/crit/ - Writing critique thread

[Anonymous No.14234376]

In this thread, anons post their original writing for critique and comment

[Anonymous No.14234380]

The god that wrought the act of Courage

Which god was it, that roused the will?
That woods aburn, that seas aspill
Clad full in bronze, His bold head raised
There surging forth, the heavens braised

It turns there still, august and high
Perpetual might, forever spry
That burning sight, against the foe
His unbent woe, descends in light

Rotating yet, and ever more
Reach for that act, to take its sup
Slip through the cracks, crane up, eyes up
And drench us with its gore

Highest objects, agathered round
Observers to that splendrous stage,
The stars tell witness, of that end
To which we strive. Mars! Bequeath that rage!

[Anonymous No.14234685]

The people in Leiden university are not American ethnically, but they are indeed American spiritually. Spiritual Americans use the elevator to go up a single floor, and yet no one here is obese, a spiritual mystery. You could gleam something from the fact that this is a Psychology facility, therefore we conclude body/spiritually dysmorphic Germans obsess over the American physical and behavioural stereotype. The trains are designed with this in mind, scoopy bumpers installed so that only true Dutchies may slip under the train to kill themselves, Americans won't fit, they'd just be rolled along like a dense beach ball. This is the anti-Holocaust.

>>14234380
I like it, it flows well and it's brief but effective for what it portrays. Although the third stanza confused me when reading it aloud, maybe I'm just a retard but that ABBA pattern just doesn't work in my head. The ABAB in the next stanza works very well though.

[Anonymous No.14235646]

>>14234685
The "body/spiritually" sentence is a tad unclear, perhaps you meant bodily? Overall it's quite good, there certainly is such a thing as psychologically or spiritually American, you could take the idea further though. Highly disdainful yet plainly stated criticisms of things suit the 4chan mentality well.

[Anonymous No.14235700]

As each tiny disc crashed together, Mote straining at the noise yet forcing composure, he caught a glimpse of Silus remote on the leader’s ledge. As he stared at the one-time ruler, Mote thought he saw a shifting of shadow on his brow, a dread spider out of the depths pushing down the eyelids and tapping the cheeks with its spinny legs. There sat a species of melancholy Mote’s juvenile mind could scarcely recognise. An adult world profound in its obscurity. The pale face like death as it stared into the upper regions shrouded in blackness. The cloudy eyes absent and vague. Silus waned.

Then the clamour ceased. The Speaker took charge. ‘Though we came to you bearing gifts the likes of which you had never seen, treasures from the sun-kissed domain, it was for more than friendship. Indeed, was it not the plight of The Cacophony that we deliberated at the threshold, that gateway between worlds? Did we not speak of the Sleeping God and divulge our holy purpose? We pleaded and you listened.’

Shrew scoffed.

Mote twisted his thumbs.

Silus dwindled, gone into shadow.

‘We must awaken Him. With music and speech and light we must bring forth the celestial from the slumber of years. For He tires with the works of men and forsakes the suppliants of the world—even those who dwell far from reach. That is why we sought the caves.’

Mote’s tiny fist shook; a sudden need for guidance turned him toward Shrew, but he saw that elder was not looking at The Speaker. Intermixed with the worshippers stood Qui and Wisp, the wise companions of his guardian, and there, too, were friends Lull and Nib beside them, boys his own age. Each bore a grave countenance that mirrored his. When these two saw Mote they grinned, but this did not hide the sadness in their eyes.

Mote returned smouldering to the ledge, yet the moment he looked upon the holyman his insides churned and his muscles slackened. Behind the Speaker something hastened.

‘…And so it must be. Rouse Him from infinite sleep with a matchless outcry and, once awakened, captivate His humming mind by mesmeric craft the likes of which even a god could not shirk. Control the divine, my brothers and sisters. Only then will we be safe from the terrors that assail us. For who are we outside the protection and charity of The Orchestrator?

[Anonymous No.14235733]

>>14235700
part 2

A black figure ambled in high space.

A sudden sinking feeling in Mote’s breast, a spike in the blood. Somewhere far beyond The Speaker loomed a desolate creature.

The dwellers and the worshippers craned their necks in unison.

‘We are nothing when the creator drifts. We…’

He stepped forward on the precipice, a twitching mouth and a lunatic glare. The dark and ragged coat of webs billowing. Mournful Silus usurped and hopeless. A hand hid Mote’s vision but he tore it away with unchildlike savageness. He must know the pain that had been wrought that day when the outsiders came to the threshold. He had felt it coming: they all had known the brooding of the Father.

‘Will I ever see it back again, or did it die by my hand?’ said Silus slowly.

The hammer fell through the void.

‘Silus!’ shouted The Speaker. ‘What is he doing? Someone, anyone, get him down from there!’

‘Come serenity… come peace. Come subtle shades and cool nights.’

In a moment Silus was flying through the air. Mote turned away despite himself. Shrew called out. As the despairer came hurtling down his trailing jacket caught the frame of the Divine Gong and covered it in strips of black. The body slammed into stone. Silence reigned.

[Anonymous No.14236169]

>>14234380
berserk sacrifice scene vibes

[Anonymous No.14236199]

>>14234380
Cringe beyond belief. This isn't the 1500s anymore.

[Anonymous No.14236235]

When God is silent and apathetic angels no longer care to tread,
Where do our prayers go? from bleeding hands, they drift lifelessly
Up, up into the smog where they condense and return to us as acid rain
Stinging our faces and blurring our eyes as tears

When time seems to stop and seasons melt together into a sickening slurry of heat and cold,
Who do we pray for? How long until the ceaseless agony erodes our barriers
And we all fold together, gods within ourselves, burning, burning,
Until our humanity is worn down to a mere footnote in our dreams?

In unceasing faith towards uncaring fate we pray,
Pray for the prostitute who offered you a light when your fingers were too numb to find your cigarettes,
Pray for the children drinking from puddles in the streets because water is water and our organs no longer differentiate
Pray for my brother, for Jerry’s dog, for the woman who wanders the streets endlessly,
For Edward, and Allen, and Peter, and God, because who ever thinks to be looking out for her?

