Last one's about to 404. I'll be posting my piece after a couple of you folks post yours for me to critique, try and be helpful to someone (maybe a replieless post) when you post your stuff.
>>7861327
http://pastebin.com/FSZUAyEGi was on drugs partially during writing this
>>7861327
Already posted in the previous thread, but nobody gave me critique.
I am going to be completely honest, this is the first thing I have written in terms of literature. So I am brand new at this, I am just trying to avoid pitfalls based on books that I have read. So it would be nice if to know what I am doing wrong or if I am going too far with certain things.
>>7861494
Fuck forgot to post the link, sorry.
http://pastebin.com/QX21HMDm
>>7861445
Okay, so: I enjoyed it, the second half reminded me of Bunker's memoire somewhat, which is always nice. Praticularly liked the "honestly cruel kids" bit. You have a certain ability in controlling the flow of the text I don't usually see on 4chan (which is especially impressive if you wrote it on drugs), so well done for that. It lacks any kind of aim and it's often incoherent and, grammar-wise, it's shit, but I'm guessing you either don't give a shit or didn't realize that, so if you care read it again and correct it, if not it's a decent show of a kind of skill.
>>7861494
To get it out of the way: it's your first, and it shows. You tend to use the same words repeatedly, even in the same sentence, and often forget to use "the" and "a" and other small odds and ends that are kind of fundamental to writing. Punctuation's also all over the place. That said, you aren't doing that bad: the first paragraph was somewhat poetic and the rest wasn't cashgrab genre fiction tier. It looks like you care about what you're writing, your world and its characters. The premise is also titillating, if not completely original. I suggest you read it again and try to work on your grammar, but keep at it. You aren't going too far, some may call you edgy, but those fucks don't know shit about fun and writing. If you want to improve your imagery and overall vocabulary, I suggest you read William Pauley III, Hakim Bey and Eliot's Wasteland. Again, keep at it.
http://pastebin.com/zB3yVSui
>I partially wrote this a few months ago, dug it up yesterday and finished it. Gonna hand it in as an assignment for a poet who asked me and other people in a course to describe our "secret city", in this case Venice.
>>7861557
Cheers for the crit lad, id do you but im far under qualified. Its good though, really good but i imagine you already know that. cheers again (im the dog guy btw)
>>7861557
Thanks for the advice, I am not trying to be edgy though, but if I continue to write the story I think it will be more apparent that I am not trying to be shocking, but more surreal I guess. I want to kind of create a tounge-in-cheek dreamlike industrial world, where the main character is serious, depressed, somewhat spiritual, and extrospective in a world that has gone mad and doesn't care.
I need to improve my grammar though yeah, I have always sucked with it. I should probably read some books on how to not write like a middleschooler.
>>7861704
Nah, you shouldn't. You should just read everything you can lay your hands on, absorb the rules of grammar by looking at how they're used "in the wild". Books that try to teach how to write are, for the most part, scam and idiotic advice. Read the Road, feel the rhytm of its language; read Perdido Street Station (or play Fallen London) and understand how a world is built; read The Cloud of Unknowing or Rumi and see how mystics talk about God.
Above all, keep writing, never stop. Sideline your magnum opus, maybe, and write a fuckton of short stories to hone your skills or just keep hammering at this one story you feel the need to write, rearrange it, reshape it, warp it until you're satisfied. But never stop.
>>7861595
Thanks for the self-esteem boost, dude. Much appreciated.
Bumping with a delicatessen made by the gorgeous bastard in the thread image, wish I could've linked Tetsuo but YouTube took it down, Fuck them.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5gdVSBORJJM
Me detengo en el umbral de la puerta de la sala de reuniones del Hotel S para contemplar durante un instante el escenario: los vendedores, con poses que desprenden hastío, se sientan detrás de cajas de plástico o cartón llenas de vinilos apoyados sobre su canto y dispuestos uno detrás de otro, en espera de alguno de los diletantes que merodean por la sala y se detienen ocasionalmente ante alguno de los puestos (esta selección suele tener bastante de azaroso) para escoger, con celeridad entrenada, cinco o seis LPs, escudriñar sus fundas y estado y, eventualmente, elegir uno en concreto descartando los otros. A esto suele seguir la constatación de su precio, que puede manifestarse mediante un análisis de la funda del vinilo o una escueta pregunta dirigida al vendedor, y el pago (a veces previamente aderezado con un conato de regateo) del disco con un billete arrugado que el comprador saca de su bolsillo. Como epílogo a la transacción, puede tener lugar un diálogo, normalmente breve, entre las dos partes acerca de la singularidad del disco que acaba de cambiar de manos, la trayectoria profesional (anterior o posterior a la misma) de uno de los músicos que participaron en su grabación o cualquier tema semejante. Los puestos se localizan junto a las paredes, alrededor del perímetro de la sala de reuniones, con lo que el vagar de los asistentes consiste en un orbitar que se repite unas cuantas veces. Ni siquiera intento encontrar alguna diferencia respecto a las ferias a las que he asistido a lo largo de los últimos siete años; procedo a reproducir yo mismo la sempiterna circunvalación de la sala de reuniones del hotel, la cual creo reconocer como espacio del mismo vagabundeo en unas tres o cuatro ocasiones en años anteriores. A modo de preámbulo, completo una vuelta al circuito entreteniéndome en la contemplación de las carátulas más visibles; una vez concluida, me dirijo al vendedor más cercano a la puerta y formulo, como una letanía, la pregunta que me parece llevar grabada en la garganta desde hace siete años.
>>7861496
Cringe'd hard
>>7862055
I hope you get a proper critiquer, but from what I could gather (Italian reader, so I think I got most of it) it's a good piece, nicely detailing the idiosyncrasies of vynil commerce and all its associated actions. If I can give you any advice, it's to add more of yourself into it - kind of the same way DFW or HST virally injected themselves wholly into any kind of activity they partecipated in.
>>7862095
thx
>>7862101
Thanks fratello. That part is only the initial ambientation of the story, action goes after that. I finished the first rewriting some days ago; I may post it all once I edit it again.
>>7861445
I notice the voice is bookended by the short sentences. It's more conversational, while the rest is more purple. I would invest in making it more consistent throughout, by analyzing the way you want to characterize the narrator, and making it more real to that. Feels too much right now, that the writer is speaking through the character. Nor does it feel like I'm in the scene with him.
Please, no smilies.
It seems like you have goals in mind for each paragraph. The third one is obviously devoted to the man. I believe that it takes over the writing of the scene, to the point where I'm not getting sufficient coverage of anyone else.
You aren't patient with the story progression, to the point where the seems unfinished.
>>7861496
I hope you know, just because you say the clouds are ominous, doesn't mean it's going to do the job of actually making it seem that way. That's your work. That goes for your entire first paragraph. You expect the words to do the work of evocation, but that requires insight the thesaurus won't give you.
"Storms were rare. He cherished them with all his soul..." Well that's a tall judgement to make of your protagonist. I'd say you'd have to earn the right of making me feel invested in that. It feels strange to even have to hear it from the narrator. You aren't being economical with your information. It it were me, I'd earn the way for Theis to say it, eventually. Much more importance placed on it that way.
Instead, because this an unfinished, short introduction, you have a need to sum up everything about Theis and storms in a few sentences. And this is everything about what he does?
>>7862249
Not him (OP, actually) but you made me think about the dynamics of the short story, with your post. I think the way he phrased it, in the pastebin, it's perfectly coherent with the extension of the narrative; if the text was extended, I'd likewise feel the need for such a claim to be somewhat justified by previous occurences or reflections, but such as it is, I think it works just fine in the economy of the narration.
On a more general note, it made me think about the value of the "show, don't tell principle". Is it as universal as we seem to think? I feel like its validity is more and more voided the shorter a story is.
>>7861557
Some good language. It doesn't seem like the right kind of story to condense into one paragraph. In fact, I would go the opposite route, and possibly extend the length with other adjcent facts. Be able to fill out the individual images that way. It seems like you don't want to linger on any single one too long, related to how your voice mimics a young person living there, going through all the quick motions of the nightlife.
Like here:
Sunset now and out they come, the bastard children of fuck it all ideology.
They live the night, dusk till dawn, torn between ecstasy and the need to find a place to crash, drugged up and out of their tomb. The water here reeks of shit and chemicals, looks oily, seems about ready to burst into flames. They swarm the underpass to dance between trash can firepits and the light pollution backdrop, haloing the sky above the lagoonside factories. Venice burning by night if you look at the mainland.
They’ve tried a couple of times, maybe they’ll do it again tonight if nothing happens, but there’s usually a concert nearby and the mosh is always a good place to get thrashed so here they stream into the venue, occupied tin shack already chock full of noise and feedback.
I changed the order of two sentenced in the second paragraph. The voice mimics actual speech, so it seems like it'd be more convienent for the paragraphs to be seperated into thoughts. And then you can shorten or lengthen them.
>>7862307
That's actually good advice. i won't be able to use it for my assignment (text's got to fit a standard .doc page and I used all the character spaces8, but I'll think about it for the future. only thing I don't really get, is how you made "they've tried" etc. the first sentence of the second paragraph. It feels somewhat cut from its original context.
>>7861445
shit dog I thought you were kidding
>>7861496
It was a dark and stormy night, but it was late afternoon and the clouds weren't precipitating just yet. Did not read.
>>7861496
in the art of the first sentence, it should hook the reader and make them want to know more. a paragraph of the weather and setting is a slow start.
paragraph 3 is very info dumpy. you should spread this information out through the narrative.
para 4 makes him sound kind of pretentious, assuming everyone else is shallow while he's the only deep one. if everyone else is shallow, they aren't good characterizations.
para 5, google the difference between its and it's.
"He had an odd, brash, careless sense of humor." show don't tell
&c
>>7861557
The two above you are worse, at least. It's not subtle. But you should give it to your poet, the project seems worthwhile.
>>7862360
I agree, it was an introduction - but as such, I liked it. It may be my standards have been lowered in the last few years, but I think there's worth in that story. Thinking about it, I realize that the "dreamlike industrial world" project may be better suited to an anthology than to a novel. Actually, I feel the same way for most of what passes for contemporary sci-fi/fantasy. We need to get back to more contained forms of narration.
Also, thanks for the kind words you had for my "Venetian" piece. As an ESL author, it really feels good to be complimented on what I've done. I'll think about what you've said: paragraphs, I feel, may be one of the touchiest and most difficult topics in writing. I'll admit, my subdivision (or lack thereof) is entirely "feel" based; do you have any suggestion about educational texts on the subject?
>>7862369
Wsn't exactly aiming for subtelty, but I hope she'll find a shred on value in what I wrote. You should see what the other shitheads are writing.
>>7862249
>>7862298
>>7862358
thanks for the advice, I knew I would get the embarrassment chills for posting what I wrote, but it's what I need to improve.
