less interesting

>>9467109
Couldn't tear my eyes off this, even if I wanted to badly. You have a natural flow to your writing, and you caught my attention, which is difficult to do. Even if I could cut myself with the edge, bravo.
Anyway, this is the beginning of a Chapter 2, but you don't need to know much to get it.


Ray awoke to bright sunlight shining through the window next to him and onto his sleepy, groggy head. He slowly came to his senses, stretching his sore muscles and yawning as he tried to remember where he was and how he got here. For a moment it was pleasent: waking up from a long, deep slumber in a comfortable bed he had no memory of falling asleep in.

Then he remembered: Ryder, the daggar, the blood, the coin. He wished it were all a dream, but as he raised the the covers off of himself he saw it: a bandaged wound in the center of his chest, having gushed out yellow blood all over his abdomen and onto the sheets under him. He'd been Bound.

Ray rolled off the bed in a panic and landed his ass on the hard wooden floor, and a coin popped out of his pocket as he did, spinning for a second, then falling flat onto the floor. He stared at it in a cockeyed wonder: the coin he had been mortally Bound to. Sheepishly, he picked it up, and remembered the first time he had seen it, years ago in Cassel. It was ancient and brass, little larger than a bottlecap, and consisted of several concentric rings, with a glowing yellow orb in the middle.
"Fuck" He remarked, under his breath.

"That's no good for your first word as a bearer." The coin said, vibrating its many rings to imitate human voice. Garver shrieked and dropped the coin to the ground, irked by feeling it move. The coin bounced off the floor once, then its many rings broke free of eachother and started spinning rapidly, at different angles and pace. The coin floated this way, like a hummingbird, and looked like a small orb as it levitated in front of Garver's face.

"Though I've always been more fond of second impressions, anyway. I do hope you'll make a good one." Its orb glowed brighter as it spoke, the same color as Garver's new blood.

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The sun was setting and the tips of the buildings were all aflame; I sat in my apartment blind to that glorious rage. She was in the building opposite, the window second from the top. The light was slowly escaping her and she was leaning out with her eyes closed and smiling, nearly falling trying to feel all its warmth. I loved watching her because she seemed so alive, so grand as the sun was bouncing off her. She alone was my sunset, my early moon. She managed not only to reflect but mimic that rage I so desperately craved, and with fingers up and grasping delicately those last rays, she left as the sun did.

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>>9468863
Very cold, as in 'very' 'cold': & also confusing—why type all that out? Why spray boredom gently in our direction? Where is the burning? The fever? The despair? It felt like walking around Best Buy with a blindfold.

Preposition Ratio: 11.9 %

Zombie Nouns: vision, destination, identity

Lexical Diversity: 44.62 %

Content Carrying Words: 58.35 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 65.49 %

Longest Words: Unsurprisingly, distinguishing

Listen, however you decide to roll forth, you can't hide a corpse.

>>9469201
>aflame
intothetrashitgoes

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>>9469020
Quick questions: deep? too deep? embarrassingly shallow? where did ye get all the awkward habits? do ye read much? what is today's date? who is the president? how great a danger do ye pose, on a scale of one to ten? what does 'people who live in glass houses' mean? every symphony is a suicide postponed, true or false? should each individual snowflake be held accountable for the avalanche? name five rivers.what do ye see yrself doing in ten minutes? how about some lovely soft thorazine music? if ye could have half an hour with yr father, what would ye say to him? what should ye do if I fall asleep?are ye still following in his mastodon footsteps? what is the moral of 'mary had a little lamb'? what about my everest shadow? would ye compare yr education to a disease so rare no one else has ever had it, or the deliberate extermination of indigenous populations? which is more puzzling, the existence of suffering or its frequent absence? should an odd number be sacrificed to the gods of the sky, and an even to those of the underworld, or vice versa? would ye visit a country where nobody talks? what would ye have done differently? why are ye here?

>>9469377
But why

>>9469201
The sun sets and the tips of the buildings flare as I sit in my apartment. A woman leans out her window, her eyes closed, smiling. To feel the last of the sun. She, alive, grand, the sun bouncing off her. Reflecting my rage, and with fingers up and grasping those last rays, she disappeared.

>>9469035
Thanks man. I'll try to be more aware of my typos and improve on skills.

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>>9469201
Saw you in the other thread.
It's a little clumsy in the emotions it's trying to protray. I don't know why but the words hardly clicked on me, and some words like "glorious rage" had me think a second time to understand what it was you were saying - which broke flow for me. The two verbs "falling" and "trying" in one sentence was clunky, and made me stop to think again, perhaps put a comma in between, that's my bag.
When you say "she seemed so alive" I didn't get it until I looked back and saw she was smiling. It dosen't have to be for all sentences, but for this one, describe she makes you feel alive AND THEN describe why. I love the picture you're painting, but the wording is a little off. A book in my opinion should run like a smooth river, one ride all the way through without wanting to fight or stop against the currents.

Here's mine.

The moon glances sideways on those without a fit or a hope for something else to shine, and in dark nights like this, Elvira was more than compromised to find her hope.
“Dark nights wander,” she said, the melancholy drowse of her eyes bagging to her cheeks in tiredness. These were days of peace, peace too peaceful for one to take the dangers seriously, as it was on a night of nights so befuddled as this. Glory be to God she thought, that a night should leave her so melancholy as this one, on the eve of the anniversary of her mother’s death all she could hope for was a peaceful night.
Dark waters stern in the breeze of the piccolo trees, the swamps were stenching the drifting air, and all was quiet on the western front of Elvira’s rest. “Dark nights wander, and dark nights fall, but the breeze of my heart finds no rest in thee, o wondrous saviour; where is my kindle to be?”
There were darker nights yet to rest, and darker nights gone, but in nights like this found Ollie by the birch under lap of the branches, in rest of his abode. The young bard was a man of good rest, but found none on the dark, soggy night. This was the anniversary of his parents’ deaths, and he had found little forgiveness in his heart to carry on the mission so wearied in his heart to carry.
“These are dark nights indeed,” said the Wolf, a man, a beast, a warrior, he knew not which, but for the blade by his back, and the axes by his holsters.
These were dark nights indeed, and all was falling to rest, as the three heroes laid their good heads upon the laps of the sycamore trees, and there the winds of the willows lapped up all the airs of hope for tomorrow, for on this night, a night not which like to come, now, then, and ever again; was the night they were all going to die.
And Ollie, lying by his bedside rest, looked down at the scroll by the waist of his bleeding belly, and there it wrote:

“The stars sank into the seas, and the sun withheld its light.
And on that day, a day feared on the bright, you shall know it to be true, that the end has come.”
- By the Words of the Prophet Glamdrig, 14 P.A.

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>>9469812
I know mine's not great, but holy cow yours is terrible! I'm not even sure where to start.

I understand you're not a native English speaker, and have some weird writing influences, so let's start at the basics: who are your influences?

>>9468301
Hey anytime. But I was being sarcastic. Takes a fucking fantastic ego to miss that. Keep practicing I guess.

>>9469830
God - Father, Son, Holy Spirit
Tolkein
Emily Rodda
Barbara Hambly
I'm sure there are others too, but these folks have inspired me to write. And yes you're correct, I was not born a native english speaker, but picked it up lwatching action movies from the 80's and 90's.

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>>9469852
So you come and prance around on /lit/ without having read the meme trilogy? Get started, kiddo.

>>9469865
Summerise the plot for them all, friend. Why should I read these memes? To get gud?

>>9467109
>allaying

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>>9469875
Endless Fun is a great example of clean writing, Mrs Yes is the peak of literature, & V2 is, ha-ha, woah, one long ass poem about sex & death that's almost as good as Jimmy Augustine Aloysius Joyce.

A quick rundown:

And but so a screaming comes across the porch, from the stairhead, Tommy bearing a bowl of lather on which a pinecone and a toy rocket lay crossed—he sits on the steps surrounded by heads and bodies of characters never to be created, Wallace having quit and thrown himself upon his belt, ha-ha o my, Tommy thinx, don't throw rocks at the thrown, ha-ha.

>>9469201
Overall I think the writing has a lot of potential, and is pretty decent. I only have a couple of things to say.

>and the tips of the buildings were all aflame;
I wholeheartedly thought this was going to be a post apocalyptic setting based off of that, like some crazy solar flare happened and the buildings were on fire. I see reading the rest it's intended to invoke the narrators sense of rage, but I would use a little less of a post-apocalyptic-y word

>I loved watching her because she seemed so alive
This really seems like telling instead of showing. You could say something along the lines of "My eyes kept drawn to her. She seemed so alive, so grand as..."

>She managed not only to reflect but mimic that rage I so desperately craved
Seems kind of showy. The only thing that really hinted at rage was your choice of word in aflame. The rage part, aside from that, didn't really seem to have much of a basis to it. Maybe add a another description or bit in that would hint that the narrator would think that the woman mimicked rage he so desperately craved?

Really though, aside from that, I thought it was phenomenal. I especially love that last part of >and with fingers up and grasping delicately those last rays, she left as the sun did.

>>9469921
>post apocalyptic
You're not this stupid, I'm clearly talking about the sunset. Obviously if you don't get this, you're not in the IQ range of my intended audience.

>telling instead of showing
I had just said she's leaning out A FUCKING WINDOW FOR SUN

>phenomenal
Exaggerated compliments don't help. Wasted both your and my time.

>>9469921
>>9469931
Yeah I didn't write that

>>9469934
Oh so it is pasta. Thank god. Aflame XD

>>9469936
I'm sure this is bait as well but to clarify anyway, I didn't write this:
>>9469931

I did write aflame XD and will post a revised version sometime soon

>>9469944
>>9469934
Idk who the fuck you are. You critiqued my thing? Or..? And FINE I'll reconsider using "aflame". Ffs

>>9469931
I tested for an IQ of 138 in the third grade, so please don't try that. This is a critique thread, where everyone is your audience. As writers we often hold other facts or ideas because we know exactly what we want to convey, but on paper (or text) it doesn't turn out how it should be. I told you my view, and how I think it could be edited so that others can enjoy it.

By the way, this is 4chan. No one here is within your "IQ range" of your intended audience.

>>9470019
Yeah well mine's 10x bigger, and I have proof. Anyway, I don't TRY, I do, I make things happen. My audience is YA and ~obviously~ they understand metaphors, and non-literal usage.

Pathetic. I thought you all might be smarter than Reddit, but this place is hopeless.

>>9469878
Yeah, probably shouldn't have used that word. Worth editing out.

Any other criticisms?

>>9470032
Well, good luck in life.

>>9470036
...don't be... so... boring...(?)

>>9470042
>not getting the joke
>this hard

Scientific illiteracy is wrecking the world, phamalam.

>>9470048

Haha, okay, fair. Assuming you aren't the troll that's been derailing this thread.

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>>9468007
>>9468018
The conch shell thing is p good, but you clutter the whole thing up with the worn-out druggy reaching... and since you don't do it as good, or well at all, just use plain English. The setting is interesting, your grammar is tight, but you don't come off as clever or smart, just try-hard.

Preposition Ratio: 11.51 % ← good!

Zombie Nouns (Kill): affection, fusion, attention

Lexical Diversity: 45.79 %

Content Carrying Words: 53.62 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 69.69 %

Longest word: cannibalistic ← kill

Got all that? Now if you clean-pick your writing down to its bones, we'll be better able to see that rippling net of gems in your mind.

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>>9469472
Okay I took a lot from this so thanks, but the past tense is important to enforce the ephemeral theme.

>>9469812
I understand what you mean and it's all because I just threw a bunch of thoughts together at lunch and that was the jumbled result. I'm cleaning it now and yes this is how I usually write. With that alive bit I don't really know where else it would fit better, but perhaps it will flow better as a whole now.

>>9469921
I guess the initial apocalypse feel isn't terrible as I want you to see this sunset as a grand happening.
This alive bit I'll need more work on apparently.
Yeah I don't know why I used rage at all, I just wanted a strong emotion and I that's just what I went with.


Anyway here's the revision; be brutal:
The sun was setting and the tips of the buildings were flaming as I sat in my apartment. She was in the building opposite, the window second from the top. The light was slowly escaping her and she was leaning out with her eyes closed, smiling, trying to feel all its warmth. I loved watching her because she seemed so alive, so grand as the sun was bouncing off her. She alone was my sunset, my early moon. She managed not only to reflect but mimic that glory I so desperately craved, and with fingers up and grasping delicately those last rays, she left as the sun did.

I'll post it in this thread because I don't want to make a new one; does anyone using Writemonkey know if it's possible to make it so it's not full screen when you start it? It's really annoying.

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How can I stop my obsession with storms and the sea? It's literally all I write about besides that sunset thing
>>9470139

Anyway here's something else where I can't decide if I should use quotation marks or not:
There’ll be a storm by three,
He whistled through broken teeth.
She’ll be raging for you,
But don’t worry
She’s just lonely.
Just a bit
Lonely.

Remember to lock up your house and meet her out there,
Out there in the field,
Out where she’s calling.
Do you know she’s been calling?
Calling for you.

You can hear her heartbeat if you listen,
Just listen.
It’d be the same as yours
If you’d care,
If you’d dare to be as grand as her.