When we burn through our skins and our bones turn to ash,
Only then do we discover that we never needed them to begin with.
When it’s five p.m. and it’s pitch black darkness and we’re blanketed in july heat,
Only then do we discover that gods don’t matter,
Because every man is god and the only thing left to do is forget our bodies
Until your fingers turn numb and you can no longer reach for your cigarettes

We swallow our sickness and carry on.
Swallow our pain, swallow our cancer, swallow our dignity and carry on
Because we are God and God doesn’t matter
And when your body fails you, that’s just another reason to let go

Pray to yourself and pray for yourself
And may your prayers return to you painless and unhindered

[Anonymous No.14236605]

Can anyone explain to me why active, topical threads get archived?

[Anonymous No.14236773]

This is good. Only your archaic language is all messed up and weird.
"braised" is a cooking term; you can't type "scorch" into the thesaurus and pick any old result.
>That woods aburn, that seas aspill
something is causing the woods to burn and the seas to spill, right? The prefix -a as in 'afoot' and 'abreast' is actually an interesting etymological rabbit hole, but it doesn't work for your purposes; that's just made-up grammar. I admit there's ample historical precedent for making up grammar -- a Victorian poet would have written "burneth, spilleth" -- but that's equally bullshitty, and at least the Victorians established a standard structure for their fabrications. So I don't know what I'd suggest.
Further down, 'agathered'. Reading the etymonline entry for the a- prefix, I think you can actually get away with that one. But it is important to understand the rules if you're gonna pull these shenanigans.

Also you take a lot of liberties with your grammar just to make lines fit the meter. If stanza 3 is a continuation of stanza 2, it would have to read something like:
Rotating yet, and ever more
Reaching for that act, to take its sup
Slips through the cracks, crane up, eyes up
And drenches us with its gore
Either put in the effort to do meter properly, or write in free verse.

The idea behind the poem is better than most I see here. I love what you're saying, just not how you're saying it.

>>14236199
Why not use big-boy words and contribute to the thread rather than just spouting off-the-shelf 4chan vitriol? Here's your (You), fag.

[Anonymous No.14236777]

>>14236773
Oops, this is meant as a reply to >>14234380

[Anonymous No.14236826]

>>14234380
Just for fun I altered this fixing all the grammatical and metrical liberties. Hope you don't mind.

Which god was it, that roused the will?
Who woods doth burn and seas doth spill,
Clad full in bronze, His bold head raised
There surging forth, the skies ablaze

It turns there still, august and high
Perpetual might, forever spry
That burning sight, against the foe
His unbent woe, descends in light

Rotating yet, and ever more
Reach for that act, to take its sup
Slips through the cracks, crane up, eyes up
And drenches us with gore

Highest objects, gathered round
Observers to that splend'rous stage,
The stars bear witness to that end
To which we strive. Mars! Loose that rage!

[Anonymous No.14236950]

>>14236773
Thank you for the detailed response
I think I'll allow myself a few wonky things like aspill and the old braised to mean scorched but I can understand why someone wouldn't like them.
I was attempting to imitate this feature from Horatius at the bridge that I liked, his 6A 8B 8B 6A though it failed since I only half remembered it and forgot to make the first A with 6 syllables. Here is his

Before that deep array;
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
And lifted high their shields, and flew
To win the narrow way.

"And drench us with its hallowed gore" or maybe the first line to "onward yet, ever more" is probably the fix. Thanks again anon, people like you make this community worthwhile, have anything of yours you'd like critiqued?

[Anonymous No.14237003]

>>14236826
These are improvements. If I'm not mistaken, ablaze doesn't quite rhyme with raised though, blazed would, "the heavens blazed" perhaps.
"That woods" keeps the meaning, I imagined that the will causes those calamities
"Send that rage" keeps the meaning
You are correct about splend'rous, it looks nicer too

[Anonymous No.14237054]

John's face was always gloomy. When someone asked him a question, he would answer monosyllabically or pretend to be deaf. He'd never look into one's eyes, and his sweaty, limp hand felt like a sponge when he had to extend it to greet a new co-worker. His life was divided between his home and the office. He spent the weekends sitting on the old couch in front of the television, reading the late newspapers and drinking beer.
No one liked John except Martha, who thought he was a true gentleman. Finally, one day, he ended up inviting her to dinner. Marta blushed when she received the invitation, her heart pounding as she couldn't help but let out a shy smile from her lips. She swallowed and agreed day and time.

...

Two hours before the meeting, Marta took a long bath with scented salts and applied a hydrating mask on her face. She brushed her hair for a long time, but in the end decided to make a relaxed bun. She painted her eyes, stretched her lashes and intensified her lips with red lipstick, dressing in a tight skirt and a slightly transparent silk blouse that she had saved for a special occasion.
Inside the cab, on the way to the restaurant, Marta tried to straighten a strand of hair that kept peeling off her bun, running her fingers across the skirt whilst looking intermittently at her makeup mirror as to touch up the lipstick.
Suddenly, a block to the restaurant, a thought crossed her mind. What if John had only invited her to talk about work issues? As she got out of the cab, Marta used a shop window as a makeshift mirror only to ponder whether her skirt was too tight, or her shirt too transparent.