I am 21 and I am probably going through the phase of a 14 year old hopeful writer of fiction.
There is a lot I need to learn, I kind of wrote everything without thinking about it too hard. Not sure how the creative process is supposed to work in the first place, I just wanted to express my day dreams.
I am not trying to write a long novel or even a short story, I basically just dipped my toes in the pool.
I have always felt kind of hesitant about writing because I have never felt smart or anything, and I am pretty sure 90% of /lit/ is more patrician than me. I think I just need to read more books, I am coming from a world of movies and videogames.
>>7862412
I think you can make it one long paragraph, more as a stream-of-conscioussness type thing.
The paragraphs thing is something I picked up through reading magazines. The strategy is really trendy, what from I've seen.
>>7862461
You should look up the Brandon Sanderson lectures.
>>7862461
Don't worry about the rest of /lit/ (sadly it's mostly idiots who come to this board for the memes) or the creative process or smarts or anything. At cost of sounding new age-ish, you're an individual with a peculiar perspective and story(ies) to tell. That's the only thing you've got to care about, in my opinion. As I've said here >>7861796 just keep on trying, read, write, improve yourself.
Fuck that pleb/patrician mentality. the people who try to enforce it are those who have fuck all to say and write.
Tomorrow, after my Ontology exam, I'll write a more meaningful, longer post. Cheers mate.
>>7862358
Also in response to this, the fragment I wrote makes the main character seem like I want to make the rest of the world shallow except him but it's not like that.
His friend isn't shallow, he creates a wall of weird absurdist humor for himself as a shield from a depressing world, and also something that hides his real emotions. Someone that probably has Frank Zappa playing at all times.
The main character is supposed to be kind of a depressed, serious, poetic type. Someone who sees life like an Andrei Tarkovski movie.
The rest of the world is weird, full of grimy lower class demon people with animalistic features. Working in run down buildings full of humming florescent bulbs, creaking rusty metal, shitty fastfood restaurants, towering factories pumping fumes in the air 24/7. Nothing really to do other than work or wait for work. Inspired by my experiences in similar places all around Wyoming, Arizona, Utah, Nevada.
I think I will put this on hold though, and write other stuff until I get good enough to really brush up on my skills.
>>7862487
Thanks for the encouragement by the way, also I will look this up >>7862482
in an attempt to preempt any harsh criticism, know that I only post my throwaways.
wrote this after reading a Jim Morrison poem.
The Stranger
flesh and wood
the fire eats.
pillars crumble
statues laugh
the stars are swallowed.
the poor die
the rich watch
the young run
the old accept.
they are the ones who stayed
and I am the Stranger
leveling his thumb
to hitch a ride
to somewhere.
“unable to move in a denn’ys parking lot”
Denny’s parking lot. Evening. A DUMPSTER.
[center stage, Lord Self. On the ground, prostrate.]: Help, somebody! [Rocking back and forth] I’m unable to move in a Denny’s parking lot!
[From stage right: Rodrigo Patricio 20% off the Paper Towel Distributor]
Lord Self: Excuse me, sir! Do you have a minute?
Rodrigo: I do not. I have come to replace the paper towels in the Denny’s bathroom.
Lord Self: I can’t move! If you’d just help me up…..
Rodrigo: What’s wrong? You can’t do it yourself?
Lord Self: Oh, I might move - if I could stop thinking!
Rodrigo: [reflectively] What would you be then?
Lord Self: A clump of res extensa.
Rodrigo: Then you can prefer not to think.
Lord Self: Preferably, I prefer not to prefer anything, if I can help it.
Rodrigo: You've got your work cut out for you then.
Lord Self: Listen - Will you do me a favor?
Rodrigo: What's that?
Lord Self: If I could have one last Denny's plate, I might die in peace.
Rodrigo: What's wrong, are you sick?
Lord Self: No, just placid. Affectless, my color is blanch. I don't look it, but I'm a yogi.
[A plate is thrown from stage left]
Lord Self: Thank God, we're being invaded!
Rodrigo: By whom?
Lord Self: Steve!
Rodrigo: Who's Steve?
Lord Self: God!
Rodrigo: What?
Lord Self: He prepares the eggs!
Rodrigo: Why?
Lord Self: Quickly - hide behind that dumpster!
[Rodrigo hides. Two black figures in SWAT gear storm on stage, commence to beat the Self savagely]
Lord Self: Have mercy on the Self! Help, somebody! I'm unable to move in a Denny's parking lot!
[Guards kill the Self. Exeunt.]
Curtain.
The sound of an alarm clock is never one associated with joy. So, it goes without saying that after the fifth time it has gone off you aren't very motivated with waking up. This late adolescent certainly wasn't. He had a little too much to drink last night in the tavern and could only get sleep in the early hours of morning. It isn't something he was used to. And it was also something that rarely-if-ever happens. As such the late adolescent had no motivation to get up from his bed.
Crtibump to save this thread
>>7862613
Not really knowledgeable on poetry, but it was a nice snippet. The
"pillars crumble
statues laugh
the stars are swallowed"
if somewhat formulaic, is effective. The jump from statues to stars is really effective - the joy of the uncanny as a preliminary mask of the destroyer, the utterly inhuman. Love me some Ligotti.
>>7862679
Made me laugh. Guess my sense of humour is easily moved. Guessing this is a throwaway thingie? If not, pease post more. I want to have fun.
>>7863471
Heh. Bland. Not really interesting. The last couple of lines make it kinda clear you're trying to go for the Tao Lin disaffected style, but there's something lacking. Prose, maybe. Can't really tell you. Maybe the subject matter isn't that apt to the style, maybe itìll work better in a longer form.
Here, have something that may inspire you:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=en7ltF2kCXg
Here's the latest thing I completed, opening paragraph of a revised story:
Nighttime is ending. I can tell by the redness of the curtains. Back home daylight would be blocked by snow-fattened clouds. We would be out by the landscape of gray-topped houses, wander for an hour into the thick forest behind them. Break branches off the colorless trees, and use them to make fires by the lake. Some days the wood was wet, and there were no fires, but if we sat the right way, if our legs were coiled, and only our heads rested on the disk of ice behind her father’s house, we could provide ourselves the warmth we needed. Even if the house had heating we liked it in the cold, because it stung, pushed us closer, and made us focus on the heat of our bodies. By the lake we taught ourselves to shiver with happiness, and then turn to walk home.
Like conspiracy and thrilling? Check me out.
http://pastebin.com/bSMcGc2X
rate my introduction, c/lit/
X looked out toward the street, her t shirt doing nothing to shield the cold air coming from the open window. She looked beyond past the boxy cars, the angry people, the telephone poles, and the winged-rats perched on them. Her radiator hummed and hissed, like an old man in dire need of an alka seltzer. What she saw was any other day on Metropolitan Avenue, the pirated Fellini soundtrack compilation only did so much. The music couldn’t turn it into Via del Corso no matter how hard she strained her eyes.
>The late adolescent look all around him. He simply couldn't understand anything. When he came to, the world he lived in was ashen as far as the eye could see. He was unable to comprehend the dire and despairing situation he was in. To him this seemed nothing more than a nightmare, when you were about to be killed when stuck in dangerous situation, only to wake up in one's own bed.
>He stood up from where he was unconscious. No matter where his eyes fell upon, there was no denying that the city he was in, was dead. The only things that were left were crumbling buildings, destroyed roads, and ruin cars. There was no sight of humans nor animals there was nothing anymore.
I need help /Lit/. I am debating whether or not I should include this little subplot, in the novel I am writing. The subplot, won't make sense in the beginning in the series, but later on it be a plot point and foreshadow. I want to know /lit/ opinion.
please excuse any mistake on the story I wrote.
>>7862055
Aburrido. Esas oraciones largas y palabras inapropiadas para el contexto hacen que el lector lea a medias, esperando poder pasar rápido el muro de texto monótono que le pones enfrente para poder leer algo con sustancia. Está bien ser prolijo, pero no creo que en este contexto/narrador funcione bien. Claro, puede que sea decisión estilística, pero si la función es hacer ver al personaje de cierta forma, yo cambiaría a un narrador en 1° persona.
The eyes of my child
are nothing today as I write
once green, like a grape
watery, bloody, the humidity
creeping behind the small orbit
crawling to the front
above the eyelashes
it gave up, this eyeball
the rotation of this planet
like marbles that roll
behind the counter
they get lost
sad
stepped on
>>7867788
NIce
http://pastebin.com/ZADVwyJw
Here's mine, not really my comfort zone but hell I never write for myself or at any good times these days anyway.
>>7865418
>Ellipsis ellipsis ellipsis ellipsis ellipsis
>>7866032
Reads too much like a list at the start, which, while convenient, makes you repeat yourself because you've mentioned the concepts, then do it again when explaining them. You can't afford to waste space in an essay. On that note, lines like "people run the show" are way too prose-y, avoid that. It's all about being succinct.
I'm not gonna read the rest since it's an essay and outside of those pointers and some other minor things I'm not great with those.
>>7866300
I'm a little lost, to be honest. Definitely need to work on your grammar.
The last line's definitely interesting though, but I don't know music well enough to really appreciate it, unfortunately.
>>7867687
Well it shows that English isn't your first language, but you can improve on that.
The way you've written it is a little dry, though. You're doing a lot of telling when you could be showing. I'm far less interested in hearing that the "late adolescent" (I'd definitely change that to something less clunky, by the by) "was unable to comprehend" than I am in hearing how exactly he reacts upon seeing all the desolation. Maybe his eyes are wide and welling up, maybe he's hyperventilating, maybe he's doing something the reader might be able to feel themselves instead of just being assured that the character's reaction is appropriate.
I'm always interesting in foreign takes on apocalypses though. What nationality are ya?
>>7867788
I'm intrigued, I like it.
>>7868057
>waste space
thank you anon,, that's exactly what I was going for.
>>7868352
Well if that was your intent, you did good.
A boy looks into the mirror, what does he see? What can he see? He sees himself! But is that himself? It looks like him but what is the self? He looks deeper, it’s not a mirror it’s a pond, he's fishing with his father, that’s not his father! Its Jesus. No, it’s the mirror again. Is he Jesus? He turns around and walks away. At the door he looks back. It has been 50 years. The boy is now a man, he looks again into the mirror, he sees himself, a boy again, a fishing trip, a nightmarish accident with his grandmother’s ashes. A beating. His mother comforts him. But she is long dead. The mirror advances. The man retreats. The mirror gains confidence and moves closer. CLOSER. The man now a boy, scared, backs away. He feels an unfamiliar wall. Its prison. A pastor comes. It’s his last day on earth. The pastor looks familiar. He looks again. The pastor is himself, he is looking in the mirror. He walks away. He shuts the bathroom door. His wife looks at him, the man stares confused at his wife. She can’t. She couldn’t be. Is she a mirror as well?!