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>>9470139
'I wrote it shitty b/c I think it makes it more ephemeral'

↓

Let me revise

↓

'HA! See what your critiques led to?! THIS IS WHAT YOU MADE IT!!! HAHA YOU GUYS SURE LOOK DUMB NOW!!!'

What's the next step in your master plan?

You made the worst post in the thread worse

>grand sunset
>aflame → flaming
Wew.

>jumbled result
Y make us read your junk. I mean, making that excuse, 'I just threw [it] together', means you knew it was just nothing... did you want to see if you were a natural? That you just drip magic from your majestic mind? Wha?

>cleaning it now
Another ESL poster?

>>9470124

Hey your critiques are pretty cool. Is it possible to do mine? I'm OP.

>>9467175
This just feels like you're trying to sound smart. I can't tell if it's a meme or not, but it's not very good.

>>9470167
Yeah it's Alt + F4

>>9470176
Put it in pastebin

>>9467109
Why aren't your I capital? Is it some kind of "trying to be unique"-autistic thing, trying to make a point?

>>9470181
Wow that's a sick meme, thanks /b/ro xD

>>9470190
It becomes clearer in chapter 2. There is a good reason. I'll eat my hat if you guess it.

>>9470191
DELETE THIS

>>9470169
Will you at least add the constructive part of the criticism?

Same anon >>9469812

Wrote this before, but I tried to clean it up a bit better.

Lee came at sunrise, brisk morning in the far off distant hazes of the Dunes; where time begins and midnight ends, there at the ever-wavy line of dust and wind, rising with the gold-tinged clouds of grey. A lone road ascended from the interstate split up the valley, then down the hills of Alberta Bay. It was through the old-world concrete carrions at the edge of the world where the ruin lay in wait for the sullied scrounger; a doomed man with a debt to pay.
Taking off his helmet, Lee left the old hover bike humming. This was going to be a short trip after all. A quick survey of the area found no bandit getting sneaky, but then again, that’s exactly what they would’ve wanted you to think. Only an idiot trusts his eyes out here.
Behind the hollow rubbles of bombed-out commercial buildings left plenty of gaps for a scope’s flash, and behind every abandoned car left plenty of space for a landmine to snuggle under.
Chinese restaurants, groceries, and a roofless Shop-at-Mart lay in consecutive lines before the parking lot. It was an all-too-perfect spring to attract the most opportunistic of hoarders, and when hoarders come, so do guns. Lee brought out his radar detector, and found two blips almost immediately. Oddly enough, neither of which belonged to the entrée delight of hoarder bait before him – but to an old cinema hiding almost clandestinely across the street. The parking lot held no cars, no life signs, and no other hovers in view. It was almost too good to be untempered with.
Giving a deep, troubled sigh, Lee flipped a coin for it.
It landed heads.
Trap was the first line of thought, as it was anywhere else in the frontier. Scroungers weren’t meant to get this far into the forbidden territories, but if you were as desperate to pay off some mob boss for a drunk night of cards, then you may have reason enough to throw your life aside for some old tech to scam a historian over.
Lee strapped on his Net-launcher and an old, half-cocked Gattle Gun, and ventured forth inside the building. The darkness of the theatre lobby was hardly pierced by the tongue of light coming from the outside world. The doors barely half-open.

>>9470201
Allll the shit that is being called to attention→stop doing it.

Writing is a subtractive art.

>>9470194
Is the reason actually good? I could buy it if you wrote as the person, and the person you're writing as isn't good. However, it seems like everything except the "i" is written as an author would write in, not as a plebian retard who doesn't know "i" is supposed to be capitalized would write it.

>>9470210
Okie dokie will revise again but I'll keep it out from now on

>>9470211
The 1st chapter is written by a computer program that has a mistake in it, and the author of the code runs into serious issues when he realizes that the capital I issue thing runs through more. than. just. that. one. program.

Bet you can't beat that symbolism.

>>9470210
But hol up, greentexting
>grand sunset
And the like while expecting me to know what you're talking about is a bit ridiculous. Also saying wew means shit

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>>9470186

Here you go! Thanks man. Any critiques welcome (same text as OP).

https://pastebin.com/87ctB8vF

>>9470226
You don't have a notebook where you record all the best examples you've seen of sunsets being described? And sun related things? And then tracing the word etymologies & breaking down the rhetorical syntax—all the way down to its linguistic categories?

Then you're not serious about this. Go somewhere else.

Or maybe you do and I'm the asshole. Let's make nice, in that case. It's not the case, is it.

As for the other two green texts, yeah, you said those things, I added commentary.

Past tense =/= ephemeral

It makes it limp.

>>9470244
I do to an extent but sorry I'm not cool enough to post here.

>you said those things
Yeah I said flaming (which I don't understand the problem with or even aflame but I pulled that for you guys anyway) but I never said the sunset was grand, I said she was.

Of course past tense doesn't automatically create an ephemeral state, but I used it to emphasize it.

>>9467109
Just the first two pages. I'm trying to find a good balance for sexual tension, but the male is annoyed, and trying to seduce her, and she's not quite sure what to go on. He's younger than her, but rich, and I want to frame him slightly with the kind of mad bastard fever you get whenever you're thinking of the best way to make what's not quite making love .

I'm working on some other pages, it should be longer than 3K words -it's set in Sienna, loosely, and they'll move around largely lost, sitting at various cafes talking around the the gradually more direct fact that they are not having sex. They go to The Duomo, and they see a crying nun being screamed at by a few fat ones. Later, they go back down to the town square, and climb the clock tower - which is beautiful in real life - and see the nun climbing up it just as they leave. It will be a starry night with good wind from the Chianti, and they will argue over themselves, with the boy really, convincing her to indulge in last night or nothing. There's a little commution and peole get up, but they're too wrapped up in the talk.

And then, they turn, and then they see her, and -- I'm no too sure how I'm going to nail that last scene. I''ll probly have to visti /gif/ a lot..


-----

I'll ciritique in next post

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>>9470231
Can't help but sense that quick moving machine whirring away in your head—it's like being pulled into your orbit, crashing through a forest of verbs & nouns—with night unfolding and the quiet murmer of that consciousness that streams & wavers behind all of our faces as we sit in one room & then another.

Preposition Ratio: 8.42 % ← Dynamic!

Zombie Nouns (Remove or turn back into verbs): obligation, irritation, racism

Lexical Diversity: 43.37 %

Content Carrying Words: 59.34 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 59.62 %

Longest Word: aminopentanedioate ← Must you?

I really like yr symbolism here:

>>9470222

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>>9470269
>>9470275
yr man!

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>>9470269

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>>9470265
>I want you to see this sunset as a grand happening.
Ye said this↑

You do to an... extent? I'm pointing you in a useful direction.

>I used it to emphasize it
Not effective. What WAS effective was her going back inside at the end. The action of it. Your description is tedious.

Each revision isn't permanent, so try saying it in as few words as possible. You have 108 words. See what you get cutting it to 54. I guarantee it'll be better.

Just try it, it won't kill you. The damn thing has potential.

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>>9470290
I love you yr man. I remember you, clearly high, comparing a piece of mine to sitting down bare foot at temple.

>>9470275

Thank you, dude. You pretty much single handedly pulled this thread out the gutter.

>>9470299
I hate to disappoint but I don't do drugs, dummy. And it was the Hagia Sophia.

>>9470292
Oh you meant that, yeah. The majority of what I write is someone viewing a natural event like as a grand happening so as to hopefully sway the reader into a more appreciative mindset. That's my goal and the only reason I write.

What I wrote was based off prior knowledge and so no I didn't study up for it which I'll start from now on. I already knew quite a bit about it but not enough in the aspects you were listing.

Yeah I trim down overtime, I'll probably post a much shorter version in the next thread.

Although I live in the city, I enjoy leaving my curtains open to catch natural light. Sometimes I even sleep with the curtains open, letting the sun hit my face to wake me in the morning. Every weekday, mother closes the blinds so the daycare child that sleeps in my room can sleep. When I come home from work in the evening, the blinds are still closed. This bothers me. On these nights, even when I come home late, I open the blinds for only a few minutes before closing them to fall asleep.

I love the sound of rain. I find it peaceful, and it helps me sleep. But I have no netting over my window frame, so I can't sleep with the window open, or else I'll wake up with mosquitoes and moths and blackflies in my room, sometimes hiding away for days at a time and sometimes fluttering around my head as I read. So I undo the locks on my window and raise it as far as it can go, without and proper gap in the frame.

More than the light and the rain, I love the fresh air. My room quickly gets dusty, so I leave my window open for hours at a time, in the hope of ventilating the place. But through the sunlight, in front of the open window, I still see dust float through the air. This frustrates me. Still, I especially enjoy the smell of fresh air during a rainfall. Tonight, as it rained, I opened the curtains, pulled back the drawstring of the blinds, unlocked the window, raised it all the way and stuck my head outside, breathing deeply and counting the stars that poked through the rainclouds.

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>>9470335
God I fucking love this kind of writing. You've just described me, lad.

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>>9470335
I'm just plain old impressed.

Preposition Ratio: 11.78 %

No Zombie Nouns(!)

Lexical Diversity: 44.11 %

Content Carrying Words: 55.89 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 60.0 %

Longest Word: ventilating

This may have been the only good thing I've ever read on /lit/

>>9470290
I really enjoyed this but I'm high on Zplipidem.

Liked these string of words: castor oil, pg, glycerin, and fragrance
>>9470335
Has a nice chidlishness to it.
>>9470206
>no bandit getting sneaky but that's what they want you to think
>left the old hover bike humming. THIS WAS GOING TO A SHORT TRIP AFTER ALL

It's not bad, buth there's a touch too much exposition for either trivial things or things no worth including. If only an idiot would trust there eyes, show why, don't tell it in three ways.

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>>9467109

>>9470353
Sorry, "I really enjoyed this" shoudl be for>>9470231

yrman could you do me the great privilege? I've been writing a little high on these things.
>>9470290https://pastebin.com/8Ti8uKgh

>>9470372
>>9470352

>>9470348
>>9470353
>>9470352
Thanks, I write essays for personal interest but this is my first attempt at that sort of thing. I was considering adding another bit about my alarm clock which is a total failure of industrial design but I liked how the other elements revolved around the window. [spoilers]Honestly I was expecting people to tear this to shreds, this means a lot to me[/spoiler].
>>9470352
Is there a site you're using for these stats? I'd like to see how some of my technical writing checks out.

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Anonymous 05/06/17(Sat)00:47:49 No.9470399▶
File: image.jpg (183 KB, 736x1206)

>>9470381 #
Just some code I wrote.

>>9470372 #
Tomorrow. Gon tear it to RIBBONS. U WILL NEVER WRITE IN THIS TOWN AGAIN.

Giton nah.

>>9470399
>>9470408
I love you my man, tear it like poor pulled pork


And if you're ever in Dublin, I'll buy you a pint.

I know this is bad but it's one of the first things I've written since I supposedly gave up. Please don't be too harsh

For some reason I've never understood the younger generation always romanticizes death. It doesn't matter which younger generation per say, only that they're the youngest one at the time that's running low on baby teeth. Death is a dirty business, and nobody really walks away clean from it in either body or soul. Not even me.

You'd think a long career of dealing with the dead would you numb to its weight and its stench – that once you'd seen a few bodies that'd just stopped moving (or in my case several dozen that started again for some unholy reason) you wouldn't feel it when that black angel came for your own. Turns out things are never that easy either for you or for them.

When I caught wind of old ghosts in Willow Creek I felt an old weight settle back onto my shoulders. I had hoped I would never have to return to the soot bed where my neighbors and family once lived, and was dumb enough to believe for a while that that town was gone. Restless dead don't lie though, and someone has to make sure the dead make way for the living.

I rolled in at sundown and then turned right around and left. I knew these old roads better than the old scars on the back of my hand, but somewhere along the way I must have made a wrong turn. As I retraced my steps I knew deep down I was being an idiot. There were the same old sounds and the same old smells, the same creeks and bridges and the thunder-split boulder with the injun trail marks. Everything outside it was right where should be, but the town beneath the willows was nothing like the one I remembered.

I should have expected it really. We were a town of mahogany mansions at best and pine shacks at worst. Fire doesn't discriminate the way folk often do. It'll have have the whatever and then clean its damned plate, and when it's done there's nothing but ashes and bones and shriveled black timbers. There wouldn't be much left here that I knew as I saw it, but something dead was clawing against the tide here, and if anyone was going to send it home it might as well be me.

>>9469851
>getting your yahoos by offering dishonest critique of customer reviews on a mail order thai boipuccy website

>not having a single review posted on your own account

>>9470124
that feel when you dont even use drugs

bonus round: because youre too poor

ps. willingly (because you have no self control)

Almost everyone on lit writes with too many metaphors, and tries too hard with their imagery.

Almost all /lit/ posters try to be too clever.

There's something to be said for simplicity, and pulling your punches, feinting, and then clobbering with the dramatic prose when the reader's guard is open.

I could be a scientist studying the very stars I look upon each night with childlike adoration, pioneering the technology needed for the last true wave of pioneers so that my great grandchildren might breath the nectar of Andromeda that only in my wildest dreams could I ever hazard a guess of its taste. If I only had a brain.