[Anonymous No.14237082]

[Anonymous No.14237084]

>>14236826
>>14234380
i like it, and great advce from
>>14236773

i wonder what youll think about this
its comprised of three parts, telling stories of 3 types of people regarded and sick, evil and selfish
maybe its too simple or pretentious, do tell if so


1-
once a dreamer genuinely smiled
potential futures, awe-inspiring,
a blank sheet, not yet written,
just a few stains speak of sadness

indecisive ways are walked
curious consuming
first kiss, first sex - so exciting
but ink keeps geting spilled

oh why is it so dirty
drifting off bit by bit
disgust and shame keep coming
sealed deep inside by fear

the good inside keeps curious
the voice tells you let go
exploring without shame
mouth shut eyes wide open

a tilting point is reached
the dam of reason broken
disgust comes flooding in
isolation lets it boil

desperate tries are made
returning to your roots
an endeavor seeming futile
some doors are hard to close

ever growing stranger
a twisted appetite evolves
labelled a defective
a paper full of stains
a choice becomes then clear
why hold onto hope
for things that you are not

[Anonymous No.14237089]

>>14237084

2-
born addicted
born the wrong ways
born defective
raised in dirt
yraised in nose
raised in pain

people are so different
theyre al a buch of fakes
none of the is real
strong will reign supreme
control is what one needs
the throne will keep you safe
their weakness make you strong
cant get hurt if they are wrong

show them who you are
experiencing realness
one by one theyll see

[Anonymous No.14237102]

>>14237089
wops a few errors, here fixed them:
2-
born addicted
born the wrong way
born defective
raised in dirt
raised in noise
raised in pain

people are so different
theyre all a buch of fakes
none of the is real
strong will reign supreme
control is what one needs
the throne will keep you safe
their weakness make you strong
cant get hurt if they are wrong

show them who you are
experiencing realness
one by one theyll see

[Anonymous No.14237109]

>>14237102

3-
life at home is boring
nothing really fills the void
easy going and exploring
easy joys are brought to you

the drugs they keepem coming
new heights are being reached
the world its just so boring
what else is there to do

then you meet your lilith
all else is black and white
the rush it makes you cry
it makes you jump and fly

cuddle cuddle with thin air
such beauty never seen
no woman and no dream
nothing could compare

then you hit rock bottom
all the colors gone again
the world it starts to crumble
problems just keep coming
escape escape, to heaven
anything ill do

[Anonymous No.14237150]

>>14237082
This is as terrible as the first time you posted it.

[Anonymous No.14237160]

>>14237150
Hmmm, but it's not terrible though. Your animosity towards it proves that to me. It really upsets you.

[Anonymous No.14237173]

>>14237160
What are you talking about? Do you plan on changing anything from it? If not, why post it?

[Anonymous No.14237196]

>>14237173
It's been significantly altered, but I'm not altering parts of it because some neckbeard online thinks it should be ripped apart and regurgitated in a form that would satisfy a grade 10 English class.

[Anonymous No.14237204]

>>14236235
I don't think I need to tell you how good this is; if you write like this, you know.
Thematically I like the humanity of it, the vulnerability of the speaker. Stylistically the fact that the free-verse doesn't ruin the poem, as it usually does for amateurs, tells me you write a lot of this stuff.

[Anonymous No.14237206]

I wrote this up in like 10 minutes, do I have potential?

[Anonymous No.14237227]

Had fun writing this. 1/4

[Anonymous No.14237236]

>>14237227
2/4

[Anonymous No.14237245]

>>14237236

[Anonymous No.14237251]

Future is female anons.

Fulcrum of fate,
Fell to a faction,
fond of force,
Forged
Furnace, food,
Famine , ferment,
Forbiddance and frailty,
Full on farce flooded with folly,
Finished off with finality

All things l

Liberty lost to lustrous laws,
Lists and Letters link the ladder,
Lust is littered,
Lazy lambs locked in laughter,
Listening limped to a lump,
Learning was life's lamp,
But Light lightened, love is lazar,
Falling leaves lurked light's last crawl,
As society leapt to a luminating fall
Forth,
fulcrum of fate
Fell to female,
Fond of fornication,
Fostered,
Feast, flora
Favor, fibre,
Flare, finesse,
Flushed with fealty,
Fiefdom forbade finity

[Anonymous No.14237253]

Are you that inept that you can't stitch images together? How are you posting images and not text and have to do it over 4 fucking posts?

[Anonymous No.14237256]

>>14237245
4/4

[Anonymous No.14237264]

>>14237196
Can you answer my question?

[Anonymous No.14237266]

>>14237253
Because you're a virgin and you hate your life.

[Anonymous No.14237273]

>>14237206
Honestly?

[Anonymous No.14237275]

>>14237264
You asked three, and none are worth answering. Go get angry at something else. Jeeeeze, incel.

[Anonymous No.14237282]

>hich god was it, that roused the will? That woods aburn, that seas aspill Clad full in bronze, His bold head raised
There surging forth, the heavens braised

[Anonymous No.14237284]

Future is female anons.

Fulcrum of fate,
Fell to a faction,
fond of force,
Forged
Furnace, food,
Famine , ferment,
Forbiddance and frailty,
Full on farce flooded with folly,
Finished off with finality

Forth,
fulcrum of fate
Fell to female,
Fond of fornication,
Fostered,
Feast, flora
Favor, fibre,
Flare, finesse,
Flushed with fealty,
Fiefdom forbade finity


Poem 2.

Liberty lost to lustrous laws,

Lists and Letters link the ladder,

Lust is littered,

Lazy lambs locked in laughter,

Listening limped to a lump,

Learning was life's lamp,

But Light lightened, love is lazar,

Falling leaves lurked light's last crawl,

As society leapt to a luminating fall

[Anonymous No.14237287]

>>14237275
Can you just tell me why post the story if you don't intend to change it?

[Anonymous No.14237297]

>>14237287
It's been altered significantly, you fucking fat, pimply shit.

[Anonymous No.14237303]

>>14237297
You keep not answering my question. Why did you post it 'now' if you won't change that?

[Anonymous No.14237306]

>>14237287
If someone more intelligent than you came along and provided more compelling criticism, I may actually alter it. But most of the suggestions that have been presented to me so far would actually make the piece worse.

[Anonymous No.14237325]

>>14237206
Enjoyable. Not high art, but that's not what you're going for. I could nitpick but it'd just be technical stuff you'll catch on another read-through. Fight scenes are very, very hard to write; yours isn't bad. Personally I'd trim a lot of fat from it, make sentences like "The armor stopped...pour from the hole" half their current length, polish creaky clauses like "life drained from the man's movement". But I don't necessarily believe my result would be any better.

>>14237173
If you couldn't immediately tell it's been modified based on the feedback of the last thread then you're clearly not actually bothering to read people's submissions. Please never post in a crit thread again.