>>7867788
where are your mirrors breh
>>7866300
looks like you forgot your dream sequences friendo
>>7865364
reminds me of a young myself
>>7861327
It started with a bang. Whether the inception of the universe or of myself, you decide. Everything I knew the world as came to be regardless. A world order in which the snakes ate the toads, the toads ate the predacous insects, the predaceous insects ate the herbivorous insects, and the herbivorous insects ate the helpless grass. To say I were the herbivorous insect would be flabby lie. I knew what I was, oh boy did I know.. I was the grass, but I wanted to eat something for a change. An insatiable appetite to transcend this ladder I lay victim to. At least the herbivorous insect has a mouth to feignedly become predacuous.
Before long, a hum disturbed the air. Ah, yes.. the world order has come for me. Cut down in the prime of my youth, I was ran over by a lawnmower. You thought I was being metaphorical when I was saying I happened to be grass. But what should I care what you thought? I'm just a dead narrator.
>>7868519
Spelling inconsistencies and grammar aside this is still just okay. It runs a little long, as I feel like the bulk of what is being unpacked in the first paragraph can be done much more efficiently. Things like "you decide" and "oh boy did I know" are things that are not interesting, they only make the voice of the piece more generic, more adolescent. I think this could be condensed into maybe 3 not even very long sentences.
Help me julia! My soul seemingly strips itself, seam upon seam from my being! O what dry crispy horror this is. it crunches under foot like roaches. I am sad! I am filled with a sorrow beyond your comprehension and your bloody big jazzy job. You! You've made a martyr of me. With your twisted disregard for my state and your all absorbing hate! you've made me crumble like an old dead leaf. And as I lay writhing here, on this sand, under this tepid old star, I am most certainly dying! You've really done it now old girl. you really really have done it this time haven't you. How am I supposed to tell the boys? "oh harry, mummy doesn't want me any more cause im a fat old coward!" You FUCK! You fucker... You've killed me Julie. I hope your very pleased with yourself.
Get up martin.
NO! I intend to lie and bake! Rather than be consumed by you... Snake! Serpent of Satan! A daemon! I knew it since I set eyes on you and yours on me. They where all red round the outside and your pupils where tiny little water-boatmen in the great blue oceans of your iris. The eyes of a Cursed! Family and friend alike told me and now i'm telling you. You are evil, Julia. And you've blooming well murdered me this time.
I'm leaving now martin you bloody child. Get up, grow up and get yourself sorted out. your heads off it. you wanna get off them bloody pills an-
No more words from you, harlot! Give harry and Terrance my love and tell them daddy died of a broken heart in the desert. Bye bye my love. fare well.
EN ESPAÑOL
N
E
S
P
A
Ñ
O
L
>>7869388
The Bad Monster
—
It walked with a limp and couldn't see well. Its roar was more of a 'moo'. Instead of fangs it had molars. It only ever wanted to talk about Wittgenstein but never could find a receptive audience.
The Great Monster
—
It strode nimbly and had notoriously keen eyesight. When it spoke the room vibrated. Its teeth were white and crowded and always filed to beautiful points. It only ever wanted to talk about Wittgenstein but humbly kept its razorous mouth shut.
>>7861327
Going to San Bernardino, ring-a-ding-ding
Milkshake mix, yes that's my thing now
These guys bought a heap 'o my stuff
And I gotta see a good thing sure enough now
Or my name is not Kroc, it's Kroc with a K
Like crocodile, but not spelt that way, now
It's dog eat dog, rat eat rat
Kroc style, boom like that
Folks line up all down the street
I am seeing this girl devour her meat now
And then I get it, wham as clear as day
My pulse begins to hammer and I hear a voice say
These boys have got this down
Ought to be one of these in every town
These boys have got the touch
It's clean as a whistle and it don't cost much
Wham bam, don't wait long
Shake fries patty, you're gone
And how about that friendly name
Heck, every little thing gotta stay the same
You gentlemen ought to expand
You're gonna need a helping hand now
So gentlemen, well, what about me?
We'll make a little business history now
Or my name is not Kroc, call me Ray
Like crocodile, but not spelt that way, now
It's dog eat dog, rat eat rat
Kroc style, boom like that
Well, we build it up and I buy 'em out
But man they made me grind it out now
They open up a new place flippin' meat
So I do too, right across the street
I got the name, I need the town
They sell up in the end and it all shuts down
Sometimes you gotta be an S.O.B.
You wanna make a dream reality
Competition send 'em south
If they're gonna drown put a hose in their mouth
Do not pass, go straight to hell
I smell that meat hook smell
Or my name is not Kroc that's Kroc with a K
Like crocodile, but not spelt that way, now
your loved ones are protected by walls built on the sweat of children with a single option as the second option involves a chicken scratch note left behind for their mother, or perhaps the father they wish they had, explaining how god cheated them and the people they believed in only dangled a better future infront of their cage, expecting the scent alone to dull or satiate the drive for violence.
Sweet was the sickly flowers that prey at his olfactory senses. Scent was altogether too sweet as though it smelt as her. In his mind he traced the scent back to the nights they spent in the confines of isolation, in each others arms. He felt as though he were there now, the heat of her body permeating his - the scent of both he and her mixing in the air above as they moved closer and closer together to the point where an onlooker might have thought they were to merge into one whole body. For him, sadly, this was impossible. He’d wished he could assume one body, one of the same flesh with her: She claimed to have wished for marriage! What could one know of a sacred bond if she is a heretic above all else? Mormons.
>>7869736
It's rare to come across a man whose words carry such wit & whittled wisdom—it's as if you've tuned into the secret antennæ of men's secret thoughts & turn'd them back on us to retune the untunes: /lit/'s glorious mighty autotuner.
I fear you are a genius that will suffer our collective ignorance until the time is right for yr words.
>>7861445
Reading this—no! EXPERIENCEING it was like being invaded by the United States of America & having the tingling of bombs turning up my soils, ærating me, those RW&B flags facing backwards on those soldiers ravishing my borders's lassies w/their hard & heavy gunz: their sweats mixing & dripping into the turned soil.
There is much to learn from writers like you. HOW DO YOU DO IT? WHAT ARE YR RULES? HOW DID YOU GIT SO GOOD? WHO DID YE SELL YR SOUL 2? WHERE @? $$$$$$$? '$$$$$$$'?
>>7868057
Hope you're still here, anon. I already re-written it and I wanted you to check it. I was going for a 28 days later vibe when writing this. And I been teaching myself English, sorry if i'm butchering your language.
>Prologue
>He woke up disoriented, slumped over the bed of an empty hospital room, still bandaged from whatever heavy wound got him here. The room was in poor ventilation thick acrid dust filled the air almost depriving him of any fresh air; a stomach-churning sensation filled his body before moving up towards his throat before finally vomiting a sickly green geyser to the floor.
>Just as he recovered from his nausea, an unearthly bang erupted from behind the door. Someone or something must have heard him vomit and now was trying to get in the room. After a few seconds another bang could be heard from the door, sweat started to appear on his face from fear. His heartbeat could be heard thumping loudly ready to burst out of his chest any second. He had to hide from whoever was trying to get inside.
>In his haste to scan the room for a practical hiding place, he hid inside the room's dilapidated room cabinet. He was confident whoever enter would not find him the room was barely visible with the dust and it had little lighting. And with room having already an acrid smell, he stood a pretty good chance that the room alone would turn away any threat. He held his breath just before the door got knocked down.
>In what felt like decades for him was merely a few seconds for the intruder. Its heavy nasal breathing became irregular as it began to tear the room in two. Heavy steps and inhuman growls that's all he heard from it no other sounds did it make when searching the room. His heartbeat thumping was getting excessively fast that he began to wonder what was going to kill him first, the intruder or his own heart failing.
>It soon began clear that it was the intruder was no longer moving, and its growls ceased the minute it got near the room cabinet, a cold deathly shudder began to shiver down his spine. However before he could burst out, and give it a few bruises before dying. The sound of objects clattering to the ground in the distance could be heard followed by heavy footsteps of the intruder as well. Yet, he stayed inside the cabinet for a few moments trying his best to ease his heart.
I tried to limit my mistakes to ten and below. And to your question about my nationality is 75% Russian and 25% german
>>7862679
Is this a one time thing? I kind like it.
>>7870233
U wot m8? Is this a affectionate satire?
I would post mine, but it's 23 chapters in and mainly erotica.
It's about a masochist who ends up being a sex toy for a hedonistic and abusive vampire.
Seen here is the word count.
S'all on Literotica though.
I'm looking for a critique that's more... unbiased than my current readers, but from someone who's willing to put aside the fact that it's got gay sex in every other chapter and read it as a book. This was basically my Fifty Shades of Grey and Twilight if they didn't suck.
>>7872339
That being said, I'm currently going over the first three-four chapters and reworking them a little, because it's been three and a half years since I wrote the first couple and the last... eighteen chapters all came out in the past year.
>>7861327
Which font is good for writing? Arial, roman, or Calibri?
>>7873111
Yes. Pretty lengthy one.
If you want to read it, keep in mind I've done some revisions to the first three chapters so that they flow a little better, and the actual plot doesn't start til about chapter 7.
Should I pastebin it? It's nearly 300 pages now.
>>7873401
Have you almost finish anon
I prefer to read books at are finished so i won't get blue balled by a cliffhanger
>>7873407
It is actually very close to the end. I'm looking for major critiques so that I can decide whether or not to pursue publication.
It's posted on Literotica but I'm worried about posting the link because I'm afraid a bunch of people are just gonna go on there and give every story a 1 rating.
>>7861445
wacky, but it seems like it's got some substance, and the voice is consistent. not my thing but you have successfully Been yourself. kinda funny, too
>>7873410
Come one it's 2016 /Lit/ won't do no such thing.
>>7873972
I'm not entirely sure whether to take that seriously or not.
Anyway, here's a pastebin of the first ten chapters. If /lit/ wants to read more, I can bin the next 13 as well. Not sure if I wanna give away the ending but I probably will if needed. I revised chapter 2 but chapter 1 needs a LOT of work. Please keep in mind that the writing gets better, because this is a three-year-old project.
http://pastebin.com/3wBSLBzG
>Continuing to revise. Happy w/ progress. Working title: All Purpose Room)
Debussy is explaining himself in the all-purpose room,
exonerating himself.
He could not know the instruments of today
would be twice as heavy as those under his hands when his mind turned
to sadism, arrangement of his affairs,
the composition of the Etudes.
Else, he would not have written
pianissimo, ‘so soft’, in the space
above the spires of his notation,
commanded those who would exceed him
to fly.
Yes, he knew
men and women can only be so extraordinary,
and thankfully, only so cruel.