I could live in the world I imagine, with the people I've with a will of timid steel pushed away, fearing the very touch of a loved one, unsure of whether I'm afraid that I won't want it or that I will. I could laugh until my shoulder hurt, I could sleep like nothing would change, I could wake up knowing that this is the world that I left the night before instead of staying up to make sure it stays right where it is. If I only had courage.

I could be the author that I want to be. My words could be the brush to a million canvases, a million brains I'll ever be jealous of, inspiring courage I've long left behind. a name to be spoken by bookish world changers, and those who find esoteric comfort in a world shrouded in darkness with a book and a lamp to keep them sane. If I only had the heart.

Now the little man speaks. He says "young man, when I built these emerald towers my failing courage brought me far from home, my broken heart forbade the thought of those I left behind, and my addled brain built a sprawling city to keep itself locked in distraction."

I interrupted him. "I came here looking for answers, not a quick recap of your accomplishments. Your courage brought you to a new world, where your brain built a utopia for the people your heart told you you had to let through. You got over whatever brought you here and let these new ones occupy a spot in your heart you clearly thought you'd sealed away. These are great accomplishments by a great man, and all I'm asking is for the chance to learn to do the same."

A wizened look overcame him as he said almost silently, "I'm still afraid. I can't go back. My city isn't big enough and these people have never seems what's behind the curtain. Sometimes the parts so broken in you are the parts men seek the hardest. You can shape a diamond with the shards of a mind, bleed the most beautiful stories with a jagged heart and run to just the right place with faltered courage. Yet this is no fairy tale. I can fix the broken, yes. But I can't make you happy. I can't make sure you never come back seeking the same. I found this place enough times to learn that it's best to find a use for the broken pieces than put them together over and over. Because they will break. Again and again. If you have any courage left you'll go. Leave this place. If you have half a brain you'll forget. If you have a shred of heart you'll make your own way. We always do. This place is my masterpiece, now go, make your own broken home.

Kind of just threw this one together, been trying to get back into writing, it's been a while now

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>>9467109
Not a piece of literature, but I just made this comic :3 Happy for any critiques

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>>9470947
pt 2

>>9470947
>>9470950
epic (I have never read INFINITE JEST).

recreation peregrine

goofy rockabilly
beacon for the sky-wig
protruding, rudely
we splish bright
like a carpenter trudges
through the dead night
easy-kill grudges
blight unspeakable
you talk like cantaloupe
honey-finger-smothered-plier
with fried cream, the falcon
in the blow-up
pool, tongs
surround us—
gayly, and the empire
horns again.

strong will for
pickaninny plumb stumps—
breathe deep
this is where
the fun goes
to relax
after a long
tangerine parade.

found footage:
paprika baby strums
to the tune
whitman provides.

mumbo freelance
gnaws the heart
of jack white.
uncraven:
our soaring conundrum
lands at the feet
of king cooldown
who’s making dial up sounds
at the birds:
christmas,
in orange peel.

hope you enjoyed.

>>9470981

Not -not- bad. Reminds me a little too heavily of the crap I'd write when I was like 16-17, though. Word salad type of stuff.

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>Sequel thus far to pic related, going to be the 4th in the Living amongst the Dead series, pic is the cover of the 3rd in the series. There's more of course; I'm over 10,000 words in.

“Da-” a small voice whispered, but was cut off.
“Shhhhhhh…” deep patience. Young eyes looked over from where the lad knelt, brilliant blue, observant as the man trained his rifle. Resting it against the side of the tree, it was incredibly still, as was him. Steady as can be, like a statue. Like a-
BANG!
The lad jumped, mind having been wandering to the point that he’d not been thinking that the rifle was to go off at any moment. Recovering from his brief shock, he looked ahead to the moose, the one he was about to ask his father about. It was down on the ground.
“Ha ha ha! That’s the stuff!” His dad announced boisterously, patting his son smartly on the shoulder, and it brought a grin to him. They would eat well. The two soon bridged the gap between them and the beast, coming to the animal that lay on the ground. It wasn’t moving, but its eyes were; looking at the two weakly though seemingly unable to move a finger, or a hoof in this case perhaps. A female moose, not quite fully grown but close. It didn’t matter its gender now though; there were no laws. Only survival.
“Stay back, Brian…” the bearded fellow warned, right hand held out with palm facing the boy. It was still alive; couldn’t risk a stray kick to the head if it started to thrash. Grasping its great snout, that huge schnozz, a large and razor-sharp hunting knife was pulled from its fake-leather sheath, and so was jabbed into its neck, slicing down. It twitched, a leg kicked, and blood poured like a small waterfall. The lad had seen it done before, but none the less grimaced at the sight. Poor moose…

The fire crackled away as the two sat near it, the four legs of the moose nearby, resting on some of its flesh to keep it off the ground. A large tent was nearby barely visible in the darkness. Simple but effective. A blue tarp held up by large sticks fastened to trees with thin yellow nylon rope. Inside, several Mason jars had already been bottled using slices of moose meat taken off the legs, and what remained would be picked off to serve as meals over the next few days.
The man continued to fill up on the delicious meat, a nice break from the fish they’d been eating for the last while, and was wondering how to get more greens in their diet. So far they’ve been eating berries when they became available, however with autumn coming on which will inevitably lead to winter, they’ll definitely need the vitamins of fruits and/or vegetables to keep strong. Wiping greasy fingers on his jeans, the hand then reached over casually and touched the wooden stock of his rifle, a subconscious motion to make sure it was nearby in case something should come and interrupt the quiet evening. He looked over to his son, and seen him staring down into the fire, seemingly lost in thought.

Once I wandered far through my copse
To hear the Dryads whisper your revered name.
I heard the ponds weep their dripping tear
I saw the rain fall fair yet loud so all could hear
I saw the ghostly reeds droop in morose, all too tame,
I felt stranded moreover, to only speak to beechdrops.

To yearn for one I never knew, and it to be you--in rain,
It drives me to my knees like roots into this ground,
And casts mine eyes to deeper depths of dirt;
The grainy cover over my soul that ever would hurt.
The birds sang today with great sound
And they burnished your name.

>>9471263
“Hey-”
“Hmm?” The lad twitched, ripped from his thoughts by his father’s deep but gentle voice; he looked to the bearded parent. The fellow looked back, seeing the bright blue eyes of his late wife in his young son.
“What are you thinking about, buddy?” He asked with a sincere smile. With every day being as challenging as it was, often stressful, he had to make sure that it wasn’t getting to his boy.
“Huh? Oh…” his meek voice gave, gaze returning to the flames. “Subnautica.” The beaded man’s cheerful look changed to confusion, brows lowering and eyes narrowing in a look of slight curiosity. Brian seen the look.
“A videogame-” The confused gaze ended, head slowly nodding in understanding. Never really was much of a gamer, but knew that back in the day, his kid was batty for the videogames. “-though I was also thinking of mom.” Ah… now there was something he could relate to.
“Mmh.” A grunt of agreement, of knowing. “I miss her too.” The man replied earnestly, gazing into the fire as well as he thought of woman, left hand reflexively sending his thumb to his ring finger, feeling the band of smooth white gold.
“Her pancakes.” The lad recalled fondly, though without a smile coming to his face. The man had a faint grin come to him in the thick and course hair of his face, as well as a laugh through his nose.
“Her lasagna.” The boy continued, appearing to sadden.
“Her toast.” The man put in, though with less of a tone of fondness and more of a tone of graveness. This brought a flicker of a smile to the kid. “How does someone screw up toast?” To this an outright giggle came. Somehow she did have a tendency to over-toast or even burn the bread she prepared for them in the morning.

“A nice, big breakfast, eh?” The man patted his thin stomach. The first couple months had been hard, lots of hunger, and both of them lost several pounds, which was a startling thing to see on a young boy, and he was proud to be able to provide for him once again. He was met with a nod, eyes wide and a lungful of breath blown out to serve as a response. They’d filled themselves up on moose, and they’d be filling up on it regularly up until whatever remained, if anything remained, went bad. The Sun was on their left as they went through the trees.
Before long the treeline thinned and broke, bringing them to a clearing with transmission towers going along it, lines stringing along overhead. The perfectly straight and finely cut clearing continued straight south.
“George, George, George of the Jungle!” The boy laughed up at his father. A couple weeks ago he’d joked about cutting down the lines so they could swing from tower to tower, like Spiderman or George of the Jungle.

>>9470950
>>9470947
Please tell me there's more. Don't stop...

>>9471263
>>9471272
“Watch out for that-” he began, and the man joined in for the next half.
“Bang, ‘ooo’, treeeeeee!” Gleeful laughing came from the fellow and the dad chuckled as well, glad to see his boy so happy in spite of everything. It’s hard being a parent. Harder still when forced into being a single parent, but being a single parent during the apocalypse? They had their bad days, but he liked to think he was doing well in the face of so many challenges. Still, it was be infinitely easier if he still had her…
Coming to the end of the cut in the trees, they were on a relatively high bank and the slope going down to the highway was pretty steep. It was a fairly nice view from up there, and ahead he could see the endless mass of water that was one of the Great Lakes, a beautiful sight. There in the middle of their view, a large island.
Once they were on the main road, they stopped and sat down, a well-deserved break. Early on they had to take stops far more frequently, but week by week he found that his son’s strength was improving, his endurance, and he would need it with how the world was going.
“What do you do when you find one of them?”
“Avoid it.” A robotic response, one that was well known and well-recited.
“What do you do if you think you have to fight one?”
“Find a way so that I don’t have to.”
“What do you do when you need to kill one?”
“Brain.”
“Good boy.” He was scraping a rock along the pavement as he gave the answers, eyes not even raising as he did so. How the boy could possibly kill one? He doubted he could. Even with a firearm, for him to be steady and calm enough in such a situation was likely impossible. Still, the skills were there. He’d gotten the kid into firearms at a young age. First, a weak airsoft gun, very cheap and manually-operated. Mostly to teach the fundamentals of safe firearm handling. Never point it at anybody. Make sure it’s unloaded, and this was taught by holding the slide of the little pistol open and tapping it on a surface so that the plastic airsoft BB would fall out. Even when empty however, NEVER point it at anyone, even though airsoft guns could be safely used against people provided they wore ear protection, especially one that weak. Some basics of accuracy were instilled but being such a cheap toy it was quite limiting. Still, it was a good start.

>I'll leave it at that for now unless anyone wants me to continue. If you're familiar at all with the series, you'd know that such pleasant and relatively relaxed events and conversation are quite rare. There's reason for it all though, and I think the story advances very interestingly for these two new characters. I also find it interesting to start a book in the series with two entirely new characters that have never made an appearance before. Sort of a curve ball.

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This was a dying town.

It had been rebuild, back then after the big fire. Pre-planned in meticulous detail, a rigorous grid, a web of precisely chiseled streets crossing at intersections with a careful, though not always clear symmetry in mind. House after house, fabricated of the same brick stones and placed with care, the townhall and the parking lots, the cemetary and the multiple green spaces all thought out and realized at the same time with the same numbing efficiency.

But whatever the authorities at that time had intented, they left the job half-finished. There are spots, certain areas, that had not been filled out; almost one was driven to say it had been forgotten. Something left to itself in this slowly dying town, surrendered at that long ago building phase.

Sure, there are place-holders sitting there. The decayed two-story mansion, collapsing in slow-motion. The factory, where noone works and that produces nothing, but whose stench, whose acidulous odor is sipping through all the cracks. The old church building, where no trace of worship has ever left any mark, more a creed to hopelessness then anything else.
These haunted aretefacts -haunted by their emptiness, by their clear lack of resemblance to any kind of identifiable presence- are everywhere in this dying town.
They stand as proof for an acceptance that nothing will ever fill these hollows that the erroneous city planning so long ago have left. They have been abandoned for good.

But what drove us finally out -us last truely alive inhabitants of that dying town- on empty streets around a world slowly turning around, was a certain suspicion that the poison of those voids would surely creep up on us, that they would expand, amplify and widen until nothing is left and this whole crumbling town would have been finally forgotten.

>>9471426
>It had been rebuild
>noone
>a creed to hopelessness
>using n-dashes like that
You've got some good imagery going but also you don't seem to understand grammar entirely, as well as having many misused words. It's a mess but might be turned into something good.

>>9471266
No rhythm at all.
I know drafting a proper poem instead of random words and line breaks that is modern ""poetry"" is hard, but I think you should work further, because it could be quite good if done well. Right now it certainly isnt.

>>9470947
>>9470950
Wait, why is that shit actually funny? Post more, anon

>>9471443
Thank you.
I'm not a native speaker, but what is the problem with noone? Writen as one word instead of two (it seems both would be correct) ?

>>9471486
"No-one".

>>9467109
Tried to translate something I wrote in German into English. Its pretty bad but here its:
I am following a tranquil path through the woods. The sun is shining and invisible birds are singing in the treetops. In front of me only the path, behind me, in some distance, a town - my hometown?
It doesn‘t matter. I keep going and look at my feet. Left. Right.
I hear a mechanical rumbling from far away. Left. Right.
A piercing whistle. Left. Right.
The birds stop singing. Left. Right.
A hollow bang behind me, the earth beneath my feet shivers and the trees nervously shake their limbs. Left. I stop walking and turn around.
The town I had seen before has been replaced by a tree made of clouds and fire. It‘s roots are wide, it‘s trunk is narrow and it‘s crown is vast. A wave emanates from it‘s base. The wave pushes in every direction and leaves behind nothing but charred earth. The first trees alongside my path are caught in the wave, torn apart and burnt. The wave is closing in. I turn away from it. Right.
My hair is vaporized. On my arms, on my head, my eyebrows. Then my clothes. Now the pain sets in. The fire peels every layer of my skin off on by one, but I cannot scream. My innards are being cooked, my eyeballs pop. I cannot scream.