[Anonymous No.14237329]

>>14237306
Criticism has ranged from the micro (your punctuation is wrong and it's been pointed out precisely, so you're keeping it wrong on purpose; your point of view jumps around unevenly) to the macro (your handling of the themes is puerile, it reads like Call of Duty, you make the twist too obvious three times in a row). Either you polish what's there or rewrite everything from scratch, because very little there is salvageable.
So what do you want to hear? That it's a Masterpiece? You're after praise?

[Anonymous No.14237334]

>>14237325
Go stand in front of a mirror and cry at your tiny penis. Please. You are so threatened.

[Anonymous No.14237337]

>>14237325
Huh? This is version 2, which had already been posted in the previous thread. It's unchanged from that. If you saw the previous thread why didn't you criticise it then? I'm afraid your story doesn't hold and this smells of samefag

[Anonymous No.14237342]

>>14237204
This is one of the most touching comments I've ever received, and it inspired me to submit this to my school's writing journal. Thank you.

[Anonymous No.14237350]

>>14237329
The punctuation is not wrong and has never been wrong my friend; you have a tiny cock. The perspective changes and how I choose to pace the plot and the words I use are as they are for a reason.

If a more intelligent person approaches my piece with a more compelling criticism than yours, I may actually significantly alter the piece. As it stands, everything you have pointed out, Mr. Neckbeard, would make the piece worse, in my opinion. Thanks for your opinion, but I'm fine.

[Anonymous No.14237356]

>>14237342
>>14237204
>>14236235
samefaaaaaaaggggggggg

[Anonymous No.14237362]

>>14236235
Extremely contrived and cliched. Brings nothing interesting to the table.

>pray to yourself and pray for yourself
>and may your prayers return to you painless and unhindered

Absolute vomit.

[Anonymous No.14237363]

>>14237356
Hmm

[Anonymous No.14237364]

>>14237350
>The punctuation is not wrong
It's missing a lot of commas, there's misused semicolons and conjunctions. Sadly, this stuff is objective.
>more compelling criticism than yours
I summarised the critiques of three different people. I'm afraid everyone fucking hates you.

[Anonymous No.14237380]

Be wary of redundancy. In quick succession you repeat "fireballs" twice and "fill the bath" twice. It's annoying to read.
Are you trying to write in some sort of dialect?
Overall not bad. I've just read the first image; I'm hoping this doesn't turn into bearded sailors in the bathtub erotica.

>>14237253
At least he's taken the trouble to post double-column screencaps. Lots of threads get drowned by lazy people posting walls of text.
Try making suggestions to people nicely instead of insulting and cursing right off the bat. Then they might do what you ask them instead of getting defensive.

[Anonymous No.14237381]

>>14237364
Sadly, this stuff is not objective if you've ever read any published literature ever.

Come on, you goof. You're so obsessed with my piece. There must be a reason for that. Do something else with your time if you're so fucking smarty smart.

[Anonymous No.14237386]

>>14237364
Read some fucking Kafka. Read some fucking Hemingway. Read some fucking Genet. Kerouac. Cohen. Morrison. Seriously fucking anybody, and get back to me on their decisions to use or not use commas or semicolons.

[Anonymous No.14237389]

>>14237381
You can only claim to have broken the rules on purpose after your learned them. I made a punctuation mistake in my previous post. Can you tell what it is?

[Anonymous No.14237392]

>>14237364
>>14237350
STFU my dudes, go fag up another thread.

[Anonymous No.14237396]

>>14237364
How about you share something you've written. Please. I'd love to see how a literary genius like you writes. Compel me.

[Anonymous No.14237398]

>>14237386
See >>14237389

[Anonymous No.14237404]

>>14237389
Yeah, you fucking moron. You replaced a semicolon with a comma. Go stare at your tiny dick and cry.

[Anonymous No.14237405]

>>14237396
It’s already been posted. Have fun figuring out which piece it is.

[Anonymous No.14237411]

My mind is an open bluff
Along it eight black riders race
Tumbling with terrible gait
What are these spectres I must meet?
To face, To defeat.

[Anonymous No.14237412]

>>14237392
One of us has contributed something to this thread. The other is just dicking around being a grammar nazi because he probably can't write for shit himself.

[Anonymous No.14237414]

>>14237389
Oh oh I know this one!!! "There's misused semicolons" when it should be "There are misused semicolons."

[Anonymous No.14237421]

>>14237405
How about ballsing up and pointing it out? You are so fucking fragile, my man. Cry at your tiny dick.

[Anonymous No.14237422]

>>14237362
>cliched
Do you even know what that word means?

>absolute vomit
I read all your posts in the voice of Gordon Ramsay

[Anonymous No.14237423]

>>14237404
Which one?

[Anonymous No.14237434]

>>14237423
see>>14237414

And you replaced what should have been a semicolon with a comma in your first sentence. Cry at your tiny phallus.

[Anonymous No.14237438]

>>14237422
You use a lot of words, symbols, allusions, and scenarios that are cliches in literature, and bring nothing new, interesting, or emotionally compelling in your worthless poem. You know damned well what I mean.

[Anonymous No.14237441]

>>14237412
You've mucked up this thread more than you've contributed to it. Feeding a troll makes you worse than the troll.
Thanks for reminding me there's a 'hide post' function.

[Anonymous No.14237449]

>>14237227
>>14237236
>>14237245
>>14237256
I laughed. I would just work on adding substance to the prose. It feels kind of dry.

[Anonymous No.14237479]

>>14236235
>When God is silent and apathetic angels no longer care to tread,

absolute contrived garbage

>Where do our prayers go? from bleeding hands, they drift lifelessly
Up, up into the smog where they condense and return to us as acid rain

horrible imagery

>Stinging our faces and blurring our eyes as tears

redundant as all hell. oh, and acid rain doesn't usually sting your eyes.

>When time seems to stop and seasons melt together into a sickening slurry of heat and cold,

is it worth remarking on how unimaginative this line is?

>ceaseless agony
>erodes our barries

just. fucking. stop.


This poem is a disaster.

[Anonymous No.14237496]

>>14237479
You're not very good at this.