He knew that no one would ever fly for long,
even their words, even
his own scales,
which would be without meaning if they only rose,
if they never fell.
(and Claude,
even if he mustered all possible indifference,
could not have thought to insist
that we use a shovel where he used a spoon.)
Even my soul, if there is one to be found,
holding a pattern,
holding the wind and the shimmer of a September morning,
can hold no promise to stay there long.
Time, alone,
commands so indifferently.
All of these things I have said
are woven in each note
in chalk upon the blackboard,
and to a child such as myself could be construed
as the consolidation of all the truths
and all the wonders of being
reborn in the winding of the octets,
an equation to reconcile all the universe,
standing on its own,
without need of explanation.
Though I had faith
as a child,
I was far from the understanding that when
Sister Bernadette passed the eraser over the notes that
there was no such force as destruction at play-
only transformation,
or, if you like,
translation to a tongue that you do not understand-
and to clap those erasers at a later date
Is to rediscover every note in the dust
before it is translated once more.
It is never that the dust is incomprehensible,
only that we are unable to comprehend it.
Even Uchida, a polyglot herself,
and unquestionably a virtuoso,
could not translate the dust after it had sank,
though she had practiced the Etudes all her life,
she could not recognize them.
And likewise when the faces on the television
and everyone In the all purpose room
contorted from failure to comprehend
to refusal to believe, and into despair,
I no longer recognized them,
though I had known each all my life.
The buildings as they were translated into
a tongue no one had ever heard spoken before.
An incidental angle captured a stranger contemplating the jump
my hands going over my eyes as a figure flew softly into the silence
If this never happened,
if you remember differently,
or if this did not happen quite this way then
forgive me.
All things in dreams stand just so,
as fact.
Another sister of the Immaculate Heart comes by,
their senses for this sort of thing were sharp,
recalled Kennedy herself and with a certain blankness
told us that these moments would weigh upon us all the days
of our life- the seventeen minutes in which we all
awoke to the news that we had been orphaned.
http://pastebin.com/Prr0bktu
'^' represent italics. This is nearly completely edited. Not much will change from critiques, the story is dear to me. But I'm dusting off my writing shoes and getting back in the game, so all advice will still be taken to heart.
Will go on to rate others as well.
>>7861327
nah
>>7874070
I'm only a few sentences in, but it's kind of clunky. Use of "I" instead of "me" in a couple places, some of the sentence structure is hard to follow... You say that the tower's background is a "starry sky", but there are tourists around? Most tourism takes place in the day...
No, I tried to keep reading and I'm just... pbt. I'm not invested in this at all. That mess of "Where are we? When are we?" in the beginning?
Are we in Florence, in the past? Are we hanging out with his mom, in the past? Are we in the doctor's office in the present? Wait, now we're back in Florence?
Take a little while and try to reread and make sense of what you're doing, and read your sentences out loud.
Does anyone else feel like they dont know enough to write about what they want to? How do I overcome this? Im a pretty good essay writer if I do say so myself, but fiction is just so incredibly hard for me. Helpppp
>>7874090
You tell me to take a while to read it.
I'll tell you that more is intentional than you probably think. Including the weak introduction. The main character, by no means, is an author. I can say that he's trying to be, if it makes you feel any better? But I'm sure you won't give it another chance anyway.
>>7874145
No, the main character isn't an author, but you are. You're telling his story.
Even Huckleberry Finn was written in a way I could understand.
>>7874115
It's called researching, every author does it.
>>7874199
I tell the story just fine. HE doesn't. That's his memory.
>"Hmm it is weird that he said 'starry sky'. Must be an error!"
>"The character isn't an author, but his internal monolog purposely trying to retell a memory to an imaginary audience seconds after being in told he's going to die... that's got to be spoken in perfect dialogue. I'm certain the rest of it will be just as bad, since all the story takes place in that moment."
Really?
My cataracts orbit the sun like teapots
beaming down to me clean thoughts
dirtied by the shipping and handling
that I paid much too much for.
But memories peddled by unflinching reminders
remind us personal things we can't discuss,
so we hole up in our own havens, social or not
and pretend to give it one more thought.
>>7874255
Is this on the whole? Could I get an example or two?
>>7874070
Perhaps talented, but you need to go way back to the basics and read some Strunk and White. Structurally weak but pretty, like certain cactus flowers.
>>7874262
You could switch around at random every sentence in the first paragraph and it wouldn't change what happened chronologically.
I hardly hear them now.
Just auditory clues,
cues to signal– keys to
slot in neuropaths and
drafts to notes to sheets to
this music. Peace in the
pieces– where I sit but
don't listen. These songs that
tend to sidle step in,
change some stone to flesh and
numb law to love. I want
rest but instead this sly
test sets in for the night.
I hardly hear them now.
>>7871324
Anyone willing to critique my work
>>7874267
The smallness and emptiness he feels in being told he's dying is, hopefully, obviously being represented by the certain specific details. There chronological order isnt inherently important, since all of the key emotions described are simply standing out to him in the moment. In recalling the dreaded feelings, he also remembers that one of his fondest memories also lie in there, which he forgot about because of the initial trauma. It's a weak starting point for the story, but a the story dabbles in the logical fuctionality of a tesseract, so beginning it there is absolutely crucial.
Let me quote a later paragraph where the character collects his wits, and allows me to express his thoughts more fluidly:
"...
I stare up. The black cabinets wedged in the far corner slowly shift and expand into the vast night sky, alive with stars. The desk lamp, which I was suspecting to be that new 'something', now a glistening full moon, as new as they come. The medical desk, topped by beakers and containers filled with gauss and tools, melds fluidly into the cloud-garnished, Florence skyline. Glancing down I see the ground pull away from me and turn into a street side while I slide from sitting to perched upon a roof, the night time stone cool to the touch as my feet rest near the edge of the building. A soft, salty breeze tenderly plays with my hair and pants as it replaces the hum and kiss of the central air conditioning. Just as cool though. Caught in the moment, I hear a faint whisper say.."
Sit simple—
put up your own
shifting sheaves,
and try not to meet
the eyes of those aliens
dancing around you,
with a thousand smiles
for a thousand other paper castles
who totter and leer looking lusting
for gaps that give pry-hold, tell difference
and deviance from the diversity
so deftly maintained.
Sit simple—
find your own
sad sample
who will sit simple too
while the monsters dance and
hunt for sacrifice among
themselves.
Wait and sit simple—
for the ones who will see your face
without killing you.
>>7874263
Can you elaborate, just slightly, on where I could improve structurally? Because, I mean, this idea flows very much how I want it to, as I expanded on here: >>7874366
But at the same time, I do want to make my ideas more accessible to others, instead of my mostly for my own entertainment. Im not very scholarly educated, mostly what I've taught myself. So a lot of times I feel as though I skip past critical stepping stones at times, and it kills me.
>>7874006
Dunno if whoever's still reading this, but I'm still here.
>>7874431
>"Can you tell me where to improve? I mean, I already have it written exactly the way I want to and it HAS to be written this way, but I guess if other people want to read it..."
>>7874441
That's the first paragraph, which I defended my point for. I'm looking for other areas of weakness in structure that aren't intentional.
And I did not tell him off, I explained to him why it was that way and that I wanted to hear more issues outside of that area. That's it. You guys keep bashing the first paragraph when I understand it's shaky. I'm asking for more.
>>7874462
You have to understand that if you don't have the reader grabbed in the first paragraph, you're not going to grab him at all.
>>7874446
That's just it, I'm not confident enough in my abilities to know if that's a jack-ass statement for me to make or if I should stand my ground as I am now.
I would love to write for more than myself one day.
>>7874483
I guess I just misunderstood the concept of a critique thread. I'll stop wasting our time now.
>>7874441
Would this be better at making it more approachable? Now that I'm less butthurt...
>The St. Mary Cathedral of Florence sure was beautiful. It still is, of course, just as beautiful. I’ll never forget approaching the main entrance, feeling myself shrink as the holy tower devoured the open sky. And once inside, the grandiosity of the interior commanded not only me, but the vast flock of chairs gathered under the light of stain-glass murals as well. I was utterly dumbfounded. Even though many tourists and fellow travelers were surrounding me, isolation was difficult not to feel. I've really earned some respect for Brunelleschi since that day. I believe it is not by accident that the chapel is so renowned and iconic.
>>7874549
Aside from "earned some respect" (Should most likely be "gained respect" because the respect is earned by the Bruneschelli, not by the narrator), it's much better.
>>7874552
You're right, didn't even notice.
But thanks. And sorry for the hassle earlier. Sometimes criticism just pangs the wrong way when I'm invested. But that's hardly an excuse.
>>7874584
Believe me, I know it sucks when something you've put work into doesn't go over well. But it's just an opportunity to take that criticism and improve yourself.
>>7874591
And improving is always better than pissing all over those who are trying to help!
>>7868376
What do you mean that I forgot my dream sequences?
>>7874070
>Not much will change from critiques
That's too bad because this needs a lot of revision. If you're going to be a writer, you're going to need to learn how to take criticism and use it as opportunities to revise and improve your work.
It starts off badly with the generic descriptor of "beautiful". This tells us almost nothing. Show us how and why. Same with grandiosity. The stained glass (not "stain-glass") windows are the first real descriptor but even these are super generic for a church. Give us some details. Paint us a picture.
Overuse of ellipses.
Too much laughing, a chuckle, a smirk, jesting--they aren't at a comedy show.
The biggest problem is its incomprehensibility. Maybe there's some dream logic going on here but your determination to leave the reader in the dark means this piece has meaning for you and you only. Maybe if I reread it a few times, I could try to figure out what you're talking about but being mysterious doesn't equal being interesting.
>>7867788
beautiful
>>7874639
There is a lot of dream logic going on. The story is told through the main chatacter who's an imagining of himself, aka Dr. McCormick. The italicized lines are the 'devil/me(the author)' and Ron McCormick, as told by Niko, is 'god'. The whole story is a subconscious rift in his mind as it breaks down by the fear of facing death. Where in the end, the real story becomes a dream that breaks off just before he would have jumped. Implying the story was intending for him to die, but because the author wrote the story, he lived on.
This is why all the light hearted aspects are from Ron (god) and the author (the devil). I don't know if that makes all the 'chuckling' more okay, but that's why it's there. It's not as serious to them.
You're right. I hate the first two sentences and I'm really struggling to get something that is good. But okay on better descriptors. I actually took a lot out because I was worried it was making the story feel more dense than it already is in other ways.
http://pastebin.com/YjueAndY
Any feedback is really appreciated, and I'll read and respond to your stuff too if you post it, it just seems as the writers of the previously posted pieces are sort of in dialogues with other anons.