>>9471525
P.S. I think "peels away every layer of my skin" might sound better than the current version.

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>>9470372
Preposition Ratio: 6.83 % ←Dynamic! (It's b/c it's mostly dialogue)

Zombie Nouns: protection

Lexical Diversity: 36.6 %

Content Carrying Words: 55.54 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 49.88 %

Longest Words: deliberate, delicately, protection, sunglasses, understood

How would one mispronounce 'malaise'?

'He had dark eyes and a brown skin that had been left pale over the lonelier years.' → Fine idea, needs rewording

'Her glass had been left still as a lake.' ← Unless you're going for Charles-Lutwidge-Dodgsonion perception zooming, you can just write → 'Her glass had been left still.' Or something.

A semicolon? Y u do dis? Everything was going so well...

Otherwise, you clearly know what yr doing—no bad habits, no purple, no darlings, absolutely clear writing. But this can't possibly be an area of your story that needs help. What game are you playing? I will flip the chessboard and declare myself winner, motherfucker—unless you have an actual offering.

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>>9467109
Wrote a brief vignette this morning. Titled: Wilderness.

Critics welcome.

>>9473016
You have problems from the first sentence on.

>walked through the wilderness
A summary of what he did over a long period of time
>adjusting the rifle
One small action he committed over a very short period of time.

These things shouldn't be paired.

>>9473172
Valid point, how about:

>adjusting the rifle on his shoulder every so often so that it was readily available.

>>9473179
As someone who is into firearms and was a gun owner for years... why is the rifle shouldered if it's a casual walk through the wilderness, and why would it have to be adjusted to be made readily available? It just doesn't make logical sense. Sling the fucker, and if you think you might need the rifle, if something just makes you feel... off... then unsling it. If something BIG makes you feel nervous, like a bear-like roar somewhere nearby and you actively worry about being attacked, THEN shoulder the firearm but keep your head moving about and pay attention to the peripheral movement. If you know where the sound came from, then you can raise the muzzle so as to actually aim, otherwise may as well keep the firearm pointed down at the ground a few meters in front of you because otherwise it might just obscure your view a little, besides, easier on the arms to casually hold a rifle shouldered but pointed down instead of actively raised and aimed forward for no reason whatsoever.

Yes, I frequent /k/ as well as /lit/. I come in peace, but please no steppy.

>>9473625
Wow /k/ & /lit/??? WOW

https://pastebin.com/pL4rUDMk

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>>9473001
Can you do mine? It's kind of long but I don't know how to continue the writing really, and getting outside information on what parts of it are wrong would help me out a lot.

>>9473757
I wouldn't say /klit/ is as badass as /fitlit/, but it's an interesting concept.

To me I think it often seems
The point of university
Is to get high and miss my classes
Stare at girls with jiggly asses

Whine about my future woes
Spite the gifts I've been bestowed
Fortune would be better found
In someone who wont sit around.

>>9473625
also, this is a case of show and dont tell. You showed, and then told. Just say he keeps adjusting the rife and your reader will be smart enough to infer that hes maybe a little paranoid, on edge, yaddayadda


i know this isnt the op of the vignette but youll see it anyway

>>9473817
Wow! Can you elaborate? You sound heckin interesting.

>>9473814
p a s t e b i n

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>>9473788
>https://pastebin.com/pL4rUDMk

>goblins

not /lit/

Yeah, Tolkien, we know. No it's not as good, or good or interesting. But let's see what we can do...

Preposition Ratio: 10.07 % ← Doesn't matter b/c it's about dor—uh I mean orcs or whatever

Zombie Nouns: passion, responsibility

Lexical Diversity: 42.21 %

Content Carrying Words: 51.17 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 66.85 %

Longest Word: responsibility ← figure something else out

I edited it a bit, made it nice but ran into 5 I-didnt-read-my-own-work-first grammar mistakes that I deleted it. Either that or yr Brazilian. Either way, time to lick clean the white board!

And hey, I learned something: if it's about goblins, don't bother!

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Here's a short story I wrote.
Working on the next one now.
I haven't reviewed anything though so i dunno if I've earned it or whatnot..


https://www.booksie.com/users/limetree-202483

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hi /lit/
i posted a piece earlier and someone said it was pretty nice so that motivated me to add quite a bit more. please be brutally honest; no one around me critiques or writes so you're my only hope for improvement (and im too scared to ask people in public)

Prologue

Deep, thumping pulses accompanied a throbbing contour on the display screen. Sonograms were an outdated technology in the year 2114 but they preferred it that way. “Heart beat looks healthy.” He said clinically. “So, do you want to know, boy or girl?” The young couple glanced at each other casually and without uttering a word, as if telepathically, came to an agreement. “No, we’re going to wait.” The young man said. The doctor raised his brows and breathed out “Wow… you guys really are old fashion.” They glanced at each other again, came to another telepathic agreement and then the young woman spoke, “We prefer the term ‘classic’.” They smiled.


1/3

>>9474636

Chapter 1

The only group David disliked more than androids was black people. Perhaps it was a carryover from his father or perhaps it was based on his experiences. It’s not exactly as if he spent the majority of his days spouting “Fucking bots!” or “Goddamn niggers!”, but he definitely harbored a sizable resentment toward them both. Despite that, he maintained amiable friendships with persons of both demographics. In fact, his best friend—an android—was with him in his apartment this very second.
It was an almost surprisingly cozy apartment in the greatest city on Earth, New York, NY. That was an old phrase “The greatest city on Earth”, because it could be argued the new greatest city was an android settlement which was created a few thousand miles between the orbits of the moon and Mars. Fairly few humans lived in NYC any more. Few humans lived anywhere any more. The population of humans had dwindled down to two billion.

The distinct odor of cheap food and bad housekeeping lingered throughout David’s apartment. “What we can tell is given the geometric progression humans will be extinct in three generations.” “That’s grim, Bolts.” Bolts is what David had named Daniel, reflective of what he thought of all androids—a bucket of bolts. “Those are just the facts.” Daniel said listlessly as he rummaged through the sizable home library before him. The android deftly picked out a book. “You actually read this?” “Which one is that?” “El Ingenioso Hildago Don Quixote De La Mancha.” “Nope.” “Then why do you have it?” “I read a summary and liked it. I hope to read it some day.” Daniel raised his chin, nodded his head and uttered “Fair.”
“See here’s the problem, Bolts. Your good friend Mr. Carbon hopes to have little Carbons some day, so it’d be awfully sucky if this disease catches up to him.” ‘Carbon’ was Daniel’s nickname for David, meant to be a pejorative for carbon-based life forms. It was a nickname used sparingly and one that David remarked “doesn’t quite have the same sting to it”. “Why haven’t you guys found a cure yet? Use your super brains to concoct a serum or something.” “It’s nice to see you have faith in us for once, but we’re robots, not gods. These things take time.” “Betcha a human scientist cures it first.” “Maybe so. At any rate, if you’re looking to father some children you will need a mother.” “Gee thanks, Bolts. I missed that day in class.” “Well as far as girlfriends go it’s a wasteland around here.”

2/3

David sunk into his couch some more. “Look, I’ve been on dates. I date. It’s just been a while, I have other things on my mind.” “Yeah, like what?” “I’m going to write a book. The greatest book. I’ve already decided. It’s all about the legacy. I’ll have adoring children who’ll get to remember their dad as the author of the greatest book of all time.” “Baby steps. Have you tried lovematch?” “Hell no, Bolts. I’m not leaving love up to some algorithm. Not even the greatest genius could write an equation which predicts the future of relationships.” “We have an 83% success rate in matching human couples. Humans were at a mere 50% before we came along. Random chance.” “I’d rather flip a coin.” “Look where that’s gotten you.” David feigned a wince. “Well struck, your Grace.” “Your Grace?” “Ha ha, it’s a Game of Thrones reference.” David was fond of making references rarely anyone else knew. “We’ve been friends all this time and you haven’t seen Game of Thrones? For shame.” “You’re getting off topic.” “Fine, geez! I’ll do it. Yeesh.” And that was that.

3/3

>>9469020
Overall I liked it. I felt something reading it, something relatable, which was nice. A few suggestions:

instead of
> at the lot of where I worked
consider these
> at the lot outside of my work. (if they work in a building adjacent to the lot)
> at the lot where I worked. (if they literally work on the lot, ie, a car dealership)

>short line that is our lives
the above sounds a little cliche. you don't have to change the idea, just say it in a way that is fresh.

consider dropping the off in
>the charm broke off

General note:
The ending is a little depressing, but maybe that's what you're going for. But it doesn't sell.

Benefit of the Goddamn Doubt
On the surface, Mycon was an irreverent and inconsistent man, I thought. A very irreverent man. Tax season was always difficult for me, because I envied the simple ease he carried around. When I asked him about his taxes, he said he had too many jobs this last year. And why start now when he still hadn’t done it last year, or the year before that. Indeed, why start now? Why ever start, and what will even happen if he doesn't? I didn't know, I just know mine were done and the anxiety was neatly hidden away until the next thing came up.
I glanced towards the end of the bed where he was now sitting, leaning over a sticky coffee table that held his computer monitor and tower, ashtray, four unused coasters, and just about everything except for coffee. He was doing something very intently. Shifting my weight, I saw he was scraping pieces of insoluble black gunk into a pile with a razor blade. He was always doing something like that. He sat off the edge of the bed, two shoes planted firmly on the bedroom floor. For a moment I saw the masculinity that was both effortless and unknown to him. He was doing that thing where you hold your breath while giving an important task all of your attention. Lifting the pile, he maneuvered it to his lap where there lay the brown paper casing of a recently dismembered cigarillo. He rolled for us a brown paper black gunk thing which I'm sure seemed completely ordinary to him at the time.
After the thing had been properly rolled and inspected, he set it down carefully on the stack of coasters and began to search his messy, clothes-covered room for a lighter. I looked back over at the TV.
"Are you a thinker, or a doer?" the deep infomercial voice asked whoever was listening.
Mycon replied with his own false, mocking bravado, "A doer, I think!" with a finger raised theatrically to the ceiling. I smiled easily and glanced at my lap, half embarrassed. Mycon was nice. He was nice to be around and that's what people didn't understand. He searched around for my approval, and not finding my eyes, turned back to his masterpiece.
"Do you want to hit this?" He was holding it up for me to see and the afternoon light came in through the window and shone very brightly on the whole thing. It was still wet with the spit used to seal it back together. Some dust particles, illuminated by the sunlight through the window, were dancing towards it and sticking to its wetness.
"I mean, I do. But you know the school could give me a UA at any time, " is all I could come up with.

>>9474727
"Ah, gotchagotchagotchagotcha. It's been a while so I didn't know," he trailed off at the end, talking to no one in particular. Mycon moved on from it quickly and took a hit off the black gunk thing. Bearing down, he held it in for quite some time.
His Valsalva maneuver reminded me of a young man I had encountered during my hospital residency. The man, who was to be married that weekend, was smoking pot with his friends and, bearing down while taking a hit, collapsed his lung. After coming in to the emergency room he got the normal treatment, a chest tube. Unfortunately, the medical resident placing the tube overshot the collapsed space and pierced the lung, opening up a tract between the lung and the pleural space outside of it. The man eventually left the hospital, but was forbidden from air travel for two weeks, and consequently missed his wedding.
The TV shut off automatically. I blinked, and found Mycon was now playing a game on his computer.
"Where's that girl, uhh," I trailed off. "What's her name?"
Between the clicking of buttons he offered, "Nora?"
"Yeah, is she still around? She was in nursing school right?"
"Uhh, I guess. Yeah she's going to be a nurse when she grows up," he said with a distracted, lazy irony.
"She didn't mind all that shit I gave her about nurses? I was just trying to help her out."
He gave a perfunctory wave. "Nah man, you're all good. You were just fuckin' around." He didn't really answer me, so I figured that meant she didn't really like me. I had given her a bunch of Oh, we hate it when they do this. We make fun of the ones that do that kind of stuff. Mycon didn't care, but it kind of sucks that's where I am with his girl. Well, I'm that way sometimes. I can be that way.

>>9474732
sorry the formatting is all fucky

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>>9474642
>>9474646
I like the dialogue but don't understand the premise. If both of these characters dislike each other, why are they still friends? They put their hatred behind in the name of friendship?

or do they plan to hurt eachother?