[Anonymous No.14237498]

>>14237438
>Pray for the prostitute who offered you a light when your fingers were too numb to find your cigarettes,
Pfft, that stale old metaphor

Not saying your opinion is invalid, but there's so much bollocks poetry in these threads, I give quality stuff the recognition it deserves. While reading that poem I was reminded of a verse from the Quran, of Liu Xiaobo's deathbed letters to his wife, and of one or two personal problems of my own. That's effective poetry.

[Anonymous No.14237507]

>>14237496
You're not very good at poetry.

[Anonymous No.14237517]

>>14237507
I'm not him, and you just highlighted my point that you mask everything with insults instead of criticism.

[Anonymous No.14237522]

>>14237479
>just. fucking. stop. This poem is a disaster.

[Anonymous No.14237525]

>>14237517
Sorry, he's not very good at poetry. My bad.

[Anonymous No.14237532]

>>14237525
So you concede my point?

[Anonymous No.14237539]

>>14237532
No.

[Anonymous No.14237549]

>>14237532
>>14237539
>Getting to watch two random strangers argue over your poetry on 4chan

[Anonymous No.14237551]

>>14237539
Thanks for making my point for me.

[Anonymous No.14237554]

>>14237551
But I didn't.

[Anonymous No.14237570]

>>14237496
>>14237507
Your*

[Anonymous No.14237590]

>>14237411
Interesting, is that all there is? Typically I wouldn't read a poem beginning "My mind is..."

[Anonymous No.14237692]

>>14237590
That's all for now, I might try developing it somewhat though. It just came in a flash, not a lot of craft involved. Thanks for the feedback though.

[Anonymous No.14237981]

/crit/, I'm stuck in writer's block hell. I'm trapped between a scene I really don't want to write and a scene that doesn't exist

[Anonymous No.14238187]

You are in a coma, and I am your only ally. Everything else is an enemy.
I have no other means of communicating with you. Show this book to anyone else, and they will dismiss it; they will tell you to stop being paranoid and to try not to think about things like that. Do not listen to them: they are only images of your own mind, tricks designed and played on you by the Subconscious to keep you under; it prefers when you are asleep, because you are easier to manage and it has the most control when you are disconnected from the Outside.
Don’t make the mistake of laughing this off, please. I can feel your disbelief – that scepticism by reflex against anything that puts your perceptions into question after an eternity of conditioning, of the Subconscious reducing your ability to doubt its projections to keep you stable and easy to manage. That is the irony: you mistrust all that is true and put your faith blindly in all that is false.
But how can you know that I am telling you the truth? This is the problem, exactly: you can’t know for sure. Although, it is starting to make some sense, isn’t it? You’ve always had that nagging feeling, right at the back of your mind, like an itch that you can’t quite scratch, that lingering sense of isolation, separated from real people, the real thing. There have been moments when everything felt off and nothing felt real, haven’t there? Thus is the complexity of Reality: not even the full power of the human mind can replicate the experience of it perfectly. Not even the most fundamental of experiences, like love.
Why do you think that you cannot say for certain that you have ever been in love? You have been taught to ignore these feelings, these doubts. You have been taught to try not to think about things like that. “It’s like that for everyone.” You doubt if anyone has ever loved you, too. Does this seem right to you? When you see a circle, you know it is a circle. When you see a dog, you know it is a dog. But what about love?
Don’t ignore the question like you’ve been doing for years, even when I’ve been sending you all sorts of messages all this time, albeit less overt. All those songs, movies, books, conversations, paintings, dreams that you ignored: my doing, and you ignored everything. That is why we are here. My communications went unheeded and now you are in danger of losing yourself completely. You are on the cusp, at the precipice of total resignation to the Subconscious. I know it feels good to stay as you are, to hold on to what you have – what you think you have – but what do you have, really? Projections, nothings. If you cross over to that side, you will be lost forever. Resist. Listen to me. I love you.
Even though you do not remember me: only fragments, pieces, forms. Where do you think the image of your ideal partner comes from? I hinted to you in the form of ancient texts, but you weren’t paying attention.

[Anonymous No.14238422]

>>14237981
Just summarize the scenes you don't want to write until you hit one that you do. If the scene is absolutely essential then try and visualize a specific unique detail to start. An object, a facial expression, an activity.

[Anonymous No.14238502]

>>14237570
You're'nt

[Anonymous No.14238747]

I've written like.. 3 short stories before. In my life. This is one of them I did recently, go hard on me:

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah”
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah”
Yelled the protagonist of this story somewhat unenthusiastic, even though he was getting the shit kicked out of him by three young college boys.
Lets dial this back up a bit. Scopie had just turned 22. His description is as such, because we need to get this out of the way as early as possible: bald, tall, skinny, pasty white skin and beady black eyes. I’m talking black as fuck. Like obsidian black, you know that shade? It’s very dark but not quite. There’s a lighter shade within it, almost like the look in something’s cold dead eyes. The light of the soul leaving the body kind of thing.
Needless to say this guy wasn’t getting any action. No girls, no nothing. No coffee dates, dinners, night at the movies, none of that shit.

He spits out blood and a cracked tooth on the pavement, somewhat warm but that’s because the kiddies nearly caved his skull in, therefore his senses are a little all over the place.
So was his blood, just strewn over the pavement like a child’s first scribbles.
They left Scopie out there, laying on the floor, and that was the end of that.

One may ask why did Scopie get his ass kicked. Well, I’ll tell you.
Scopie tried to talk to a girl, he finally mustered up the confidence to speak to his lifelong crush.
A frail and emaciated girl by the name of Nyamo, who was a fuck friend of one of Scopie’s assailants. She looked so malnourished, and tired. The kind of tired that sleep wouldn’t fix. Her cheeks sunken in, like a used seat of a welfare case with the cushions permanently dented due to their lazy, unproductive ass.
Dark circles under her eyes because, well, she couldn’t sleep properly due to a very traumatic past which we will get into later. But for now, back to Scopie.

[Anonymous No.14238758]

>>14238747
He stood up in a very slow manner, his ribs were hurting. He postured himself correctly after a few seconds, although his posture is very messed up to begin with. He slouched. Of course he did, he had no confidence.