>>7874737
>Any feedback is really appreciated,
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OY50gMgoicw
>>7874740
Sorry for wording that wrong I suppose. I chuckled
>>7871324
>>7874693
this isn't bad. there are lots of grammar errors but that's to be expected. other than that, my suggestion is to work on thinking up unique imagery. yours is mostly generic: the heart ready to burst out of his chest, seconds feeling like decades, tearing the room in two, etc. these are very common phrases. you have the opportunity to replace these with something cool.
A section from a piece about seasons and man's cyclic nature:
"Life is polar; and war is but spring. The shells fall as heavy reign. The blood flows like torrents of wind. And even the tallest mountain remaining, grows ever shorter each passing.
The crimson peaks thaw. Rivers form, dividing land. Trenches for mollusk and crawfish. Where children play. Drink the water; ignore the iron flavor. Count the days until winter returns. Excitedly awaiting spring anew."
>>7874763
I actually want to start out in a post-apocalyptic world for the first two chapter, until the third chapter when the main character would wake up in his house with a how he keeps having the same repeating "nightmare". That's the reason why it reads like a generic Post-Apocalypse, It serves kind off like a little sub-plot, to the main story. Although I am kind of hesitant to write about it. Do you think it could work?
>>7874817
Is it a poem anon?
>>7874900
that might work but don't make it generic. you'll lose readers' interest
We're riding
in a hot
air
balloon,
Floating
through blue
and white;
Together
we're in this
hot air
balloon,
From dawn
to final light.
I wrote some long posts for you guys but they got deleted, so I guess I'll just say something simple. I'm sorry!
>>7874745
I detect self-doubt in your writing. Be more confident.
>>7874817
Your excerpt oozes ofconceit. I enjoyed it to some degree, and I especially enjoyed the shellfish/human,river/country boundary metaphors. The others caused some issues and probably cost you a great deal in tone.
>>7872339
Just post the damn link
>Yorick
Sexy.
>>7875022
Nevermind, you did post it.
>>7872339
Pretty disappointing so far, senpai. Having the protagonist be some pierced, tattooed, pain addict takes away all of the pleasure of seeing the downfall for me. Prose wise it's kind of bad right now and not much better than Twilight or Shades of Grey. I mean calling the tattoo artist a cunt out of nowhere really threw me off or the buy a dildo line. Sounds like a teenage kid. Or stuff like "In Philadelphia, where I lived, (...)". Awkward. Actually stuff like "maybe someone would laugh at me, not that it matters since I'm in such deep thought anyway" is exactly the sort of contradictory thing you find in Twilight. Or he says he didn't want punishment, just the rush of pain, next chapter he's begging for more punishment. Either you're telling the story from the perspective of the guy who thinks about nothing but the next kick or you describe how people to react to him and how he feels about that. The vampire's look is ridiculous. It's actually hilarious to me. The descriptions of the sexual arousal from pain were pretty good though I give you that.
I'm writing a short story where a guy is struggling with his kid after his wife died giving birth to it. It's going to be told through a series of journal entries, but I don't feel like I have the 'journal' feel of it down. Anything you can help me with would be awesome, don't go easy on my garbo.
http://pastebin.com/cy5XqUhH
>>7874983
Okay, I'll try to improve on it
>>7875055
The first two chapters are extremely weak and need to be fixed. I'm still working on how exactly I can revise them. Thank you for the critique. Do you have any suggestions on how to repair it?
The thing about people laughing at him... I wasn't trying to make it sound like he was being laughed at, just just that if you saw him on the street you'd look. I'll revise that part as well, I agree that it's awkward.
Work in progress:
A million years ago or more—I lean
towards a barrage of uncounted years
congesting in their endless file the course
of history, pages of the almanac;
extending to the furthest reaches of
recorded time, where paper frays and forms
the frames of kings, and mounds of plebeian dust
ride the backwards-flowing wind of time—in
the primal bush in golden sunshine robed—
perspiring blackened topsoil underneath
to cool the crib—the little feet of rodents
now long returned to loam and dirt would drag
their little bellies through the oozing mud,
and scrawl across the land in scurried streaks
a city in relief embedded in
the dirt, twisting and winding through tall grass.
>>7874932
I guess it wants to be, doesn't it? Damn.
>>7875012
Thank you. I'm the same guy who did the Florence story. I'm really going for weight of words here, saying much with little. Arethe metaphors themselves effecting the tone, or just certain word choice? Someone asked if it was a poem, and it's not, so I'll be dropping some words like "but", "ever", and "anew".
This >>7874817 is me
>>7874366
Is this supposed to be a bad joyce parody? My diagnosis is that you need to read more, youre writing is alarmingly bad compared to the standard you seem to hold it to in your head. This isnt necessarily a bad first draft though, it could be made better, like it's not the content that's the problem. Each sentence should build on the previous, that's what they mean by chronology. Otherwise its vapid bullshit.
>>7875363
I'll keep reading later, see how it evolves and if I have any suggestions.
One question I have though is are you male or female and what is your target audience? Straight women or gay men? The mention of lube makes me think the latter.
I don't read printed erotica but I've read my fair share of fanfiction and going by those I think women are more into stream of consciousness styles, with very emotional prose. Your style seems too factual at times, especially for something written in the first person.
I don't really want to tell you to fix that if guys are into something else entirely.
>>7875471
I've been realizing that as I've let my ego slip after the initial critique. No one likes admitting their child is a derp. I know my ideas are strong, so I guess that is why I believed my writing backed it.
I do believe I need a lot of work, and the more I keep hearing it from you guys, the more motivated it makes me.
I understand I lack a great deal of technique right now. I'll improve it, and every tip helps. Thank you.
>>7875012
How's this:
Lightening pierces and thunder claps. Shells fall as heavy reign. Blood flows like torrents of wind. Godlike mountains, looming over rolling plains, grow shorter each passing.
Crimson peaks shed, and rivers trickle. Fertilizing as they divide. Trenches for mollusk and crawfish. Where doe and fawn scavenge skeletons. Thirsting for clean water; they ignore the biting iron. Preparing for death's return; Praying for war from beneath his frigid robes.
>>7875914
You speak in too many abstractions, you have to earn that right through description. See if you can find the first few pages of suttree online; that is basically the zenith of the writing you are going for. Use more varied words as well, clapping thunder is cliche as of 1802.
This is from my first ever attempt at writing a novel, plz no bully.
In front of the gate was a cluster of merchants eager to get in. Each of their carts held more wealth than what passed through Visby in a single year. However, only one of the great doors stood open and it was heavily guarded by armoured men with big axes, they seemed to let few pass and turned many away. Thorkil warned us that the new king of this city was paranoid of spies getting inside and that his paranoia was justified since the kings of this land often found a bloody end. “A king should not be scared of dying in battle, there is no greater honour,” I sad. “Idiot,” Thorkil said harshly, “the Greeks worship their one god and their priests speak only of forgiving your enemies not fighting them, the last king here was hacked to pieces in his own bedchamber and I doubt he’ll do any forgiving soon,” I wanted to ask something about the god of the Greeks but we had run into the cluster of merchants by the entrance.
>>7875417
You had me going with it for the first part but the second is all over the place. A bit grimdark for my tastes but alright anyways. Try to connect the two better together and you might have something.
>>7876125
I did read The Road before I wrote this and it did influence the style. I'll check out Suttree as well.
>>7862613
Can you post your better stuff? Just curious because I thought this one was terrible.
>>7866032
> GIS, or Geographic information System, is a confluence of five concepts that come together to allow the analysis and creation of geographically relevant data.
I wouldn't use 'confluence' here; also, confluence means 'coming together' so it's a bit repetitive to say 'coming together' twice.
> Within a GIS, people run the show.
> They bring together all the other component of the GIS and make them work together to meet the goals set out for the project.
Merge these two sentences. Also, it should be 'components,' not 'component.'
> It comes in many forms
I'd put a colon there instead of using 'such as.'
Annnd I'm bored
Beginning of a short story I'm writing. Honest criticism appreciated.
“The best counselor I’ve ever had and I’ve been to them all.”
Rufus beamed, wiping his sweating hands.
“The $200 an hour ones, the friends, the family, the ones who care and the ones who don’t, the ones who lie and the ones who don’t. The transmitters, the re-uptakers, the inhibitors; the benzos, the booze, the barbiturates; the running, the lifting, the meditating, the fucking and sucking and jerking; the deep breathing guides, the social empowerment books—The 8 Habits of Highly Effective People—Napoleon Hill, Buddhism, the camping trips and ‘communing with nature,’ what have you, I’ve had.”
“But, you, sir—please bear this unabashedly—are by far the best, the most effective, life-turningest-aroundist thing, ever.”
“They were cold, your hands I mean, the first time we sat together, but they’ve warmed with time and this grip has grown tender between us, Mister, and I think we’re all friends now and we won’t have to do what we feared we might have to. But let us converse yet; perhaps other, absolute conclusions will arise, but I seriously doubt that—much more likely inside there, or outside with the rest of the people. When you’re not with me is when I’m most afraid. You’re just lovely. But what is a man to do? Go on, simultaneously not wanting to?”
“What is this illness, this endowment of going-on-ness but simultaneously hating going on? Reveal yourself, awfulness that leads a man to put a gun to his head again and again so that he may harangue some diluted peace from blackness. This is not a life I’ve found peace in.”
I raised the jug to my mouth and held it there, waiting for the last gush of water to touch my lips, but it never came. There was nothing left. I held it in the air for only a few moments but this was plenty of time for Abba to deduce what had happened.
“It’s all gone”. He said it matter-of-factly and without accusation but the mere acknowledgement brought the blood rushing up to my head. I sank to my knees and beat the ground between angry, tearless sighs, before leaning forward and pressing my forehead to the soil in prostration, supplicant to whatever fate had been assigned to us the moment the rock had fallen and trapped Abba’s leg. I lay like that for a while until I could begin to feel the sun warming the back of my hood.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I braced myself for a rebuke from the old monk but nothing came. His breathing was laboured and I realised that he was in tremendous pain.
“There is no martyrdom for you here. The town is half a day’s walk, if you leave now you will get there before sunset.”
>>7876687
which were you responding to? or both?
>>7861327
not a /lit/ person, not sure where else to post, found this in the catalog.
I'm going to be "that guy" and try to kickstart a project of mine, (i've got a working POC, its not some scamy shit)
i need a video and the only problem i have is, this is an EndtoEnd encrypted messaging service and "i'm a nerd".
How in the hell do i write two minutes worth of dialog and it not be shit? How do i capture and maintain your attention, without trying to sound like some kind of asshole, or worse, mundane.
I really don't know anything about writing.
Also if i post shit here, will yall bitch that i'm shilling?
(i don't technically need the funding for this project, i work a 9-5 this would allow me to not do that for like 4 months and see if this takes off, i could also censor the project name to avoid bitching)
>>7876431
this is good!
like the other anon said, flows very well. very readable.