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This is a little weird to put up because it's a bit like self-promotion, but I managed to write for money for the first time for a small online mag, but I want to get feedback other than friends and family saying "good job"
It's about British Columbia's provincial election, but I wrote it to point at way broader political themes, so it's pretty accessible. Basically all you need to know specifically is that the BC NDP is the province's ostensible"left" party, and John Horgan is the party leader.
http://pilcrowmagazine.com/articles/the-politicians-have-all-been-replaced-with-consumer-appliances

>>9473847
Adjusting a rifle can mean several things. He could be rotating his shoulder to adjust how it's slung. He could be occasionally pulling the bolt back a short way to do a brass jack and make sure it's loaded. He could be paranoid to the point that he keeps pointing the firearm in different places. He could be adjusting to double-check that his optic is adjusted to the right distance, or his rear sight is adjusted to the right elevation. It could mean many things. If you're going to show, then show, but 'keeps adjusting the rifle' could give many different potential visuals to different potential readers.

https://pastebin.com/v3JA4wCA
Wanna enter a short story contest so help me win money please.

>>9474714
And that was /r/books everybody!

[a few sardonic claps, Gryllidae]

'But it doesn't sell.' doesn't sell. Like, woah.

>>9467109
>>9473001
Thanks again yr man.

For this story, my focus is plot really, rather than some stylistic experiment. When I was quite young, I met an older Dutch-ess. After a while, she began to feel, I suppose, a little ashamed - she was fucking a boy by most standards. But we still travelled, and had some interesting conversations late at night and horny, but the physicality had gone down to positively motherly. It was my first experience with how different sex is between a man and a woman. I started to feel this sheer alien presence wet up between us, and my adolescent mind couldn't fathom how to swim across it. So we'd lie close to eachother and speak about it slowly, with one guiding the other.

Anyway, I'd forgotten about that for a while but then, similar things happened to my ex - who I'd fuck beautiful every time we met.

And in both instances, I'd start to respect the girl/woman more. I began to feel the vulnerable one. So, in both instances, I did everything to seduce them again. It made me think, that a story, where at one glance the man is the charmer, but at a deeper level, he's a defiler, would be interesting.

The plot is simply these two people eating and walking the town. They go to a church and see a crying nun. The woman notices a bump. Later, they head back to the clocktower at the square. They see the nun climbing up, but they're quite drunk at this point and think nothing. They have dinner at the square and the woman reveals she wants a baby. The boy all but proposes to her (but really, is thinking only one night ahead) and at the confirmation that, yes, they will fuck again, the nun splats herself a few metres from the table, staining the whole square and flicking a drop of blood upon the girl.

Writing it out, I've realized it's quite Catholic. Do you think the plot is tired? I think I could hash it out in five or four pages (probably more considering the dialogue) and let the sexual tension and frustration fuel most of it.

Firstly, well done, getting published anywhere is a tremendous achievement. Secondly, it's a good article, you can relax.

There are, of course, some things I wouldn't write, or think could be written, but they're small - 4chan isn't letting me past your article over however, you used a semi-colon for an internal clause.

But these are just gripes. If I had one issue with your article -- which is good -- it's a slightly bizarre pacing and grammar. I think you should focus on clarity, clarity, clarity next time because your mind is obviously abuzz. I like the frantic pace you're going for, but going for that, require the clearest mind of all.

Your paragraph on our fear of human imperfection and fetishisation of machine like perfection was my favorite part of your article. That was well expressed and linked back to your point easily.

Well done anon.

>>9475617

You seem a little hostile for critique thread, friend.

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>>9474303
Couple of questions, 1) what is the difference between Lexical Diversity and Personal Vocab Diversity?, 2) Is Pinecone #3 still coming? Big fan

>>9475917
Sorry, this was for you: >>9474942
>>9475033
This is good but short. Too short to really call it good but it isn't bad. You're line on lips can and should be shorter. It's a good observation but drawn out.

Good luck.

>>9474727
Firstly, I'd set your first line as "On the surface, I thought, Mycon was an irreverent and inconsistent man", really, just "inconsistent" actually, it's too long otherwise. I think your prose segments are too long in general, they should be shortened. If you're going to do action scenes, do them quickly. But if you're going to focus on the action scenes of something very small, do it in a sentence.

You're dialogue, on the other hand, and sense of character, is very good. Really damn good.

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>>9475937
You seem a bit too... Uh... Whatever man, like just, damn it. Meet me by the bike rack after class, we'll see who's hostile then.

>>9475978

I'm a little stoned (hahahaha, some loser is bragging about weed on the internet, hit 'em with the brilliantly sarcastic memes) so at first I really thought this was a response to the story i posted, and i was very confused but intrigued as to what you meant and how you were subtly critiquing the story lol.

>>9474247
https://pastebin.com/wbjVmMdJ

>>9474319

reposting this as a "pastebin" link because I see several pastebin links but no other booksie links, maybe its a rule that it has to be pastebin? I dunno man, I'm pretty fucking lazy, I really don't want to bog myself down in rules of a critique thread. I'm not gonna keep spamming the same story, i promise.

https://pastebin.com/raw/PzsFF44R


it's really better to read on booksie though, so you get the font changes and whatnot...

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>>9476015
Brah that was like ~totally~ meant for yr story, I accidentally inhaled a bunch of what I think is ground up morning glory seeds or angel dust, and wow my nose is bleeding...

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>>9476100

F A R O U T T T T T T T T T T T T T

>>9476100
Morning glory seeds are lovely, a pure combination of drunken acid.

>>9474912
The android (Daniel) has no hatred at all. David is just fairly prejudiced against robots, but it's a cognitive dissonance thing with David. It's like thing where people claim to not be racist because they have a black friend. They get along fine but David constantly rags on him and Daniel for the most part just bears the abuse in the name of friendship (he's a kind-hearted android).

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I hope you have the time to read this carefully crafted letter of fiction, friends.

I would call through the shade on this beautiful summer day and say,
“Come on in boys, it’s time for your bath.”
and they would come.
My little man, my little soldier, not a month over seven and he looks just like his mother.
My little man, my little soldier, following in his brother’s footsteps.
Already at age three and a quarter, and there he goes marching to the tune of his older brothers drum.
Brap-bap-pap
Brap-bap-pap
Slam goes the screen door as they run, skip, and stomp their way cross hardwood floors.
This has been three weeks without her.
To them, this is still a home. They play, they eat, they sleep, they love, and I watch them.
So much like his mother, I’d say.
I hear pounding at the bathroom door.
Steam billows from the lip of the tub.
I would unlock the bathroom door and peer down to meet their eyes with hugs, noogies, and kisses. So sweet, the unconditional love of a child can be. Whether or not I was a good man does not matter to them, neither if I was cruel or nice. Just as long as I exist is all that matters to them, just as long as they have arms to run into.
I would ask them to strip off their clothes and place them in the laundry basket. One article by one, they would unmask themselves ‘till their bodies stand freshest pink.
“One at a time,” I’d say.
To them, this is still a home, but to me this is a nightmare. What was once a home is now a collection of memories to stub my mind’s toe; a stinging reminder that the love of my life is gone, and won’t be coming back. I can see her shape in the recess of the king sized mattress, I can smell her perfume in the sheets.
My older boy goes in first, he makes a point that it’s his right since he’s the oldest. I hoist him in and he submerges his head beneath the once placid water.
The youngest boy pushes his little body against mine and embraces me at my side.
“I love you, Daddy.”
He says in his still learning tongue,
“I love you too, Son.”
I reply.
The physical manifestation of her can be seen in the oldest boys smile as he rockets out of the underneath. I could swear it was her in him as he looks up at me.
“Papa, I like it better when you’re ain’t at work. I wish you’d stay like, here with us like this forever and ever.”
“I know, me too.”
What arms do I run into? To whom can I fall and embrace to remind me that there is a pasture that is greener? I won’t be going back to work, I’ve used all my sick days and they’ve let me go, so I’m trapped here. Trapped with the constant reminder that she’s gone. This knell will never be knolled.
I look to the youngest, “Can you please go to my room and get me a towel from the closet?”
He nods his head and pitters his little feet from the near soft thud of carpet, to the distant patter of hardwood.
I stand and close the door to the bathroom, shifting the old lock to a clack.
And I’m reminded that the love of a child is unconditional.

>>9476558
I wrote this for a creative writing paper. I had to write a scene that built tension and then stopped at the most tense part.

The snow is cold. On surface glow
Of sun, that dies in many eyes
Of man. Again! So many times
I tried to find the one, who knows
Why are you such a stupid dog

>>9476574
Still hot garbage.

>>9476859
LOL how tho. I'd really like to know how to improve.

>>9467109
Hey, could I also get a critique? I've been writing a lot recently, but none of it has been good, and I'm considering giving up. I'll also give critiques to others.

I can’t tell you when I started seeing them. I can’t tell you what they are. I can’t tell you if they’re real or not. All I know is that I see them, that they’re with me, and that they terrify me. They’re always there, whether I know it or not. They live in the holes between my sight, in the lonely shadows of a dark room, in my head during troubled sleep, and in the vacuums created in every blink. They never go away.

So what can I tell you?

The only thing that I really understand is how this all started, and even that gets a little fuzzy at times. I used to be normal, I used to be a functioning human being, but that was before that thing came. It’s unclear if it was inside me this entire time, if it’s the spawn of years of stressful living, or if it’s something entirely otherworldly. I did something I never should have. I set it free, and now I’m paying for it. It has taken over my life. I share my head with something else entirely, and it’s killing me. There’s nowhere left for me to go, and there's no escape, so the only thing left for me to do is tell my story, in one final effort to give my life some meaning.

>>9476867
g

>>9473814
You don't need the very first comma. Should be "two tiny wheels."

>>9476899

I've been trying to post a long reply explaining why your writing wasnt garbage but that it needed some finetuning, but it wont post. it keeps saying connection error. i tried to post just "g" to see if it was because my post was too long.....guess it was....so ill try posting insegments i guess?

>>9476867

Anon is either shitposting, or his critique is garbage. your writing is not garbage. it does need some tuning. There are spots where I start to feel reader's fatigue, and I can't imagine it as literature in those moments, but only some anon's writing on /lit

>>9476867
Look at your dialogue. Try to avoid mentioning the deceased wife whatsoever. I got the message of a single father struggling, i don't need any further exposition of that, at least not for the purpose of the scene.

>>9474611
i put this in a pastebin if that helps anyone
https://pastebin.com/90xgyRdt
pls help

>>9476859
Looks at your dialogue. "you're aint" seems like a weird phrase, but the more i hear it in a child's voice, the more realistic it seems.

Try to avoid mentioning the deceased wife whatsoever. I got the message of a single father struggling, i don't need any further exposition of that, at least not for the purpose of the scene. . take out any part where the little kid says something along the lines of "I wish you could stay, like, forever.." and use of "like" that way seems off putting. If the kid is little enough to have his father running his bath and stuff, he's too little to talk like that.
I don't feel tension in this scene though, really

>>9476553
Why did you write this?

>>9476558
I enjoyed it, but someone the language feels awkward, like "Stubbing the mind's toe" and "still learning tongue"

>>9476971
Why what is the problem? I'm going to write 1 million more words of it

>>9476867
Read the meme trilogy.

tiny url
/m2j8k2m

critique these poems fellow anons.

>>9476639
lolwut?

>>9476927
You're

Reader's fatigue

Can't imagine it as literature

Only some anon

Doooooooooooooooshche Chillsz

>>9477065

I tried to guess what you were replying to before i clicked on the link to my post from earlier.

My guess was wrong.

"I am sorry but could you please look at me"

I looked at his face.

His face was ugly. He was fat and the fatness covered his face. He had a double chin that was pathetically covered by whiskers sprouting from his pores. There was a bright red acne scar on his forehead. He must have been at least 30.

I made eye contact with him.

"Do you know why I asked you to come and speak with me today ?"

I said that I did not.

"We are concerned about your work habits our system says that Personalized Expenditure Normalized Individual Status has declined by 32.98328943492%"

There was an awkward silence

He them mentioned that he just made up everything after the first decimal.

This was a joke.

Neither of us laughed.

He cleared his throat. His double chin jiggled it reminded me of being a young kid and hitting a bit of my mother's fresh pudding with my spoon.

"Do you know why this might be ?"

I said no, then I said that I might have had stress outside of work, it was difficult to concentrate, did I have trouble with a partner, well no I've been single for..., is a family member ill, well no but...

I ran through all the excuse. None of them seemed to impress him. Could I cry ? I am not a girl and this shitty warehouse job isn't worth it. I noticed there was a silence.

He cleared his throat again. His double chin jiggled again. This time I thought of a porno where the girls butt jiggles as she is fucked in the ass. I got a boner.

He let me leave the office after promising to work agree to a try to work harder.

When I got back, my coworker asked if I was given the boot in the behind.

I said no.

Work finished in two hours. I went home, I got a beer from the fridge, I turned on the television, I fell asleep holding a half drunk can of bud with the sound of some sitcom in the background.

>>9477065

I actually don't know/remember what i meant by "only some anon's writing"

Old Mary

Old Mary pours her dishwater
Over the top of her wild roses
And has done ever since the
Local council banned hoses
Still the sprinklers churn and spit
Far and wide across the Royal grounds
Does Old Mary get her taxes worth?
Few roses can be found.

>>9477255
Top critique lad.

>>9477813

Oh man you got me, 4chan

Troll harder faggot

Wilhelm knew he was at an immediate disadvantage, he had seen Millian in combat many times before.

First time was with a drunken swordsman making an ass of himself slashing up the storefronts sign and around chasing townsfolk only to immediately flying to the outskirts of the wood by a strong gust.

