Critique thread since the other one is dead Here's the beginning of the same story in two different drafts. Could /lit/ tell me which they prefer? http://pastebin.com/rgy69CF8 (embed) http://pastebin.com/xQ6eeFPh (embed)

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Anonymous Fri Oct 23 07:37:40 2015 No.7272099 [Reply] [Original]

Critique thread since the other one is dead

Here's the beginning of the same story in two different drafts. Could /lit/ tell me which they prefer?

http://pastebin.com/rgy69CF8 (embed)

http://pastebin.com/xQ6eeFPh (embed)

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 07:46:33 2015 No.7272115 >>7272099 Hmm, there are good things and bad things about both: the first was written better, but the second flowed better in my opinion. My vote is for the second.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 07:48:46 2015 No.7272119 >>7272115 Whoops, flipped it. The second is written better and the first flows better.

Anonymous Fri Oct 23 08:04:09 2015 No.7272139

Outside, trees shivered in the wind, their boughs outstretched arms waiting for the embrace of something lost, not knowing what that something was, only that it was once there, that they now hurt, and that they must wait, maybe for It, maybe for death...but they will never know for certain: they will live until the end, never understanding why or for what they suffer, telling themselves this is how things are supposed to be, this is how things are supposed to be, this is how things are supposed to be--this numb and this atrophy, this growing cold and cancer, these tears that flow for nothing--this is how things are supposed to be....

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 08:24:54 2015 No.7272170 when I get home I might type out the beginning of a short story I wrote on pen

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 08:30:20 2015 No.7272179 >>7272170 I'm excited to read it.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 12:22:42 2015 No.7272751 >>7272119 So is your vote for the one that flows better, or the one that is better written?

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 12:28:21 2015 No.7272766 File: 137 KB, 500x617, 1409021117906.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] http://pastebin.com/qH1N0vQ0 It's not done yet, I still have another part to do, but I kinda...tried, on this one. It's been through a couple editing sessions before.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 12:29:53 2015 No.7272769 >>7272139 I'm >>7272766 Anyhow, I really like it! Very poetic almost. I love how from the trees you go forward and build around their barren branches, and how it's interconnected with your thesis.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 13:07:18 2015 No.7272856 >>7272751 The one that flows better.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 13:25:08 2015 No.7272899 >>7272766 Very nice. I like your figurative language and diction.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 13:43:53 2015 No.7272938 First critique is you are a Mac user.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 18:20:53 2015 No.7273969 >>7272938 That's Phil Elvrum

Anonymous Fri Oct 23 18:23:00 2015 No.7273977

A home transformed by the lightning
the balanced alcoves smother
this insatiable earth of a planet, Earth.
They attacked it with mechanical horns
because they love you, love, in fire and wind.
You say, what is the time waiting for in its spring?
I tell you it is waiting for your branch that flows,
because you are a sweet-smelling diamond architecture
that does not know why it grows.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 18:30:03 2015 No.7273999 >>7273969 isn't he such a qt

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 18:30:55 2015 No.7274001 >>7273999 (◕‿◕)

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 19:53:07 2015 No.7274348 >>7272899 Thank you very much!

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 20:55:40 2015 No.7274518 >>7273999 i'd put it in his pooper. I actually want to write him a letter but I feel like it will come off as really sentimental so I'm going to enclose a large printed out picture of the poop emoji, how autistic is this idea?

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 23:29:23 2015 No.7274971 >>7274348 You're very welcome.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 23 23:37:44 2015 No.7274999 would appreciate critique: http://pastebin.com/L7EL8sHr Be gentle, senpai

Anonymous Sat Oct 24 00:57:20 2015 No.7275198

part 1/3
“Mr. Anderson! Would you please quit at that tapping of your foot?” Mr. Duncan, his fat round face swelling, asked harshly.
I quit at that tapping of my foot.
“Now, you might be wondering why I’ve called you in— you’re tapping again, Mr. Anderson.”
I quit at that tapping.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re here, Mr. Anderson. Don’t worry; you’re not in trouble; no need to be so nervous.” He makes an attempt to make his voice sound soothing. An attempt.
Mr. Duncan, weighing in at 300 pounds, shifted in his chair. The pale, artificial light in this cinderblock interrogation room makes him seem even uglier than usual. I want to punch him, but that would be rude. Besides, my wrists are chained to my chair’s armrests. I start tapping my foot instead.
“So I’m not in trouble, yet my feet are cuffed together and my hands are chained up,” I say.
“Jack, you know it’s just for security reasons,” says Daniel, who is sitting next to Mr. Duncan. Daniel, just out of law school, sporting a cropped beard and haircut, both of the same shade of dark brown, is infinitely more likable than Duncan. He’s a real champ. I knew that the moment I met him ten minutes ago, but right now he is on Duncan’s side, so he is against me. I bet he hates me as much as Duncan does; more, for all I know.
But he is still more likable so I stop tapping my foot when he speaks.
“You’re here because we see potential in you, Jack.” Daniel continued. “We don’t want to see your talent, your brilliance, go to waste.”
“At least some people can finally see my genius” is what I want to say. But I keep quiet. When dealing with interrogators, silence is always best. Everyone knows that. Daniel is talking again. Keep talking.
“Duncan and I, and, of course, our colleagues, recently became aware of your paper on the defense of neopostmodernhumanisticdarwinism. Do you remember that paper?”
Of course I remember that paper. It was—is – my greatest achievement, my Magnum Opus. It was flawless, potentially world-changing, if I may say so. The ideas that were boldly presented in it had yet to be refuted; the paper, because of my gargantuan intellect, would change the world.
Yet my professor, in a blatant display of ignorance and narrow-mindedness, gave it a D. I guess that’s what you get for being ahead of your time. Which of the Greats was truly understood by his contemporaries? No, it is posterity that will benefit from my work. That is the tragedy of genius.
I nod.