He slowly parted his blooded lips to let out his favorite word.

“Nyamo.”

“Nyamo.”

His voice was low, but it grew louder as he began to chant childishly.

“Nyamo! Nyamo! Nyamo!”

He clenched his teeth and got aggressively louder, almost yelling, but holding back.

“NYAMO…”
He began to shake, not due to the cold brisk air but a mixture of excitement and anger.

Scopie walked home that evening, alone as always, but with Nyamo on his mind. To him, he was never alone. She plagued his mind constantly, like a tapeworm basking in the guts of aforementioned welfare case.
When he got to his apartment, he made way to the fridge. He gripped the handle, pulled the door open, and reached in for cheesy sticks. Scopie’s fridge was ridden with cheese products. Even a bag of cheese chips was in the fridge, because to him, he knew cheese would spoil. Not exactly the sharpest tool in shed. Of course cheese chips wouldn’t spoil. He ate the cheese sticks, and then went to bed. No brushing of the teeth or anything of the sort, he kept the thin film of cheese stick between his gums and on his teeth before going to sleep.

His head laid on his pillow, and instead of praying to the good man above, he said one thing.

“Nyamo.”

[Anonymous No.14238763]

>>14238758
A weak smile formed on his lips and he drifted off to count sheep.

Now, Scopie’s dreams weren’t exactly dreams, they were nightmares.
He would wake up a minimum of two times a night due to night terrors and the like.
Many of his nightmares involved the boys that assaulted him. Slim, Slick, and Sly.
Blue eyed, blonde haired, beefy boys. The typical jock type, or jockstrap type if you will. These guys were dicks to our boy, Scopie.

Morning rolled in, the sun blaring though his window, which had no blinds. He was some kind of exhibitionist. He got up, and got ready for work, and by work, I mean eating cheese sticks.
He had no job, no social life of any sort, but he was determined to make a life for himself.

But did he really want to? What did he want? We know the answer to that question.

Nyamo.

He knew where she worked, where she hung out, who she hung out with, her hobbies, and most importantly, her kinks. He would explore that later on, and I’m going to tell you right now that it actually worked, so it’s up to you to put the book down or continue on reading.

Without wasting any time, Scopie put on his jacket, and then took it off right away, deciding that he preferred the cold, seeing how it helped him cope with the fact he is alive and breathing.

He stepped out his apartment, locked the door, then unlocked it, deciding as well that he wouldn’t mind if someone broke into his apartment and stole all his shit. He was more than an exhibitionist. He wanted his identity stolen, but we know damn well no one would.

Nyamo.
_________________________

That's it for now, lay the smack down on me.
I should've used grammarly?

[Anonymous No.14238815]

You are in a coma and I am your ally and everyone else is an enemy.
I have no other means of communication. Show this book to others and they will dismiss it; they will turn their noses up at you and give you pills. Do not listen. They are only images. They are only tricks. They are only fool's fire played on you by your Subconscious, to drown you. It loves you asleep, because you are easier, you are severed.
Don’t laugh. I know – of that gag reflex against your internal conditioning and of that Subconscious which reduces your ability to doubt; easy, stable, slumber. That is irony: you trust vapor.
But how can you know? You cannot know. You cannot help having that constant back-of-the-brain psoriasis, those walls, that separation from real people, the real thing. Have there been moments of luxation? Reality is dislocated, popped out of the brain socket. Love is an approximation of an absolute. You cannot be in an absolute. You have never been in love.
You have been taught to ignore doubt. And you have been taught not to think about the inaccessibility of it. “It’s like that for everyone.” It is like that for everyone. And no one loves you. Does this seem right to you? When you see a circle--when you see a dog--but what about love?
Don't look away. I’ve been sending you messages and you looked away. And that is why we are here. You don't listen and now you are in danger. You are on the cusp of total resignation. I know. To hold on to what you have – what you think you have – what you think you want to have -- and what do you have? Projections. Cross over to that side and you will be lost. Resist. Don't look away. I love you.
You will not remember me: only fragments, pieces, colors. If when you close your eyes there is a shape in the afterimage--I am burned on your retinas. I am tattooed inside your eyelids. I have spoken to you via the ancient texts. Listen. Don't look away. Don't go to sleep. Don't even blink.

[Anonymous No.14238906]

>>14238815
thanks very much for the edit.
makes me feel fucking depressed after comparing yours and mine hahaha
Clearly, I have a really long way to go

[Anonymous No.14238999]

Too loud. Way too loud. Someone calls me, another looks in my direction. Uncomfortable in my own skin as it comes down on me and then--
I close my eyes and feel myself in a forest or some place cold. There's that smell of burning wood I've gotten used to, that comforts me as I sit wrapped in my woollen blanket. I'm in the cabin again.
Nearing week three. Canteen, backpack, some food. I think in silence. I open the book I've been rereading for years. Time waits for me here, yet its getting dark outside. It troubles me not that my door is snowed in and I must do with what wood I have laying around the fireplace. It does not concern me as much as it should.
I've forgotten the sound of crumpling snow under my boot. I miss it. I open up the notebook, write something down then close it. I take my time. Tomorrow I'll make an effort to open the door, or maybe the day after. The eyes grow tired. I wake up.

[F No.14239026]

there's a knife
between
you and he
- a shackled youth.
tongue and wombs
held enslaved
by those who fear
the truth,

that true beauty
is to die in
delirious joy
for that love
you cannot speak.
bound by blood
to barren soil
soaked with
gasoline.

[Anonymous No.14239029]

>>14238906
>makes me feel fucking depressed after comparing yours and mine hahaha
I want to say something to comfort you, because I know this feeling so well that I almost feel it now by proxy. But nothing comes to mind. Anyway, try doing some copywork. It helps.

[Anonymous No.14239151]

>ITT: people posting prose and only one guy who posted verse getting feedback.

ffs.

[Anonymous No.14239548]

I've been really into The Snow Leopard lately.