Second was an invasion of goblins. An hundred of small warriors ran through the town grabbing valuables and villagers, all to sell in the diverse black markets within [placeholder]. they met their ends swiftly, as the water of the lake took the form of human hands, appearing throughout every nook and cranny of the city. Pulling and dragging the hordes of goblins into the deeps of the lake.

Third the last time. The day the boy was found within the woods the remains of ancient demon reforming though it's right leg and arm was still rebuilding, recovering from some type of inflicted injury however what remains was virtually impervious to injury from weapons even magic it took the Wilhelm to first distract it and only then Millian was able to deal the killing blow a fireball aim directly at recovering spots allowing the explosion to reach the insides.

Form those encounters he applied his Templar training: always count a mage's spell time. Ten seconds was the amount time he was going to have to reach her form this distance, it was at the very least the minimal amount of time she needed to speak her spells into the world; past that time he could not expect to avoid whatever spell she would use to defeat him. He was also able to deduce her melee skills weren't up to par, for she need him to distract the demon at close in order to deal the finishing blow. But ten seconds is enough. Wilhelm felt confident he had enough speed to close the gap. But if he could get in range, what would he do then?


The gong rang. Wilhelm darted towards her. Mustering all his strength he moved faster than her lips could finish a spell. Six seconds was all it took; he was upon her, past her guard. Scenarios ran in his mind. He could remove staff out her hand forcing her to a quick surrender; without a physical conduit for magic one’s dark untold things happens to a mage, something a experienced mage such as Millian would be foolish to commit.

However, what happened if she decides to use magic without it? There's no doubt she would pay the heavy cost for victory; For what she believed was necessary to save her city. He could not take that risk. He had to get even closer, disrupt her words form cast a spell and finish the battle there. As he moved in closer towards her, it was that moment he realized he would lose. She indeed did have a faster spell. Instant Her body became large and reptilian, a form like that salamander, with the exception being wings. She became a dragon.

>>9475939
different words / total words

different words - most common words / total words

Pinecone 00003 is 95% done... just that last 5% that's not... put together...

Welcome to the first day of the rest of your suspension
You never do the right thing despite the best of your intentions
Attract the sum of all my hate despite the fact I failed to mention
Jesus Christ the savior was born of immaculate conception

That was the first rap I ever wrote. That’s right, it’s your boy, MC Pope. “I don’t slang dope but I does bring hope.” Tomorrow is Easter so I have to go to bed early. But I can’t. It‘s like Christmas for me. Well, Christmas is pretty big for me too, but this is Easter, yo! The day that put my man on the map! Everyone in history was born. That puts Christmas second best no matter what. Thanksgiving ain’t for Christians. Easter is the thing that sets Christ apart from all the other prophets who proclaimed themselves.

Tomorrow morning I have to go out there and put on a show. All eyes on me. Showtime! How do you balance the individual performance with the meaning of the day? It ain’t about me, and yet it is! You can see the dilemma I go through on days like these. Pomp and circumstance. I put on the hat, the robe, the shoes! Oh those shoes! Made by the finest Florentinian spinster and Milanian cobbler. Just for me! But actually, they do it for Christ. Very devout, the both of them.

I will slide in my slippers and go out to that balcony and bless the world in Christ’s name. He died for them and rose for them. Christ experienced death and suffering for everyone for all time. There was too much of that stuff before he went. God had to put a stop to it. The irony is that man gave it to him, as they continue to do. Man alone kills. Other animals hunt. Only once they cross some threshold of intelligence do they start to rape and kill rather than procreate and hunt. The latter is survival, the former an evil outcropping of the mind. The fanciful mind. The mind filled with pain and evil.

The Devil is real and he is the source of all evil. God created a perfect world. Man, with Satan’s doing, created evil. dEvil. There must be something in that. Never bothered to look at the etymology. At one point, some believed there was a dual God. A good one and an evil one. It makes sense on the surface. Evil seems to be just as powerful as good. Little do they realize, evil is banal while good is majestic and grand at all times. The smallest act of kindness is equal to the largest. Evil runs the gamut from small time crime to the complete destruction of a soul, of social order, of God’s creations. All evil is done by man’s hand. Is a volcanic eruption evil? It’s just the way things are. Is rape evil? Very much yes. It would not exist without a mind corrupted by sin.

His hands achored the wheel with an iron grip. Eyes flashed to the right, no cops, no sign of caution. He relaxed, flexed muscles now relieving themselves, three bags of heroin snuggly fit on the seat they rested on. He gathered his breath, just what the hell was he doing?

After a beat, he dragged his palms across his face, and felt the beads of sweat smearing on his cheeks. The smell of burnt rubber and exhaust permeating the air around him. Now drunk on the high of exhilaration he put the three bags in the glove box and stepped out of the vehicle. Memories of blood and tears soaked his mind. Another drag of the palms and his mind was dried. Another day, another dollar.

I dislike passive voice.

>>9478095
'His hands gripped the wheel.' would be bett... oh wow, this is just a shitpost isn't it...

>>9478101
The passive voice is looked down upon.

The more I wait on someone to review my shit, the more I realize holy shit I don't want any of you to review my shit.

You're all fucking idots lol.

and I'm the biggest idiot of all, what the fuck am I doing here?

Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I wonder what would James Joyce think if he could read this thread...

The inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.

>>9478131

to who?

>>9478136
It's a shakespeare quote, you retard...

>>9478143
LOL

>>9477250
Trying to hard to be disconnected comes across as boring. Your metaphor on the mother's pudding was good.

“Look around you, Jeremiah, nothing here will bend or bow to your human will; your membership is rejected. You are dead.” Now his eyes, had they any life in him, would have bulged as he spoke. Instead, they lay flat within the emaciated skull of his corpse. ”You died last night, when they brought you in here. You might notta known it, but those officers were your angels, removin’ your lifeline, pullin’ your plug.” He spit on the floor. “The rest of this, here, now, these are for-mal-i-ties.” For a moment, his pitiful posture seemed to straighten, and the dark hollows of his eyes mustered a twinkle, and the thin wisps upon his otherwise bare head were growing full and blonde. “Welcome to the dance.”

CRASH! Pancakes: never retrieved.

>>9478164

The use of capital letters at the beginning is very effective. I was startled by it

And to follow that interjection with the heartache of lost pancakes,perhaps of the bana variety?

What are you trying to say, anon? You seem so angry and raw, and yet I'm getting the sense theres another side, that the anger is just leading to some eventual inner-self?

>>9478164
Wow! is there more??

>>9478164
Holy... I want baby shoes

this thread gets weird at night

File: ÷÷.jpg (29KB, 250x357px) Image search: [Google]

29KB, 250x357px

>>9476077
Preposition Ratio: 9.66 % ← Dynamic!

Zombie Nouns:
exhaustion
seclusion
punctuation
synchronization
recollection
vision
escalation
recognition
impression
discretion
comprehension
conversation
realization
attention
intention
omission
decision
succession
reception
perfection
inscription
collision
destination
division
collection
delusion
description
accumulation
concoction
inspiration
passion
satisfaction
repetition
percussion
situation
desperation
intimidation
simplicity
clarity
security
actuality
activity
productivity
accountability
sublimity
reality
profanity
familiarity
criticism

Lexical Diversity: 28.87 %

Content Carrying Words: 57.34 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 49.83 %

Longest Words: uncharacteristically, underappreciated

Way to dump way too much. Was there something you actually wanted an opinion on?

>I'm lazy

>Doesn't care what's easy for us to read

>Not going to spam
>Spams

>Font changes
Worry about writing well, fuckface

>>9476077
>https://pastebin.com/raw/PzsFF44R
I'm sorry but this is fucking terrible, jesus christ.

>>9478288
Are you using an app?

>>9478303
You really have to see it with the different fonts. I use them to represent the cycle of seasons, months, and days.

File: Capture.png (39KB, 604x606px) Image search: [Google]

39KB, 604x606px

>>9478314

>>9478315
Anon it's just poor writing. There's no clarity, no sense of scene, the narrator is a jackass and you're trying to hard to be different without knowing the basics.

The fonts or the cycle of seasons or months or whatever will not redeem what is a fundamentally broken piece. If you don't accept what you have written is bad you will never write anything good. I'm sorry to be the barer of bad news but your current story - written in times new roman or blue comic sans - is shit.

>>9478326
You mad genius, is that piece of work on GitHub?

>>9478326
Yoooo that's soooo cool.

>>9478326
can i steal this for a second

>>9478164
kek

>>9478024
Anyone's thoughts? When I get home im going to comment on a few stories myself.

>>9478361
Don't write about goblins.

>>9478344
No

>>9478350
If you know how to run it(?)

>>9478333
That's where your wrong. Obviously you didn't read it. It's lietrally the best thing I've ever written.

File: 1st Person View-page-001.jpg (416KB, 1240x1754px) Image search: [Google]

416KB, 1240x1754px

>>9470206 Same anon here
>>9470353 Thanks for the critique, I'll try what I can, but I often don't get what to add and what not to add.

I tried it again in 1st person view this time, can someone tell me if this is ok?

>>9478503
It's not ok. Stop posting this trash. Why are you here? Posting this? It's not like we don't want to read quality stuff... you know you didn't put much effort into this. Sure you can delude yourself a little bit, but it's really obvious. WORK HARDER.

>>9478486
i think i can figure out how to run it if thats ok with u
i dont want to hurt ur feelings or anything

>>9478510
I try senpai, I try. I wouldn't post if I didn't try.
But you're right, I can always work harder. It's just I don't know what that means anymore.

I llove it to read book

>>9478538
You need to fight against your instinct to write terribly. It's the only way. Study what good authors do.

>>9478288

I just came. Thanks, friend.

>>9478333

That wasn't me you were replying to,but damn anon. Your words hit home and I understand what you're saying alota better than "lexical diversity" or whatever

I think your words are true

Also your opinion is shit, this story rules.

Feel free to take it up the ass if you get a chance YA BIG JERK


:(

>>9467109
Don't know if I'm delusional or not, please critique me.

Next patient! yelled the harping bitch.
I was already angry before I came to the DMV, this cunt was going to make me lose it.
Can I help you young man? Said the worker.
Yeah, you can help me. Some thugs broke into my god damn car last night and stole my dri-
AYY, you put your drivers license in the front row seat?
F....
Lashanda, this kid put his drivers license in the car seat, can you believe that? AND THEY wonder why we have so many people here at the DMV, cause stupid'ass suburban boys like him don't know how drive?

I was livid. This nigger was going to get it.

Listen up porch monkey, I've served my time in the US military and I've had it up to---

Ahh hell no, you've had it up to your scruffy ass nose hair pokin' out of your sweaty ass face, boo. Callin' me a porch monkey, you should shave that sloth crawlin all over your face, put on a clean t-shirt cause you forgot to wipe that cracka ass potatoes off of that crack'a ass shirt, how about that?

I've fucking had it, all my lif--

all ya fuckin life and you probably killed some innocent brown boys throwin some dirt'n shirt, ya f--

This was the breaking point, she disrespected my being.

I pulled out my concealed carry and lit her up like a hot air balloon, everyone began screaming, a man who decided to be brave ran up to me, I pivoted around and nestled my shoulder into the wooden guest counter behind me and took position..

'Fuckin was a whitey too, all I wanted to do was kill a n...

POW

POW

POW

WE GOT HIM! Everyone calm down...


end scene

>>9478629
If English is your 2nd language... why are you posting your writing on the LITERATURE board?

>>9478630
Read this aloud (quietly) to yourself.

>>9478288

OH SHOULD I HAVE POSTED IT IN SMALLER PARTS? MY BAD

>>9478333

Fuck you I posted a second link just because I saw people were all usin' it and I thought that because of that you know

>>9478630
nah, fuck that shit

keep trying though!

>>9478655

This is like an owners manual to a cosmic dildo

>>9478303

well that's just, like, your opinion, man...

>>9467175
>open a critique thread for the first time in a week or so
>told myself i'd stop coming to these because everything is awful and it's not worth the time
>this is the first post i read
I'm already out. I feel physically and mentally violated after reading that abomination of a sentence.

>>9478666

WAIT!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST WAIT, ANON!!!!!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

>>9478644
You kind of dumped it on us. If you had a paragraph you wanted help with... thats be easier to work with.

>>9478660
My sides

>>9478657
>>9478636

scene 1 : perversion of an asexual demigod

Hey... I like the way you're looking tonight Xe.. 'Za said with a sly smirk on his face.

You know, I'm never been into people in general, but I really enjoy how you look tonight... Can I see your bare ass, Xe? I just want to.. scrape my tongue up and down the sour dead skin in between your bratty butt-cheeks. I can smell the moisture from here and I'm not even inside of you yet, like a savory sour patch kid.

Oh my god 'za, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Xe screeched, she ran for the door in a way that only could've been sparked by male privilege..

Oh no... 'Xe I'm not letting you leave.

Za ran for the door, getting there first because he's a man and his body is more capable of bursting movements.

'' I'm smelling that sour patch ass, and not just with my nose, my earthworm wants a taste too ''

Please, 'Za you know I only like woman. I'm gay, please stop.

Xe... I'm gender fluid.

End scene

How about that?

>>9478712
Scene 2

'Za looked at Xe in a way that could only be born from a phallic phobia, terrified but voraciously interested.