Anonymous Sat Oct 24 00:58:21 2015 No.7275202

>>7275198
part 2/3
“Well Jack, you may be happy to know that your paper, your masterpiece, is being published in literary, philosophical, and mainstream journals and magazines throughout the world. Both your contemporaries and posterity will benefit from your work Jack. Congratulations; you’ve made it. By this time next week, the whole world will know your name. You’re going to be respected Jack, you’ll have more friends, award ceremonies, parties to attend than you’ll know what to do with. I say again: congratulations; you’ve made it.”
I bet they think that I’m excited. Instead, I have that bitter feeling of receiving something you deserve, but it being too little, too late. I want this conversation to be over. Daniel’s a nice enough guy to talk to, but I hate Mr. Duncan and want to leave.
“So then why am I chained up? Why are we in this room?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even. I try to make it clear that I want to talk about anything other than my paper or my supposed brilliance. Who are they to decide whether or not I am a genius? I’m not any better than anyone else. That’s what I’ll tell them.
Mr. Duncan starts talking. My foot starts tapping. He doesn’t mind. His monologue will outlast it.
“Jack, young bright mind that you are, the board is prepared to offer you a special and, mind you, somewhat secretive, position.”
“It’s about time,” I say, trying to appear uninterested.
Duncan drags on, his speech almost matching the slow rhythm of my tapping.
“See, we’ve always known you were special Jack; it’s no secret that your intelligence quotient is off the charts. But we’ve been waiting for the right time for you to, what’s the word, bloom. See, we’ve found that in, uh, special cases such as yours, a bit of tough love is necessary before the real work begins. Do you know what we mean Jack? We want you to continue your writing.
In fact, you’re going to write for the rest of your life.” He smiles. I hate him.
For the rest of my life? He can’t tell me what to do. I tell him so.
“Oh yes we can,” He counters, suddenly intense, “and we are. Don’t you see it’s for the benefit of mankind? A mind such as yours, it, it would be a sin not to get—I mean make— the most we can out of it. Do you understand what I’m getting at, Jack? This would be a lot easier with your cooperation.”
My cooperation? Like they’re the ones accomplishing something that will happen with or without me?
“First uncuff me. This is ridiculous.” I demand. I’m starting to sweat. It’s hot in this room. I hate Duncan and even Daniel now seems more sinister.
“See, that’s the issue Jack. We don’t want to lose you. So we’ll be keeping you here. We’re going to put your mind to good use, son.”

Anonymous Sat Oct 24 00:59:36 2015 No.7275207

>>7275202
part 3/3
Bungley nods to Daniel who then opens a black toolbox I hadn’t noticed before. How hadn’t I noticed it? It couldn’t have been on the table the whole time. I need to stop them; reason with them.
“This doesn’t make any sense, why would you do this? I can’t write like this!” I tell them, almost screaming.
Daniel and Bungley assume the same posture and say in perfect unison with the same, calm voice, “But you’ve never made sense.”
I start screaming as Daniel starts pulling metal instruments from toolbox. Mr. Bungley gives me an annoyed look and Daniel puts a gag in my mouth. I’m okay with that; when dealing with interrogators, silence is always best. Everyone knows that.
A loud banging comes from the door to my left, the only door in the room.
“It came from in here! I think it’s a closet!” says a voice from outside.
“Don’t worry; it’s locked tight,” Duncan and Daniel assure me. They’re just sitting there, staring at me.
The door opens. In walk a janitor and two male university students, both of whom I recognize.
“So, been playing in the closet again?” asks the janitor
“What the—What’s wrong with him?” asks one of the students, looking horrified, “How long has he been in here?”
Duncan and Daniel are gone; they must have escaped as soon as the intruders broke in. Tonight they’ll call off the publishing of my paper; they’ll call it trash and hope that I forget about it. It’s happened before. As much as I hate them, as much as they hate me, they’re the only ones who respect my brilliance. For that, I admire them. It is a sign of genius to recognize it. No one else seems to have the slightest clue of the power of my mind.
“Well Jack Anderson, you’ve sure given us a lot of trouble. Dr. Duncan’s been worried sick! Let’s get you back, okay Jack?”
I start tapping my foot.
End

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 02:07:12 2015 No.7275360 File: 107 KB, 567x576, Mat_Brown_Pilocene_1300_366.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] the rocks arranged her shape around them. My cum drained off the gown

Anonymous Sat Oct 24 03:33:49 2015 No.7275562

>>7275207
you switch into past tense in several places. fix them.