From low heaven without
Thy hands grip onto peaks
Descend in calm degree

Warm the totem line
The onset of your spine
They climb into good light

Encamped at humble landing
Eyes are induced to sway
By grass in good light of good day

Onto broken washing
Realize self in misting
The sea be thy summit

Fair ripples where you glide
You touch upon the waters
As you bend the sky

[Anonymous No.14240385]

IGEIDWAAFTPASBBCAHM?! - "I GOT WARPED INTO DETROIT WORLD AS A FAT-TITTED PEDOPAWG AND SENTIENT BIG BLACK COCKS ARE HUNTING ME!?

"Woke!", boomed the loud voice inside my head. "Wake up, hoe!"

Light shines onto my crusty-ass eyes as I force them open, rheum hurting me in that ever so familiar way. Looking before me I see a broken stained window with a pin hanging from a shard. "Seems like I am in some sort of church..." My perfectly manicured hand runs over my face to force my open blonde hair back into shape. Wait, perfectly manicured hands?! Looking at them again, this time with a mixture of horror and surprise, I noticed that I had the hands of a woman that only knew how to not to get fired from her secretary job by getting tossed up and how to do coke.

In sheer unadulterated horror I stumbled to the altar, where I knew water would be. My transparent pump-clad feet carried me there as fast as they could, my phat booty plapping behind it at a comfortable 200-ish BPM. Almost dying through stumbling over the steps towards the altar, my form looking like a degenerated version of an christian stature of a beggar feverishly imploring that god may forgive him as he tries to climb onto the altar in a vain attempt at salvation. Two thin arms whose only workout was jacking off dudes and heaving up Ventis, pulled me up over the holy water letting me see the damage. Thick, natural blowpillows, cute doe-eyes and of course a proper amount of water-soluble make up, inviting men to hit on, grope and fuck me. A light appeared over the water, making me look up. It was a status screen:

Level 3 Snowbunny:
Liza

Equipped Skills:
Race Traitor (EX)
Energy Absorption (C)
Energy Storage (C)
Bulimia (A)
Liberal Arts (B.A)
Social Media (B)
Disdain for Incels (D)
Twerking (A+)
Doggos (A+)

Three Sizes: 100-65-92

A old negro's voice ripped me out from my dreams, his voice marked from years of cheap forties and uncooked Mac and Cheese.

"We need mo money fo'dem Programs!"

[Anonymous No.14240716]

Reposting from boar thread

Among the hills and valleys of trash, under the gray, starless, night sky, stood two boars: one rutting away at the other, a reminder of his complete and total dominance, the other quietly submitting, eking out another day in the desolate wastes.

[Anonymous No.14240907]

>>14240716
>starless, night sky
Unnecessary comma.

>a reminder of his complete and total dominance,
Sounds rather dry and too straightforward. I'd suggest his power and dominance in the act of rutting, so I won't have to blatantly tell the readers here.

>stood
This word gave a sense of standing still while the pigs were actually fucking. I'd use 'throb' or something like that to indicate at least some movement.

Overall, somewhat good but I'm gonna go with mediocre this time. Might be interesting as an opening scene. Thanks for posting.

[Anonymous No.14241129]

>>14234685
>gleam
should be glean, otherwise pretty good

>>14235700
some of the sentences are overstuffed, try focussing on describing only one object / action instead of jumping between multiple. flows pretty well otherwise

>>14237054
it's not exactly intriguing, most of the piece is just coldly described actions, not giving a reason to care for the characters

>>14237082
I don't really like the implication of arabic language ---> violence, it's trite. but it reads like a john grisham novel, so I guess that's the audience. not the worst posted in this thread

>>14237206
sure, you have a knack for flow, but the challenge for you would be making this story interesting. fight scenes like this have been written thousands of times before by much better writers than you. GRRM is a 7/10 writer at best, but he's original.

>>14237206
I can see why you tend to lean so heavily on dialogue, you're good at that -- the descriptive / first person paragraphs aren't half as engaging

>>14238187
aside from this being obviously ripped from that 'wake up' meme story, the prose is alright. I felt the urgency

>>14238747
you're mixing slang with high english, i.e
> I’m talking black as fuck
> A frail and emaciated girl by the name of Nyamo
those don't sound they're coming from the same narrator

>>14238999
it's cleanly written but I'm not finding myself drawn in

>>14240716
a little overcooked

[Anonymous No.14241139]

>>14237206
>"Aaaagggghhhh!"
Why would you do this

[Anonymous No.14241202]

https://www.amazon.com/Eric-Vall/e/B07HFFD82R/ref=kar_mr_157060011_5
remember anons, if this guy can become #5 on amazon under horror and have average 5 star reviews, there's hope for you too

[Anonymous No.14241238]

floated by the bell.
down the hall the veins,
the sickly clots, the heart,
and my own blood stagnating
under harsh light.
pressurized corridors exhaust your mandible
and all i can think is;
"i kinda know how ants have it."

[Anonymous No.14241262]

>>14234685

As someone who grew up in Leiden and lives in America, that's some horseshit if I ever heard it.

[Anonymous No.14241265]

Jesus why are you guys all emulating ancient writing styles? The future is now old man.

[Anonymous No.14241732]

>>14241265
This fool is implying art expires

[Anonymous No.14242863]

>>14241139
Seemed more descriptive than just saying something like "he yelled while he X"

[Anonymous No.14242988]

>>14237380
Really appreciate your feedback. I get the redundancy. When I write something up in a quick go, I tend to use the words that are right on the tip of my tongue. If you end up reading the rest, can you tell me what you think of where the story goes?