You want my veiny, testosterone filled muscular cock... You've wanted it since you started blogging on Tumblr, Xe... I can smell the wetness running down your swollen pig belly pussy.

''I want to lick you down to the placenta, whore. I have an appetite for candy and those butt-cheeks are the printing press of skittles ''

Fuuuuuck! 'Za screamed as the barbarians in Tristram do, Griswold would be proud. His major league hairy ball-connected cock tore through his tighty-whities, not through the center but was so erect it made it's own hole.

The last time your ass had a promper pounding was the day after you went to that Chinese buffet, Xe!

..Wh..why are you so quiet?

'Za... I want all of you!

End scene

>>9478712
>>9478735

Do you guys want more?

https://pastebin.com/90xgyRdt
guys please i need someone to read my steaming pile of shit

>>9478699

Yeah, I'm sorry I wasn't even thinking

>>9478740

I can't decide. Surprise us.

>>9478303

You're the first person to really get it

I love you

>>9478660
This is the funniest post in the thread.

>>9478804
>>9478827
It's a close call.

Critic my podcast. There's a part two to this one.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vf1dJibn7GQ

hey /crit/ how do you learn to handle large volumes of harsh criticism?

A while back a story I was really passionate about got some pretty overwhelming bad criticism and every attempt I made to fix it just made things worse. I ended up quitting

Recently I tried writing again but I couldn't commit to anything. When I tried writing that thing I was passionate about I got through one sitting before coming back to it and being so ashamed and repulsed by my own poor quality that I clawed at my face and tried to tear tufts of my hair.

Creating something meaningful is so important to me that I will commit suicide if I am forced give up, but I clearly won't be able to if this is what criticism does to me.

So how do I do it? How do I learn to take criticism?

>>9478848
Ask yourself..

Do people hate my work because I'm boring or uninteresting?

Or..

Do people simply hate my style of writing?

You might have a style of writing that only a small percentage of people around the world are into. And that's okay, write for them and find that specific group.

Or.. your writing could be sleep-aid. You need to figure out if you're just unable to pull anyone in because all of your characters are un-likeable or is it just your style.

so if it's your style, keep on writing and putting out books even though 90 percent of people hate it. your books will be out there forever.

someone will understand and love it... only if it's just your style they dislike

if you're simply an exhaustingly uninteresting writer then try to get better

show some examples?

People need to understand there's only so much you can get form critiques. Our stylistic basises always dominate what enjoy. DESU 4chan isn't the greatest place to post too because our stylistic choices can be quite different from the norm. For example, Harry Potter and Twilight sold almost a billion copies way higher the fairly-considered classics books; that just goes to show you how extreme stylistic basises can differ.

>>9478053
What's the cutoff/criteria for most common words? And I hope that last 5% is a new site

>>9478848
Are you writing fantasy novels? All the fantasy novels written here are bad, they're normally just autistic and laborious and full of genre tropes and cliches. They might be good to a certain extent, but they're not warmly received here.

Are you writing "serious" fiction? That's much harder, you can't expect to shit out a Hemmingway with your first effort. All the fine writers understood that writing well is a process of mistakes that you build on. So if you're seeing the weakness in your writing that's a sign that you're ready to improve, not about to destruct. What you need to do is read more, and, really, live more. Good writing has the hall mark of a well-remembered experience, a few key details that trigger powerful memories.

If you feel comfortable, post a little of your work. I promise I won't berate you (ignore the one shitposter here who's just being ironic he's quite obvious to spot) and I'll try my best to help you step by step.

Don't focus on writing some fantastically brilliant piece dripping with meaning - that's not life. Just write a natural piece that's poignant to you, not some judicious reader you seem to be terrified of now. And, Christ, be forgiving. It's the only way to get past a bump.

>>9479867
You could start by not being all judgmental and start rating people already posted.

>>9479919
I've criticized about six or seven posts in this thread. I read most of the pieces here but only review the ones that aren't poetry (I don't write poetry) or have at least some potential / something obviously wrong and redeemable.

>>9467109
Will post my critiques in another thread.

The Morning Sun rose over the horizon, filling the light-blue dawn with infant sunlight. The initial stages of sunrise were intense with the overwhelming effervescence associated with many beginnings—the bubbly exclamations of babies, the energetic movements of fawns. After a few minutes of fanfare, the day's commencement ended with the Sun completely rising above the horizon, and collecting all of its light from the clouds into an unobtrusive yet clearly present orb, so that its ubiquitous light may reveal the landscape of Earth without blinding its inhabitants.

The neighborhood moved to life soon after the sunrise. Bob Tackett pulled his car out of his driveway and drove onto the highway, followed by the departure of Nancy Hertz and Jack King. Cars left the neighborhood in groups of two and five and three, all separated by five to ten minute intervals of denizens shaving, brushing and dressing themselves before walking to their cars.

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>>9479972
Imagine a sunrise - what do you see? Pretty much every sunrise ever. You don't need fifty words to prod you along, especially when you immediately splinter into tangential and largely unrelated imagery that moves away from what you are initially trying to describe. Even, when you imagine the word "sunrise" you have a connotation of heat, colour, time, beginning -- you don't need to tell the reader about them, he will have a natural idea because he's seen a sunrise every morning.

So why would I care about the sunrise when just the word would suffice for the image in my head? Just a word and an adjective would have been better than all of that diatribe you've produced because your immediate effect is only to bore me.

You could literally re-write your entire opening in a sentence and have all the dramatic and visual effect. Your second paragraph is better but still wordy - cars leaving the neighbourhood in their various numbered groups is autistic not artistic detail.

Try and rewrite your piece in one sentence, and for God's sake, post your critiques here you procrastinating slack.

>>9480170
Yeah but I don't feel like posting critiques now senpai. Maybe in a few years.

>>9480345
Don't be so easily defeated. If you want to be a writer accept that there's a lot of bad writing that's necessary to get there. You wrote two flawed paragraphs, you could do them ten times better in ten minutes. Try and take my advice on board and be as brief as humanly possible in your next take.

The station wagons arrived at noon, a long shining line that coursed through the west campus. In single file they eased around the orange I-beam sculpture and moved toward the dormitories. The roofs of the station wagons were loaded down with carefully secured suitcases full of light and heavy clothing; with boxes of blankets, boots and shoes, stationery and books, sheets, pillows, quilts; with rolled-up rugs and sleeping bags; with bicycles, skis, rucksacks, English and Western saddles, inflated rafts. As cars slowed to a crawl and stopped, students sprang out and raced to the rear doors to begin removing the objects inside; the stereo sets, radios, personal computers; small refrigerators and table ranges; the cartons of phonograph records and cassettes; the hairdryers and styling irons; the tennis rackets, soccer balls, hockey and lacrosse sticks, bows and arrows; the controlled substances, the birth control pills and devices; the junk food still in shopping bags--onion-and-garlic chips, nacho thins, peanut creme patties, Waffelos and Kabooms, fruit chews and toffee popcorn; the Dum-Dum pops, the Mystic mints.

>>9480415
Good. I enjoyed your list as it specified more and more specialist objects.

There's nothing objectively wrong with what you've posted though, of course, there's not much you have posted. I'd be interested in reading more.

>>9478288
what script is this? can you pastebin or github link it

>>9480375
How do yu get "defeated" from >>9480345

he just said he doesn't wanna post critiques

don't put words in people's mouths.

>>9480479

That's the what-the-fuck critique of my story, powerhouse. It's blowing my mind. the only reason I posted here was to get that dude to reply lol. It took like 2 days or something before I finally busted my nut

>>9480479

Oh you mean like. whats the....html stuff? haha i dunno partner.....

>>9478848
all good stories have a coherent, consistent logical structure; a 'bad' story is one that usually lacks some critical element or does not develop well on such an element. most criticism of early drafts is with regard to structural issues.

people will criticize you for being a lazy author. when you finish the first draft, come back to it however long later and read it again, asking yourself; "why is this scene/sentence in here? does it add anything?", "am i communicating my point as clearly as possible?", "is <something> 'justified'?", "what is the narrative direction of this piece?"

not doing this to your work makes you a lazy author; if its obvious to most people that your work hasn't been thought through, you'll be harshly critiqued. if youve made an effort to address these questions first, critique will be more specific and help you find flaws where you might not have seen them.

tl;dr : do your work on your story first, before posting it for critique. the feedback youll get will be more constructive and encouraging.

also, every writer gets shaken to the balls by scathing critique. accept it and move on. youll get better.
oh, and if your text isn't an actual story, noone is going to want to read it.

>>9480488
wtf are you talking about. im asking what computer program/script was used in this analysis to determine the word count and categorizations. no one is autistic enough to do that by hand, i hope.

>>9480524

refer to the other reply

>>9480531

..or...defer? i dunno man

>>9480484
I assumed by "now" the anon meant he was upset after the criticism, and by "a few years" he was quite disheartened.

And, largely, anyone would be. I just wanted the anon to know that giving up would be silly, and engaging in writing (be it creative or critical) is the best response than to just "wait a few years".

>>9480519
samefag as ^

last year i ran a story at a workshop for the first time. it was personal and i was nervous about it, and though the prose was good, the story and dialogue got torn to shit. i felt naseous afterwards and quite ashamed.

receiving critique of your work is a painful process when you're starting out. as a new writer, its hard to know what to think of your own work. read about craft and pay attention to the critiques you get. as you get more experience, youll develop a better sense of whether your work is good or not. this means when you share it, the criticism will be more helpful than discouraging.

you need to accept that honest criticism is of what you wrote and not what you are. and realize that every writer, not even the published and successful, but *especially* the successful writers, have had their works critiqued again and again until they erased most flaws.

>>9480488
yr man is a regular on the /crit/ threads, the script is new, but you can always recognize him, he's been here for ages.

He's my favorite avatar-fag. I'm no /g/ but whatever he posted in that log is enough to make the script for yourself.

>>9477561
I like this but probably only for ideological reasons.

"SOC" My mind, is running amock. I don't know what to do with myself. I feeling weak, but of mind not of body. I don't know what to do. Last night, for the first time, I am beginning to feel my age but cloudy is my mind.

>>9480593
go teetotal for a week

Really? Why?

"SOC" Am running on my Insecurities, am sad, never have I felt defeated but I hope this is only for the moment. I want to change my self but where to I start. Maybe I all ready change but my mind's eye is blind to it. Moving like a sloth, I don't know what to change. Feeling down, not even my friends give me comfort.

"SOC"I look at hope as a double edge sword. But I don't want to look at hope as this. Hope is a distance ally, quiet one hope is. I want to cast hope away from me.

Last one. It's part of a short story am writing.

>>9480653
You can start with getting of 4chan and running a warm bath - not the kind you kill yourself in either, the one's with nice soap and good music, with a radio or speaker. out of falling distance.

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>>9478848
>>hey /crit/ how do you learn to handle large volumes of harsh criticism?

By not deluding yourself.

>>A while back a story I was really passionate about got some pretty overwhelming bad criticism and every attempt I made to fix it just made things worse. I ended up quitting

As you should. If you're good, you know you're good.

>>Recently I tried writing again but I couldn't commit to anything. When I tried writing that thing I was passionate about I got through one sitting before coming back to it and being so ashamed and repulsed by my own poor quality that I clawed at my face and tried to tear tufts of my hair.

Pathetic.

>>Creating something meaningful is so important to me that I will commit suicide if I am forced give up, but I clearly won't be able to if this is what criticism does to me.

>if I am forced give up

>>So how do I do it? How do I learn to take criticism?

>if I am forced give up

if I am forced give up

>>9481985
A couple of things

>In the end of it all, we're random people on the internet who go on a website like 4chan to share our writings. We aren't really qualified to say much. And some people on here are absolute assholes, so I mean, who gives a fuck about them.

>Try to find the message in it. If someone's being rude about how they say something, try to find out what they thought was wrong (like a specific thing, for instance dialogue), and tell yourself (kindly) you need to work on dialogue.

I also lost a lot of wanting to write bc I looked back at my writing and thought it was trash. If you want we can swap and I'll help you out with your writing and you can help me out with mine. I have some level of credibility from personal experience, so I can somewhat help.

>>9482596
I think this is for:
>>9478848

pt.1

A very articulate silence veiled the entire town. The loudest lack of sound one could ever imagine themselves hearing in a place such as this. Where there should have been the going about of busy people in a busy place, there was nothing. Of course, the sound of trees rustling and the occasional chirp made their way into fruition, but they did little to encumber the void of what had filled the air only a few days earlier. A silence that gnawed at the ears was the only thing capable of satiating this vacuum because it too was surprised to find itself in a place such as this.

Small footsteps echoed shortly as they made their way slowly down the cobblestone street lined with houses. They had been houses not too long ago at least. Now? Now they were ruins. Windows were broken, stone walls were caved in, and belongings were strewn about in front of what had been peoples homes. *Click... Click... Clack...Click.* Creeping footsteps made their way down the road of a ruined neighborhood but came to a stop. "MMmhh...." A high pitched shriek nearly leapt out of the young girls mouth as she gazed straight down the road, unable to look directly at the decay of what had once been homes of her friends… her family... her own home... She was right next to it she knew but she dare not look.