>>7876799
>I really don't know anything about writing.
kurt,
with no publishing history, there's zero chance of you getting funded. you're going to have to try to write in your spare time like the rest of us.
>>7876812
trying to get funding for a tech product not a book
just need a shot video for the kickstarter itself
>>7875500
I am male, I guess the target audience is... whoever read Fifty Shades of Grey and whoever didn't read Fifty Shades of Grey because of how inaccurate and creepy it is.
I wanted people to see an abusive relationship for what it really is. Enthralling, terrifying, near inescapable.
It's not supposed to be fanfiction, very far from it. And yeah, I try to be more realistic because when I read scenes like that, I'm completely pulled out of the scene because all I can think about is the fact that going in dry hurts like a MOTHERFUCKER.
I know tons of people who feel the same.
Your eyes lock into hers,
You smile, You cry.
Her hand clasped tightly around your heart,
fingers slowly crushing every vein and artery.
You slowly lose your grip.
She smiles, She cries,
...Then pulls.
>>7862613
you only post your throwaways? fuck you.
>>7875914
>Shells fall as heavy reign.
?
>>7875417
Don't listen to the other guy, this is great stuff. Enjambment put to great use and the SOUND, man. The SOUND
>>7875136
I feel like you've gotta be more constrained. People don't write that much in their journals.
>>7874737
>as if it’s only purpose
as if it is only purpose?
your main problems is the mixing of contractions and non-contractions, lol.
there's something good here, but it's kept down by awkwardness
>>7877265
I know. It's bad and I should feel bad.
>>7877325
Don't feel bad. It's just... I think you meant "heavy rain," right? Then it would be "like heavy rain."
Don't ever give up, dude. You have a vision in your mind. Work on the boring technical shit
>>7877330
Well, no... I meant reign but also rain. Everything was to compare war to spring and their cyclic nature.
I'm just thinking I'm trying too hard.
>>7877377
My name and post here are absolutely wonderful.
>>7877377
>dubs
>/lit/ relevant name
well done anon
>>7877418
I didn't even notice the dubs, nor do I care. The whole context of my post is struggling to write well.
Just free wrote this, tell me if I should continue tomorrow.
The post-surgical gauze was wrapped around my head several times by the orderlies dressed in fifties garb. One said "you'll look like a mummy when we're all done with you," they all laughed. She continued "I'm only kidding, lighten up." I couldn't see. When the doctor took the bandages off several weeks later I couldn't help but smile. He removed my sunglasses and bowler hat-I imagine daintily- with careful fragile wrists. He jangled for a pair of scissors in his drawer. He looked like he was wearing a cape. He was tall and his office smelled like lemon cough drop. The walls were the color of a taco shell and a picture of a purple flower was the sole decoration, it looked like it was included with the frame. "Aha!" He began snipping at the bottom of my neck which tickled and he continued up the y-axis of my skull to the top where the bandages unsheathed and my face emerged, molted. "Well...so," he asked. I contemplated. "Is it like this permanently?"
"What do you mean?"
"Like this," I pointed at my face with my index and middle finger orthogonal to my thumb. "Permanently," I continued.
"Yes of course, it is your face. Do you not like my work? You people are psychotic, fucking nuts. I spent weeks working on you. I didn't even shit the whole time!"
He looked like a character from Grey's Anatomy or ER, except his nose drooped down his face like melted wax. He had a sprinkle of stubble and a jawline of scimitar; armani glasses no less. "No Dr. Monk, noooooooo," I yelled. He began inscribing TRANSMOGRIFY sideways down his hollywood-esque visage. I like to pronounce visage like massage with a v.
I saw a cutie at a train station and I tried my hand at writing.
I fell in love with a passing face in a crowd. A face I have never before seen soon became familiar to me. It seemed to glance my way a time or two. I took detailed mental notes but in my haste they seem to have faded from my mind and it is agony to recall their incomplete image. They held a conversation with cohorts that were dim in the presence of that single person who touched me in ways that are not easy to describe. From afar, expressions of friendship and trust and warmth but they were not to me and nor will they ever be. Dark eyes with a bright center. A new experience every time they came into view. A jacket with the curious name I have forgotten that did not belong to them that was just a hair lower than their shorts. Never a voice nor name to this face. Hair fell in just the right way over the brow, swept up and over. Determined face that never quite focussed on anything but was still calculating every brief image carefully. Thin lips a dark red color managed to stick out despite their size. It pained me to know I would never hear my name escape them. A nose thin and fitting of that sharp face.
>>7876313
Enjoyed this, reminds me of F Scott Fitzgerald's prose
question: is having a character figure something out in a trippy dream sequence just trashy?
>>7877862
>question: is having a character figure something out in a trippy dream sequence just trashy?
God I hope not. I'm having the first two chapters be in a post-apocalyptic "nightmare" for my protagonist
"I looked up at the sky and saw the last traces of the sun's rays vanish under a thick gray ash. I gazed out at the barren landscape where cities used to stand proudly. I was all that was left. All that remain. The lady in the black dress was beginning to circle around me, I could hear shouts and roars of inhuman monsters approaching in the distance. Death seemed inevitable at this point. There was no hope. No, I thought. This is not my time to die. As I grabbed my rifle, I told myself, "There'll be another time..."
>>7877726
>I fell in love with a passing face in a crowd.
to say you fell in love is an exaggeration which hurts your credibility. Also, the phrase a "face in the crowd" is kind of cliche.
>It pained me to know I would never hear my name escape them.
vain, even if true. you should train yourself to think of her and her own life.
much between these two sentences pleasantly surprised me, however.
>>7872339
>It's about a masochist who ends up being a sex toy for a hedonistic and abusive vampire.
O i am laffin
>>7874434
Its all about some masochist becoming a sex slave to a Hellenistic and homosexual vampire. What am I reading anon
Little girl butt touching hot metal. Dinosaur roar from the trees; so the order came through to warm up the raid gear and head out. Alina mounted her gear, arms on the
arm levers bare legs inside the frame, frail teenage body inside big metal body, soft embraced by hard . She span up the shoulder guns and flexed, exercising claws and
jagged toes, giant armoured body shake shake shake, taking a spear from the pile on the way past the stone gates. They were beating the drums for her, beating the
steady rhythm of combat, and ahead there was the jungle. Green arms stretched out wide trees thickly intertwined an incestuous image of real nature, vines wrapped
together and wrinkled century-old trunks growing in tandem in thick grass-choked soil. The gear whined as Alina made it run drumbeat pounding in her ears as gigantic
monster feet tore Vs into the earth. Below her a whole planet moving in vibrato, the neverending quake of the ongoing hunt pounding in her ears, becoming the drumbeat
replacing it, entering it from behind, slowly stealthily taking over. The gear junked sidetoside crazy like, sprinting through jungle batting trees away ripping apart
vines without even trying, birds deer everything and everything small enough to flee getting heck outta harm's way while strapped in Alina felt the rumble of the
cushioning against her crotch and shoulders, the rush of wind on her exposed face.
Gears used to come with front armour, dontcha know.
I've never wrote anything before and not even read that much, but I guess there's no harm in doing this. I'm not writing for any reason other than fun away.
http://pastebin.com/qVrWwCh4
Thanks to anyone who reads it
Harold strolled across the dreary pebbled seafront of Littlehampton with a slow indecisive walk of somebody going nowhere but hoping to end somewhere. He could be spotted on this walk every evening at 06:00 PM; it’s during this time he’s at his most vulnerable. He took a drag of his cigarette and silenced his mind, taking the smoke in as the tide slid onto the pebbles and exhaled as it withdrew, staying in time with the beat of the ocean. The waves echoed through Harold’s mind as they hit the shore, being the only person on the beach he felt loneliness consume, since he began his walks it has been the bane of his wondering, the voice of loneliness is something he could not silence. Finishing his cigarette, he turned on his heels and walked, this time with a destination in mind, home.
Steadily climbing Harold trudged up the sloping pebbles as they slid from under his feet until he was back onto the pavement, his lived only five minutes from the shore. Twilight had passed by now, the silent orange glow of fading daylight had made way for a more electric radiance of light pollution. He proceeded past streets of housing with unkempt gardens and curtains closed, flashing images of the television flittering through. The streets were empty with deserted scooters and bikes leant up against garden walls, he was now walking through the territory of cats and beasts of the night. He walked past the oval common that was fluffy with freshly cut grass; the smell filled his nostrils – the only smell of nature bar sea salt in this dreary town. The common is home to two conker trees that once dropped their seeds to watch the children collect and play with, but the kids didn’t play conkers anymore; the green grass was rarely used for football either, kids preferred to simply sit together and listen to music on mobile phones, the older ones would drink away boredom and the younger ones would too someday; the conker trees felt forgotten, only the whisper of the wind kept them company, the aging of the seasons and the crying of the wind during harsh cold nights were all that took their seeds now, but only to rot and decay.
.
Question: How do you kill a character you basically made unkillable?
Scene:
I have two not-quite-main characters battling this character.
They are a God of Death essentially who can utilize and absorb souls.
The main characters aren't available to help these two.
What's my out? This God character has to die without it being trash.
>>7878028
Are they actually good in combat
>>7878028
Don't write fantasy gutter garbage.
>>7878028
Jesus Christ, man. Do you really expect to get anything substantial in feedback when your post, and your writing, is this retarded?
>>7878028
I don't know their powers, if they even have any. If they don't, they're screwed, because you've invented an unbeatable force that sounds more likely to appear in a Gaia Online roleplay thread with a character from Bleach representing him in his description.
>>7877862
No, one of the stories I keep pushing here is a mess of a dream and people like the idea. Plus, I personally love trippy dream sequences if they aren't typical/predictable.
readmy
crappy writings
please read my
crappy writings my
crappy writings
please red them.
>>7878028
Sounds like a shitbook, go ask >>>/reddit/
>>7878028
You either rewrite and give your protagonists something to exploit or the thing they're fighting wins
>>7874639
I've got to ask. If I:
>restructured,
>went back to study/improve my basics,
>actually made the piece interesting enough to want to read,
but
>kept the reader just as in the dark
Would it work better? Or is it a lost cause, and I should just make this much less complex? Because I'm working on editing it as we speak, taking all the critiques in consideration, and I don't want to (from a comprehensive standpoint) be wasting my time.
>>7879202
I'd rather move on to one of my more main story ideas that isn't as complex and offers more storytelling/character development if this one may not work.
Our laws were not designed for anyone to follow them so absolutely, like you have.
When we wrote them, we’d all assumed that, in time, our subjects would grow so tired of our rule that their own inborn undying sense of love would cry havoc!—lead a rebellion in their hearts, overthrow the tyrants that we'd installed there, and set their kingdom and, in turn, the world at peace.
In fact, life can’t abide without that triumph or without the brilliant aureole that surrounds the heart of the person who achieves it.