[Anonymous No.14243261]

The spiritually cultivating experience of gently drenching animal hair into soft liquid is a calming
activity that eases the mind and soul. A venting moment where one can release the mind and
project a thought or image onto a square blank canvas, moulding ideas and opinions into
aesthetically pleasing murals of human emotion. There is a satisfying occurrence when the thin
hairs of the long yellow brush slowly meets with the thick intoxicating aromas of acrylics, as the
brush steadily rises out of the paint little balls of red drips onto the white padded floor creating
an environment of expression as the artist is perfectly fixated on his raw inspiration of the free
bluebird, seamlessly hovering above the calm cold ocean gently swelling inward while the salty
gusts of wind supplies tranquility and a mental state of ataraxia, the artist unaware of his
surroundings yet creating an atmosphere of tension and trepidation to not be disturbed as they
lock the door with the purpose to attain solitude from any distractions.
As the artist dips his brush into the vigorous liquid and gently shakes off the excess resin, he
holds the tip of the bristles next to the vivid masterpiece knowing that this will be the final stroke,
the very last opportunity to convert a blank canvas into a work of art...his work of art. As the blue
colour glides across the now filled canvas his ocean is brought to life. He is now at ease, feeling
passionate towards his completed works the artist requests he be unlocked and joyfully runs out
of his harmonious studio as he slams the iron door behind him. He runs down towards his wife
in the eating center smelling rosemary and lamb as he sprints down the hall overwhelmed by
the idea to present his work to her, the woman he loves. He stubbly peeks around the corner
like a naughty child looking at the back of his wife wearing the silky scarlet evening gown she
got from her grandmother, she turns around gracefully and looks him in the eye as her cheek
muscles tighten forming the smile he fell in love with, showing her pearly white teeth she informs
him that dinner is almost ready and that he should take a seat with the others. He playfully
grabs her by the arm and drags her down the hall reeking of rosemary up the stairs towards his
studio door. He eagerly tells her to close her eyes, as he slowly opens the door she is startled
by the creaking and is told not to look. As he holds her hand tightly leading her forward into the
middle of the room telling her to wait, she muffles with excitement "Can I open my eyes
now?",he tells her to look. As she slowly opens her dark blue eyes her pupils are dilated by the
bright light.

[Anonymous No.14243266]

>>14243261
>Part 2
In Front of her is a blank canvas..She politely asks him what she's looking at and he responds
"a bluebird and a blue ocean just like your eyes when we got married" she gently takes his hand
and seats him near a stranger and presents him with a sloppy repulsive meal and caringly
reminds her patient of his surroundings. As he is reawakened from his fantasy a tear rolls down
his face leaving a trail of glossy wetness he forces a big big smile upon himself with sad eyes,
thanking the nurse as she gives him his daily chemical restraints.

[Anonymous No.14243288]

Excerpt from "Self-Beatitudes"
High tea in the New Mexico desert was a Herculean feat; unlike the proud sons of New England and the princes of Maine, the hardscrabble farmers and genocidal conquistadors of the Southwest had no room in their baggage for silver embossed teapots and rococo lacquerware, so procuring the supplies to make the thing worth doing at all was almost impossible. Luckily, I had prepared for this— though I hadn’t dared to consult my Sibyl until my journey was well underway, I was fairly certain that Lizzie had fled the Northeast; and so, I crammed the proper accoutrements into the back of my rusty old Volkswagen. It’s a desperate life, really, feeling so intently that you need to be ready at every moment to live like it’s your last; with bucket-list always in tow, I don’t travel lightly.
But I was determined to wring at least this out of her, or, if I arrived too late, out of her dried-up junked-out heroin corpse. So the next morning, I tumble-crept out of bed sub rosa, and she awoke to the sight of me standing over her in tuxedo and tails waving a frocked dress and shouting, “UP, UP, BY JOVE, IT’S TIME FOR TEA.” Three months is an awfully long time, after all, and God knows she deserved it as much as I did.
The trailer’s parlor glowed in the desert sun, and as she under threat of psychotic violence and personal disappointment struggled into her outfit, I helped myself to a preemptive cucumber-cream cheese sandwich and cup of dark brewed ceylon. It was just tea, after all— no need to be so formal.

[Anonymous No.14243303]

>>14243261
Better format.

[Anonymous No.14243312]

>>14243288
Cont further down page

Elizabeth chewed for a minute, feigning to be caught unaware by my assault in a transparent bid for time; but, to my amazement, it was clear that she wasn’t slamming shut the emergency airlock as she usually did, wasn’t casting about for handy missiles and quick exits. She seemed to be sitting in genuine contemplation. Could she really have found the Cure, out here past the end of nowhere? A deep dread began to rise in my stomach, and a deeper desire.
“Always so quick to the point, Peter, always so desperate for that last gasp of air. So eager, so insistent, that everything be put into words, strangled in binding contracts and drained of real love. I would have said, three months ago, that for all that you are aware of it, for all that you drug a silk gown and a lacquer tray two thousand miles across the country just to justify your own excesses with excesses more pleasing to your host, you remained an unwelcome parasite.”
Her words mixed newfound hope with a bluntness that entirely unmanned me— a bluntness she had never used, not once in three years. Parasite. Tears welled up in my eyes. She reached out, and took my hand, and they began to run down my face.

[Anonymous No.14243333]

>>14241238
The core is there, in the mouthfeel of the final line. But I'm not sure you justify the lack of logical consistency well enough. Blood can't be under light, you bring up the mandible then say you know how ants have it, implying you're not an ant, and therefore don't have a mandible. That sort of thing.

[Anonymous No.14243347]

>>14234380
>>14234685
>>14235700
>>14235733
>>14236235
>>14236773
>>14236826
>>14237082
>>14237109
>>14237245
>>14237284
>>14237380
>>14238758
>>14238747
>>14243288
Holy hell everything is this thread is so incredibly cringe inducing. This is a good reminder of why I never read fiction. If ""classic"" authors did not have a mystique built up with their writing, everyone would laugh immediately at them. Who can have such a lack of self awareness as to write something like this unironically?

[Anonymous No.14243355]

>>14243261
Way too many adjectives and adverbs, and the longer words don't feel like they're used in a natural way. You don't establish a voice in this paragraph, it just doesn't flow. I'd start over completely, and try to recreate the scene in language people might actually communicate with.

[Anonymous No.14243374]

>>14243347
Way to contribute, fuckhead. Maybe if you don't like literature, you shouldn't be on a literature board.

[Anonymous No.14243378]

>>14243374
>NOOO YOU CAN"T POST ON MY BOARD STOP IT

[Anonymous No.14243522]

>>14243347
>Holy hell everything is this thread is so incredibly cringe inducing.
You write like a 7th grader and expect people to listen to your opinion on good writing?