A tear slid down her rosy cheek before being absorbed by her blonde hair draped over her face. She closed her eyes for a few moments, took a deep shaky breath and kept walking. Pretty soon she was at the end of the lane and in front of her was a flight of stairs. The highest step was just tall enough to hide whatever awaited her in the town center. A wall of buildings lined the left and right sides of the topmost rung of the stairway. The crown of the church could be seen in the distance just over the path she was about to take leading to the town center. She put her hand on the right-hand stone wall railing and began to trek. Halfway up, she stopped and looked behind her at the top of the houses stacked next to each other along the street she had just walked down. The broken remains of her older brothers house came into focus before she fell forward on the steps, tears pouring from her eyes and her hand covering a yelp from deep within her. She gained control after a few moments, and stood up again with a stoic face, her only defense. Slowly, she made her way up the steps until pretty soon she was at the top; her eyes were closed and she was humming lightly to herself. Thunder roared in the distance. It would rain tonight.

pt. 2

Eyelids sealed, she kept her hand on the railing as she walked forward, then her hand transitioned from railing to wall. She kept walking. Then there was no more wall to touch, so she stopped. Her hand hung in the air, fingers extended. She brought her hand back to her side, but didn't open her eyes. She tried to, but she couldn't. Her legs moved forward even slower than she had been. Her foot hit something soft. Her heart dropped. She opened her eyes and the wind picked up, flowing over her body while her hair and tattered white dress fluttered behind her. She tried to take everything in, but her mind began to play that funny game one plays when looking at a painting for a long time. The game of trying to see what's being seen in a different way. Trying to see something completely different from the way ones mind is interpreting it.

Her eyes focused and unfortunately, so did her mind. Bodies. Bodies everywhere. Hundreds of them, scattered about all around the town center. Most of them settled in a pool of blood. Then she looked down at her feet. Face down, she recognized Auriael the Blacksmith right in front of her where her foot had met his hip. He too was in a puddle of blood; his arm twisted and nearly completely severed from the socket. She could only look and take everything in with an impassive expression and wide eyes while her hands started to shake slightly at her side. She stepped over Auriael and walked forward through the expanse in front of her, looking up at the sky above. Her eyes found the top of the church church on the other side of the square, so she focused on that in an effort to ignore all she could. Pretty soon, the church was right in front of her, and she was having to crane her neck upward to focus on the top. Her sight climbed down from the top of the church, then to the windows on the third and fourth floors, and then right above the entry way where her eyes rested on a torn banner that read *NIESHAS 14TH YEAR OF BIRTH CELEBRATION*. She felt an odd contortion of feelings for whoever Niesha was, then remembered that her own name was Niesha and she had made that banner.

>>9483128
there's 0 path in your examples, nothing naturally flows.. you can have as much details as you want, but if the content is disconnected from each-other then nothing matters because there's no connection and attachment

every point has to move into the other point.. is that understandable?

pt 3

Niesha walked through the entryway of the church, but the inside wasn’t very well lit. The only light there was that which came from the glow of the sun behind the clouds. Niesha saw bodies where the light of the outside met the darkness inside. It was then that her mind began letting down some of her defenses. “Wha...What… Why….” Niesha tried to react in someway, but didn’t know how. Her fathers body was on the ground a dozen feet in front of her. He had an axe protruding from his heart. Niesha stepped into the darkness and her eyes adjusted. Her hand covered her mouth as she began to sob a silent sob. Her mother was slung over a chair against the wall completely nude; her neck contorted sideways in a very unnatural angle. “Nnnnhhhh….. nhhhoo….” Niesha whispered with a tremor. She brought her other hand onto her mouth as more sobs began to climb out of her with a wave of wheezing and heaving. Then she looked to the back of the room, and saw the body of her older brother holding her younger brother and sister in both hands. Dozens of arrows stuck out of their bodies. Niesha vomited while falling to her knees. Her head was dizzy and she was close to passing out.

Niesha stood up and began screaming, “No. No. NO. NO NO. NO NO NO.” Staring at her siblings painful faces, she walked backwards and stumbled over the foot of her deceased father. Falling backwards, her heads landing was softened by her fathers limp hand. She looked to her left and her eyes met those of her father, dead and cold. A cry rang out of her. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” With great speed, she jumped up and left the church running as fast as she could. Looking around the town center as she ran, she recognized Dmetin, the newly wedded baker, laying on his back with dead eyes towards the sky. A cavernous slash settled through his chest. She recognized Temezin, who owned the general goods store. He was missing his lower body and his left hand. She recognized Refeilin, a wealthy man who was born noble. His brains were falling onto the floor from an open gash in his head. She recognized Ytweio, a young boy no older than six whose father worked the fields. His torso was bent backwards so that his the back of his head was touching the soles of his feet... Scenes like this and more littered the ground all around her. For every body she saw, she picked up the pace. Every few bodies her stomach would drop a little more as she recognized people she'd known all her life. Pretty soon she was running and her face was contorted in dismay and disbelief. She ran, and she ran and she ran and she ran. She got to the stairs and descended down them as fast as she could while she wept and she wept and she wept. She was almost at the bottom but slipped and stumbled painfully to the cobblestone road. Her head met the pavement and suddenly, black.

>>9480539

Oh I understand now

>>9468007
why would I want to read about a man who not only has no love of man, but is unlikable to boot?

>>9469020
ur grammar is fucked but if you patch that I would read more. maybe it's just cause of that sexy eggston pic tho

>>9469201
ur gay

some day

stop lying!

>>9470244
>You don't have a notebook where you record all the best examples you've seen of sunsets being described? And sun related things? And then tracing the word etymologies & breaking down the rhetorical syntax—all the way down to its linguistic categories?

this has nothing to do with true writing.

>>9470231
not my thing but it's best in thread so far. obviously stuff is going on, good job

>>9470285
>he ran his gums along his teeth

what did he mean by this?

>>9467109

Coffee. Black. No sugar. Warms the soul and reminds us that living life pursuing only sweetness, harmony, and beauty can barely be considered living it to the fullest. If we overcome the original repulsion, we can begin to embrace the bitterness, to find melody in dissonance, and to seek the ugly and the misshapen and the not-so symmetrical holding the belief that we’ll find things that’ll reveal their inner beauty only in the eyes of the worthy who knew how to cast the right light onto them. Far too often, we fail to find this inner beauty.

Have you never failed to avert your eyes from the ugly motherfucker that was sitting in the bus you were in, unable to stare, fascinated by the poor guy’s face and by the fact that his sheer ugliness elevated him to a piece of art . You barely have the time to think about that when you realize you started to imagine him naked, maybe fucking his pig wife ? We’re all god’s children, don’t we? And God made us in his image. Now, you feel good about yourself. You’ve rationalized the whole thing, even the fact that you were trying to imagine what his nutsack looked like. You’re looking at him with the eye of the pious, showering him with pity and unwanted love . Yes ! Yes ! Yes ! He’s one of God’s children, just like me ! That’s a good thought ! I’m proud of myself ! This poor fellow may not be a model, but it’s the beauty in the inside that counts, am I right ladies and gentlemen ? You are so crushed by society’s pressures that you are persuaded that there is an audience ( a jury of your peers, if you will) that’s hearing and commenting on all your thoughts, and you seek their constant approval.

Suddenly, you realize that the ugly motherfucker has gone. He stepped out of the bus ! You’ve objectified this human piece of modern art to the point of forgetting that it had a mind of its own. And that this mind wanted to get out the bus because it had reached its destination (probably to fuck his pig wife). But wait , what stop are you getting off ?

>>9477250
>We are concerned about your work habits our system says that Personalized Expenditure Normalized Individual Status has declined by 32.98328943492%

This isn't believable

>When I got back, my coworker asked if I was given the boot in the behind.

this isn't believable

I know that your character is supposed to be a disconnected person, who disagrees with society or what have you, but the way you do this is by showing off the persons thoughts, rather than dumbing down the universe so that all of the characters are unrealistic robots of what your 'boss' or 'coworker' should act like.

>Work finished in two hours. I went home, I got a beer from the fridge, I turned on the television, I fell asleep holding a half drunk can of bud with the sound of some sitcom in the background.

The pacing of this was jarring and uncomfortable, more just happened in this time span than in the entire encounter at work, you can elaborate on either working the rest of the two hours, the act of going home, the act of being home and drinking beer, anything to give it more depth, of if the point is that everything was kind of a fast moving blur after the encounter with the boss maybe try something like

>when I got back my coworker asked if I was given the boot in the behind
>I said no
>The rest of work didn't matter, and before I knew it I was asleep holding a half drunk can of bud with the sound of some sitcom in the background.

>>9470335
This is the stuff. No one honest can ever err.

>>9478095
This is bad, to expand
>Memories of blood and tears soaked his mind
This personifies everything bad with it, the entire thing reads like this cliche that you wrote down, or has the atmosphere of it, I actually audibly laughed at this line because of how negatively the thing suffered from cliches like this, and then you just went out and actually said it.

The first thing I learned about indo-china is that there's always something else. Say you're enjoying a bowl of ramen noodle soup and the soup-boy runs up to you and starts shouting something in his inscrutable language and he's so dumb and backwards that he can't even read your hand-signals for I don't understand what you're saying. So eventually someone who's in there gets tired of the kid yelling who can speak English and they come over to you and mediate between the two of you. This guy has the Peking star folded up under his shoulder, along with a faded yellow cap. He studies my face as if I was some kind of liar or troublemaker. Don't look at me! I'd like to say. It's the kid who started all this. But eventually, like some kind of solomon, the mediator stutters out something in my language to tell me my home embassy is on fire.

What does that matter to me? I tell him. I thought this was some serious news. I'm an ex-pat, not some kind of ambassador or diplomat. I mean I'm flattered that they might think so, but I'm not.

Immediately some dark kernel in my thoughts draws my mind to the general decline of my whole civilization back home, and I'm suddenly even less surprised or perturbed by the sudden mental image of the old embassy that I've seen once or twice transformed into a pillar of flames, so hot that even three blocks down the hairs on the back of your neck get singed and blackened, you reach back and slap them before you even know what you're thinking about or what you're doing and you realize that they're actually toasted like over-cooked scraps of onion. And you didn't know that could happen. You bring yourself to your feet and realize that everything sounds totally muffled, like you're wearing puffy earphones, and you make the motion as if to take them off—that's how strong the impression is—but it's no use. You shake your head and your soul settles back into your body like wine into a glass. They must have bombed the embassy. The enemies of your country. Does it matter which ones? There are many. It just happens to be some enemies who're also enemies of Peking. You can't imagine anyone who would dislike this magical city. Sure it smells most of the time and these damn indo-chinese don't know how to drive, they rocket down the street like it's a race and sometimes you have to jump a few feet to escape being rendered into a pile of debris and ground remains, but that in itself just speaks to the forward-thinkingness of this great place, the optimism, spirit of industry, candor, vigor, and otherwise, etc.

>>9484013

All this makes sense to the translator, or at least it seems like it does. You're a cold catlike man, so it doesn't matter. He nods his head in the old oriental gesture of deference, as do you, as do the boy, and you tip him what the hell, maybe the devil can buy a cold catfish if he wants to put some meat on his bones, you pat him on his messenger cap and he's gone before you know it.

Then you settle back into your seat.

That's just a hypothetical situation, after all. There haven't been any embassies here since the emperor banned them a thousand years ago (he thought that the "em" at the beginning of both were disrespectful. I'm taking a big enough risk using em-dashing and feeling shame of any kind, that is to say—oh, nevermind), and there aren't any messenger boys who race through the streets with as much energy as if it was fun.

In fact, the one nugget of truth in that stupid tall tale, that story as high and rickety as some aeon-old pagody, is that your own homeland—that is to say, mine—is eaten through with the scourge of moral decadence, and your flight to indo-china wasn't done for tax purposes as much as it was to flee from a horrible spiritual plague which you're sure would've done you in and kept you from the heavenly kingdom or the court of the jade emperor or whatever queer things may exist after the twin boatkeepers reach up to grab your soul from its body and drag you down to the tombs of the dead.

That's their myth here, anyway. Also, I should say that the whole point of the story, that there's something more, is also true. It comes in handy in good and bad senses. There's too many people and buildings and noise, rush, cost, etc, everything bad in a city, but there's also a myriad of vistas, sights, wonders, and otherwise, etc.

I walked through courts and plazas till my legs were tired. I never saw another white face. In time, I began to be able to tell the indo-chinese apart. When I was getting my bearings, I made a lot of awkward faux-pas, but things gradually improved to the point where it came as second nature to me.

I leaned on a wooden wall that was plastered with numberless advertisements and notices and let the acrid lukewarm rum dribble out of my mouth onto my dark brown shoes. I spat out the rest of it and rubbed my forehead. I'd had enough. Above, the stars turned, totally irregardless (sic).

When I lifted my tired eyes off of the ground, I saw something which shocked me so much that it almost cured my drunkenness.

>>9470660
friend about the only thing I want to clobber is a young girl's pussy

>>9470660
but I agree

>>9470950
the crazy logic you follow in these is gold. laughed so hard at the secret yellow text in the first panel lmao

>>9471263
stop tryin so hard and just have fun

>>9475905
dude reading that description of your experiences pissed me off so much with envy I want to beat you with the sides of my palms like bruce lee.