You were the only one who obeyed us—you were the only one who trotted along, tireless, to very last letter of our tortuous, incomprehensible laws. Why is that? What the fuck is wrong with you?
This sentence: http://pastebin.com/7b6qAe4z
Note: I cannot use the word "sat."
First five pages of the rough draft of my first novel
Be honest /lit/
http://pastebin.com/W1bpCNMu
The first book I laid eyes on was this small, leather-bound notebook that was cracking around the corners called the Ha’Yemvahn, at least I think that’s how it’s pronounced. Let me tell you, this is one of the strangest things I’ve read in my life and to this day I’m still certain I never even scratched the surface of it. Every single word in that book was gibberish, but it was deliberate gibberish, like a kind of riddle that needs to be interpreted on several different levels to just make sense in one of them. I think I spent hours leafing through that cockamamie trying to understand what I was reading, but at nearly every other sentence I had to stop and read the whole paragraph over again.
The diagrams all over the pages really didn’t help. There was this one in particular I kept coming back to. It was this diagram of a respiratory system, but the lungs and the wind pipe had been replaced by fig branches covered in leaves and with tubes running through them. If I looked closer the spaces between the leaves were a bunch of words I didn’t recognize and a few I did: breath, and spirit and life, and a few others too. They were supposed to represent some symbolic concepts in complex ways I’m sure but the whole thing didn’t make any sense to me.”
“The language of the birds?” I offered.
“What’s that?”
“It was something I read about a while back while I was reading about alchemy for a story idea that never really took off. The hermetics insisted on being as cryptic as possible to hide their research, so they would encode it in paintings that were meant to be understood purely symbolically. One trend was using different colored birds to represent individual steps like burning or distillation, so they called it the language of the birds.” I had never really thought that fact would ever be relevant in my life again.
In my entire time of experience at a number of participating pediatric care facilities, talks with highly renowned medical doctors and neurotherapists, as well as countless hours of non-participant visiting on anonymous “anime” image boards such as this, I have really learned a lot about autism and my ability to gain any amount of personal experience with it, much more than I had bargained for, in fact.
I have found myself rolling around the boards a few times here and there, addicted in a way, crashing a billion planes and became a bigger guy than Max Stirner or Frederich Nietzsche could ever hope to be, in this life or another, in this plane of existence, or any lower or higher one.
That being said, I really think it is necessary and proper to bring up the white elephant looming in the black corner of the room.
I think, personally, that the introduction of the theory that meaning and unmeaning are a dual relationship in a dichotomy that nearly never find themselves transcended nor passed over each other that it is completely certain that this level of autism surely would transcend the dichotomy just as much as Al-Karkei’s severely underrated “The Birds, The Frogs, & The Mosquitoes”, in which the periwinkle pursuit of principle and persistent processes put on by people and presentation as presented to us in the post-postmodern world is clearly contorted by a false sense of right brought by the rise of the left and the onslaught of the consistently overflow of degeneracy in society and its depreciation in decadence, thus easily and laymanly giving a clear example of the meaning/unmeaning dichotomy.
In conclusion, it’s abundantly clear that anyone with any amount of regular brain function would realize how fucking stupid that sounds.
I do not love you. I only keep you around for fear of the inevitable humiliation that will come from seeing you with another man. And yet, while we are together in this painful façade of a relationship, I cannot stand being apart from you. When we’re separated, I find myself anxious, wondering where you are and who you are with. Whose hands are mingling with the blonde twine which falls like Skógafoss over your shoulders? Whose eyes are staring back at themselves in the green reflection of your own? Has there really been no one else visiting that place between your thighs – so warm and tender – while I sat at home masturbating to that same thought, unbeknownst to the embarrassment you were inflicting upon me?I know I was the first, but equally, I know that I won’t be your last. I hold no fantasies of being with you forever; I don’t wish to share a life with you wherein you hurt me without realising it. Correction: I hurt myself. And yet, it’s all the same. Regardless of whether you are aware, or whether you have truly been unfaithful or not, I cannot tolerate this. And so, on the 28th of April, I will send you this exact monologue, followed by a string of derisive laughing emojis.
>>7880814
What does this mean /Lit/
>>7861327
First thing I have ever attempemping writing something
http://pastebin.com/t9BZ65SW
TEAR ME A NEW ASSHOLE, so I don't end up being dobson.
>>7882446
THANK YOU BACK-SNAP GORILLA
>>7882446
THANK YOU BACK-SNAP GORILLA
>>7875417
>>7876154
>>7877272
I added a third stanza. This should hopefully make it clearer. I'm going to keep adding more, so it's far from finished, but what do you think?
A million years ago or more—I lean
towards a barrage of uncounted years
congesting in their endless file the course
of history, pages of the almanac,
extending to the furthest reaches of
recorded time, where paper frays and frames
the forms of kings, and mounds of plebeian dust
ride the backwards-flowing wind of time—in
the primal bush in golden sunshine robed,
perspiring blackened topsoil underneath
to cool the crib, the little feet of lizards
now long returned to loam and dirt would drag
their little bellies through the oozing mud,
and scrawl across the land in scurried streaks
a city in relief embossed in dirt,
winding its ways through the swaying tallgrass,
until the primal simian learned that if
he tucked his throbbing thumb against the rock
cupped in his foregathered dactyls, it would
repel the call of gravity and taste
the glassy higher air unsullied still
with smoke and breath, and he could throw it then
at what he pleased and hammer blood from meat—
thus our ancestors learned to kill for food.
>>7861327
My latest writing is just a record of my travel that I am trying to keep updated. My journal is ahead in entries but I hope to type them up at least every other day. I'm keeping it on a blog: aerochameleon.wordpress.com
Virgin draft, unedited, thoughtless and pure. It probably does reflect the way my shit is usually written, even after edits. I'm also not english so whatever.
It was dark and cold, almost wet but never quite. He wanted to drink so much it hurt and the pressure crushed his limbs.
“I hear the call of the abyss” he said.
And from that darkness, an unfamiliar sound came. He knew where it came from but so much time has passed since he last heard it.
“I feel the grasp of the abyss” he continued.
The odd sound was louder now.
“Oh, that’s right” he said, laughing madly now. “That is the truth, yes sir. There are no sounds under the sea. And I couldn’t breathe…”
And when the sound stopped, the door burst open and crashed into the wall. Within the confinement of his cell, Ankur had some of the weirdest dreams. His mind often wandered in places reason couldn’t follow. A mere sliver of blue light from the torchlight penetrated the thick darkness of the room, burning his eyes as they opened nonetheless. He quickly came back into his senses but did nothing.
The man standing in the doorstep had a bucket, so Ankur braced himself, closing his eyes shut and stiffening every muscle of his body in anticipation. It was cold, colder than ever before in his cell and the guard threw the empty water bucket, crashing into Ankur’s head most painfully. He then growled something in that obscene, indecipherable language, but Ankur understood what he meant. He must do it fast, or else there would be no more chances. He mimicked dizziness and pain as he licked the water off the stone floor, sipped all he could from between the cracks in the short time that he had. The guard barked another order.
>>7882701
Kya haal hai?
>>7882376
bretty pls?
Wrote this on the train so didn't have time to edit or really finish.
Life is flat, flat as a line no lyin no cryin just sighin as I see what's in line up ahead six hours in bed eyes red but no lies no whys just lookin ahead full of dread at that flat line flat-line flat-out tryin to keep in line because if I get fired that life it gets mired so tired the line my captor now seems so fine, this life on the other side keeps me from goin wide but 'life', no strife but it's flat-line flat-time just waiting in line for life but if I felt that feeling I could be out like a knife high hills blue skies no more red no more sighs because up ahead would be a rocky road no line this time just life to be seen no screen like something right out of my dream my escape from reality to keep my life from being an early fatality so here I am flat line flat-out tryin to stick around waiting for the profound.
>>7882376
I was at the internet cafe, meme-ing. The barista told me that I should post about my surroundings, rather than myself, because 'narcissists'.
—What a load of bullshit.
I think to my self.
—There is absolutely nothing write about. The barista gave me some more ideas (not all bad), but I can only see my self fucking it up because her suggestions make me think of Paranormal Activity 4, and I don't want to re-write Cloverfield.
I think to my self.
—Maybe something like a fanfiction. Yeah but like South Park. People like South Park. Fanfiction and parody.
I think to my self.
My conscience materializes as an angel and a devil on my shoulders.
—You can't get away with it.
—Just because it comes from a stupid premise doesn't mean it has to be shit. If it ends up being shit it's because you are are shit. Plain and simple.
—Oh, shut up!
—Most people would be able to tell by a mile away that likely is going to be shit.
—Just because people expect you to be terrible, doesn't mean you have to be terrible. You should make it really funny!
—I have an even better idea.
I said to my self, I guess.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dear Poster,
Why did you post this mangled garbage? I don't understand. You couldn't have possibly expected an actual critique. There were typos, grammatical solecisms, poor formating, and a complete lack of coherence / point. It wasn't funny or bad-funny. It didn't even make me angry. Are you in middle school? Why are you on 4chan? South Park? Cloverfield? Did yr older brother show you this website or something?
Go to Hell,
/lit/
Not a native french speaker, my first try at poetry in french
Je parle si je veux, quand je veux
Accrochées sur un mur,
bruits lointaines
Ta voix est une allegro
Qui se fait entendre
Outremer
Tu as percée mon cœur
Violente
Si subtile
>>7883275
this is fuckin trash
saying lame shit in french doesn't make it cool
literally just write english poetry and translate it
>>7883281
Never write poetry, never write at all. I'm drunk. I thought I'd try
>>7883286
focus on meaning rather than word choice
line breaks/stanzas are irrelevant
>>7883255
Nope, that's why I was asking
Like I said, is my first attempt at writting. Literally. Every other time I wrote a story or something has been homework or some shit.
Thanks anyway, I would love if you go into more detail
>>7883275
lointains*
>>7883318
You are trolling or brain damaged. But no the off chance you are serious:
Number 1 thing: don't take advice from some asshole on the internet.
#2: Read it aloud, out loud to yourself.
>>7883466
I know he is taking the piss. But I feel he did improve it (or at least from what it originally was).
http://pastebin.com/eWn47S5k
Is this at all readable? Is there something there?
>>7883694
You know in your heart you're wasting our time and your time: quit now before any more doors shut. Tick tock.
>>7883694
I might be able to read it if it wasn't spaced like that. You really don't need stanzas for an essay about you not jacking off.
Oh, he never needed or wanted much. Just a humble home to call his own. One with a comfortable place to sleep, with warm heavy blankets and some soft, cool sheets. Surely then he would get a good night's rest. This home would also need a kitchen with enough counter space to cook and prepare meals with ease. If only, he thought, if only I had such a kitchen I would be able to eat healthy. And preferably, the oven would be gas instead of electrical, and the sink would have two bowls -- one for washing, one for rising, and he supposed there would also have to be a rack for them to dry. His kitchen would, surely, never be a mess.
The living room, of course, would become his study. Books, quality hardcovers, of only the finest literature would line his walls and the room would be well lit both with a large window, facing south for sunlight, and with overhead lighting. If he only had that little luxury he could finally start to dedicate some time to reading and become the erudite bourgeois bohemian he knew he really was. Speaking of sunlight, the living room of a patrician such as himself would need to have plants. They would hang from the ceiling, placed in the corners, and sit on the window cill. The fresh air would cleanse his lungs and provide his demanding brain with fresh, oxygenated blood. Then, his mental clarity would be at its peak, and he would be able to tackle such esoteric literature with piercing insight and understanding.
Speaking of blood, how simple would it be to have his own home-gym to get his heart pumping and muscles aching? All he would need is a small little room, with enough height to press a barbell overhead. Some high-quality bumper plates so he could do the snatch and the clean and jerk. Accessory equipment like a squat rack with a built in pull-up and dip station would also be necessary. And let us not forget, that while weightlifting will surely develop strength, aesthetics were also important. And for this reason dumbbells for high rep isolation exercises would be needed as well. All of this could be found at a gym, but the inconvenience of waiting to use equipment, or traveling there and back with a putrid bag of gym gear would just be awful. Of course, he would not get too fancy, and spare himself the cost of a treadmill by running outside on the trails, embracing nature. Surely then he would be able to get into shape, and sculpt his body into a figure that even the ancient Greeks would admire for its beauty and strength!
No, he never needed much. Not much a all. Just a few simple items would make him happy. If only he was not impeded by life in such the way that he was. If only he had the autonomy to make this vision come to life. Then he could really be the man he wished to be!
Phew.
This idea ended up getting brought up in a QTTDTOT thread and I'm worried about proceeding any further... But if it's any good, maybe I will? It's actually an interesting challenge writing a story without "big" words and complex grammar.
Have at it, /crit/.
http://pastebin.com/EDT5UpRs
Rate my note I wrote myself the other night
You can view this meaninglessness thing as being a fringe idea i.e. not worth considering because you know your response from that is to have things to do for their own sake. I.e. values which stand on their own. Without that there's an infinite regress of "why". You know that dwelling on ultimate meaningless is just a bad habit if you decide to take values seriously and eventually it’ll become less and less of a live wire as a means of affecting your decisions and your subjective way of being. In a sense it’s not all that important.
Imagination, imagine you as the actor of things not you as the character of a story unfolding which can be packaged to be told to other people. That’s a way to get over caring what others think. Imagine things in themselves and you doing them.
Imagination in general is important and what was missing: your ability to imagine yourself in different scenarios and how you’d do things and what they’d feel like and be like.
Generally tending towards
Love
Sex
Effective and creative thinking
Playfulness
Will...
...Frugal lifestyle
Able to travel without too much hassle
Essentially it goes: subjective truths/values… how to embody them. Along with concrete applicable goals within them. These include -and at first pretty much solely are- reducing BS rather than adding too much new. That’s how to do approach things for now.
>>7883743
I'm sorry
>>7883743
SOUNDS GOOD
BUT STOP TRYING TO OVERCOME THE ADOLESCENT PITFALL OF NIHILISM WITH AN ENLIGHTENED MATERIALISM
START READING SHITLOADS OF METAPHYSICS UNTIL YOUR BRAIN FRIES AND YOU'RE CONVINCED EVERYTHING IS AN EMANATION OF DIVINITY
>>7883741
It's... what... Reverse Lolita with a boy?
the moonlight gave us to me
(it was flesh and flesh only)
the stillness of winter sank
(it was flesh and flesh only)
so we left without a pulse.
(it was flesh and flesh only)
we fell under curtains and fire
(it was flesh and flesh only)
I sank inside the room
(it was flesh and flesh only)
and found a dream to suck on
(it was flesh and flesh only)
Morning fell and lifted
(it was flesh and flesh only)
and I forgot again
(it was flesh and flesh only)
it was flesh and flesh only
(it was flesh and flesh only)
>>7883760
Yes.
Hoping to hear if it's worth proceeding.
http://pastebin.com/p8a6vai3
>>7883765
the stanzas don't transition well, the phrase "it was flesh and flesh only" is fucking stupid, and I don't know what the poems about anyway
>>7883765
Is this Linkin Park?
>>7883787
it's about meat-eaters trying to rationalise their consumption of sentient creatures
>>7883716
You're right and I will.
>>7878027
harold higsworth????
>>7883795
Please at least tell me
>>7883170
is boring meandering shit or something
>>7883741
Bumping this one, it got caught up in a bunch of other stuff getting posted at the same time.
This is in reference to an experience I had with ego death, and coming out of it, after a mild trip went in barely the wrong direction.
>>7884524
OW OW OW OW OW.
I do NOT want to read about teeth grinding. Ouch, man. My teeth hurt now. Nothing ethereal about that. Gross.
>>7883765
Disgusting. Lazy. Uninspired. Either stop writing or learn to do it right.
just freewrote this. tell me if its too purple
The sun lay comatose on the sky's ledge, an empty halogen for those subject to it. Ghostly late summer breezes swim like schools of fish covaled to the odor of fresh mulch, spread and sauntered, lining the aged garage. The neighbor's lawnmower cuts a carpet of uniform grass atop a pampered dirt, asking the Earth of its faculty, coughing gasoline. A seething and still gravel road cuts through the surface of the crust, imparting a passageway to an insland swallowed on each side by effiecient and mass distributed cathedrals of carpentry, drafted by architects and subsumed by engineers. The buzzing industry of the lawnmower has given way, the only energy remaining is fluted by the symphony of blue jays and house finch.
>>7884530
I mean, I wasn't really grinding them, more just rotating my jaw in a circle and letting the teeth tap against each other because the sensation was making patterns I could "see" in my minds eye, as a result of the trip wearing off.
I never wrote in English before. Here it goes:
Had I Shakespeare's soul or Plato's brain
To truly and well describe the one I love
Then would they never shine, the stars above,
For my words would all else make dim and plain.
How horrible is it?
>>7884835
i like it a lot senpai
>>7884862
I found the diction and the syntax sort of confusing. It's hard to write in another language. I tried to translate a famous sonnet from my language into English the other day and the result was catastrophical.
>>7883694
apart from the weird layout you used (why start a new line so often) it was ok. i thought it was an interesting little exploration into the lonely masturbators mind.
>>7883716
you are the worst kind of poster in crit threads. i cant imagine how dissatisfied you have to be with your own life / work to feel the need come into these threads with the sole purpose of putting new writers down. i am not saying these threads should be a hugbox, but if your negative crit isnt constructive you should just stick it up your ass.
>check back after 12hrs
>novody has commented on mine
Taking my Backpack,
filling it to the bristling brim,
with all the photos from my snapchat,
zippers harshly closed, its ergonomic back snapped,
the snarky looking lids grimly grin,
off down the stairs, by my dust-speckled chairs,
sliding the flight of concrete on the doormat
landing right on the street where all kinds of dogs shat,
virtual residues on my shoulders shaking remindingly,
the bloated weightlessness within complimenting my ego blindly,
blinded by shopwindow puddles reflecting the sun,
me, I and my ephemeral cargo run,
in the vast direction of chicago, beyond the pool, kilomiles ahead,
hopping pedestrals of stone pedestrially,
leaving behind a trail of burps 'n gulps 'n bad rep,
clutching the strings of by bag with cordiality,
its intestinals, that's what they say, constituting my personality,
shaking at the thought of getting rid of it in utter desperation,
throwing it in the gutter that I just made up in my mind for to expand the duration,
that i allow myself to speak with confidence,
confidentially, accidentially following already-forgotten foremostly hyped trends.
And so it ends quite rapidly
I'm home again.
Slain,
by verbose mediocrity.
>>7885067
Which one?
>>7883743
good advice desu
Hey guys.
Reposting this one because I actually completed the first part, I think.
http://pastebin.com/BgHvVXaH
I just finished another chapter in the epic tale of Frank the grumpy old peach farmer, hero of my upcoming novel "Practice what you peach".
In this chapter, Frank shows a journalist around his peach farm after winning best-in-state with his premium peaches at the state fair.
>>7885275
Yes we get it you watched house of cards
>>7885314
Never watched it, but isn't that about a presidential election?
>>7885318
The main character is
-called Frank
-Southern
-Was raised on a Peach farm, which is explored in detail
-Has a writer follow him around
-Is commanding
Just seemed similar
>>7885323
My story's about a very successful peach farmer who actually hates peaches though.
That's the kind of deep layering you won't find in any big-budget TV production.
>>7885228
I agree with the other guy. If it made more sense it might be cool to read something written like that... Stream of consciousness poetry?
Her eyes bored holes into my head as we ordered our entrees, closing the menus and handing them to the waiter without acknowledgement.
"We really are like two peas in a pod."
"We're the pod that fell off the vine and is putrifying on a bed of rotten leaves," she said.
I knew it was love.
Khadija was the love of my life and I hated her for it. Raised a Muslim, she had long broken with the tenets of that faith, and her only religious attire was a thin emerald green headscarf that framed rather than covered her hair and that she took off for nights out. She didn’t drink as heavily as the rest of our group but tempted us with the worst of sins, often spilling drinks and stealing coats and then vanishing just before all hell broke loose. However, for each act of cruelty she redeemed herself with kindness twice over.
Her whole appearance drove me to deplorable levels of lust and I could not go a week without seeing her, for she knew how to love and how to extract my worries like they were nectar. We joked about getting married but knew our parents would never consent to this, and besides the whole ritual seemed like a sham anyway. We hadn’t even told our friends. There was nothing to be gained from sticking a label on our arrangement and inviting other people in as spectators.
When I awoke my head was buried in her hair and her hand was tracing circular patterns on the small of my back. She kissed me gently on the mouth before giving me a chance to speak.
>>7883738
How shit is this out of 10?
>>7886228
Yeah there is a larger context. I have written a bit about this character before. I think everyone here is writing a NEET character though so I've mostly given up on it except when I want to shit on myself in a constructive manner. I was hoping to hit the main excuses people tend to give themselves and complaints they make. It does seem maybe a little drawn out.
I.e.
I don't have time or money to sleep/read/cook/workout like I want to.
>>7861445
cut down on the shorter sentences early on they get tedious quite quick
>>7874263
I can't thank you enough for recommending me Strunk and White. It made me very aware of mistakes I was incredibly unaware of in a way that was very comprehensive and easy to follow.
I wish more people on here handed out critiques like you, friend.
>>7884879
you made it flow nicely imo, and its got some nice imagery
i really love the last line