I liked a lot of things about this

But you could perhaps be a little more vague. The interrogation taking place, perhaps, in a classroom both in Jack's mind and in reality so it isn't extremely apparent. Even in the beginning having two people in a special interrogation room detaining someone because of a nonsense article showing his genius made me realize what was happening. Not that the story had a bad premise, but you could perhaps make Duncan and Daniel meet him on more amicable terms, and then detain him for a special reason.

Just a thought

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 07:52:49 2015 No.7276106 http://pastebin.com/wSdS80Bb First time doing this, so be gentle

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 16:59:28 2015 No.7277685 >>7276106 Very good idea, but you need to work on your execution, namely, the sentence structures.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 17:04:16 2015 No.7277705 >>7274999 If it's supposed to reel of reddit, well done: it's an ironic masterpiece. If it's sincere...

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 17:05:19 2015 No.7277712 >>7277705 *reek

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 17:12:46 2015 No.7277743 >>7276106 >gloves and hats and scarves were worn PASSIVE. VOICE there's times to use it, but not here

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 17:15:10 2015 No.7277754 >>7274999 A little lacking in subtlety for my taste, but it flows well enough and the plot piqued my interest. You can write. Keep it up.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 17:50:19 2015 No.7277946 >>7275360 Cum/10

Anonymous Sat Oct 24 18:11:18 2015 No.7278045
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>>7272099
recent exerpt from a short story I'm writing
http://pastebin.com/i6nBnfm8
a thing I did way back when for a story picture thread on /tg/
http://pastebin.com/EK6WVHge
flash fiction thing I did for kicks
http://pastebin.com/wBdcEcvc
the follow up
http://pastebin.com/nQWrBj3R
based on a tabletop game I ran

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 18:12:20 2015 No.7278051 >>7278045 >based on a tabletop game I ran http://pastebin.com/j5SAfK5g oops

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 18:36:21 2015 No.7278153 >>7272099 JUST bump my shit up

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 18:49:09 2015 No.7278220 File: 78 KB, 462x700, tmp_12557-tumblr_mmidmtdEzZ1qj1np1o1_500585781326.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Oh Phil, I'd like you to take yer shirt off in my yard~

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 18:53:38 2015 No.7278238 >>7278220 The skin on his shoulders was golden. but now it's not. the shirt's back on. he forgot his song. the glow is GONE

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 18:59:56 2015 No.7278262 >>7275198 Holy fuck, I was tapping my food when I read that first line.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 20:20:41 2015 No.7278597 >>7278238 my bllllllooooooOOOOOODDDDD

Anonymous Sat Oct 24 20:55:29 2015 No.7278725
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http://pastebin.com/WZTf3igK

robot sex scene from my novel, what do you think guys, do I need more of these (I sure hope so)

Anonymous Sat Oct 24 21:07:41 2015 No.7278765

Is this clear at all? I tried, but two people haven't gotten the spooky bit. Sorry, it's embarrassingly bad compared to some of the stuff I've seen here, but I can't improve without practice, right?
--

A hard blink forced tears from Aaron's bleary eyes. His heavy head nodded after so many hours and his hands relaxed on the wheel. The car began to drift across lanes when a bump under his tires jolted him alert. Fear welled up in Aaron's stomach. It was dangerous to veer. In that place, he'd never stepped out of his car, never wanted to stop. He never used any gas, he noticed, however long the trip. It was wrong. Where Aaron drove, the world fell away and the road went black, leaving him alone with the yellow lines that said "follow us."

So he drove. The road took him where it would, curving over and around unseen bends. Eyes in still faces followed his headlights, traced his profile against the dim blue emitted from his car's console. It was more light than they were used to, much more than they needed to mark him and keep calling him back. He was in their home. They were everywhere, everything, all at once. They just needed him to pass through, to take their children with him. They pushed him along, some more forcefully than others, accompanying him, nurturing their children who hid away to be carried off to a place where they could grow up strong.

In the darkness, the car shuddered from occasional bumps. When that happened, the weight of the car shifted and pulled his arms left or right just a little, to stay with the lines. He heard things from his speakers. There was no radio out there, but there were whispers, breaths, and distant conversations. The air compressed around him, his ears popped, his throat tightened and began to burn, and his arms grew colder as the digital clock ticked through its minutes, then hours, sometimes for days. Over time, hunger forced his fear higher, out of his conscience, into his chest while his stomach caved toward his spine. It hurt, but he knew wouldn't die out there as long as he kept moving.

Eventually the car rode low, bearing an invisible burden. The highway turned grey, cracks came back, then features emerged along its sides. He always welcomed the rocks of a strange canyon or needles bedding forests he'd never seen. Sometimes the languages on signs changed. His car shrugged off the weight of the other place. The pressure around him lifted, but the world outside grew a little dimmer as dawn broke the horizon. The sun seemed to take a little longer rise, but no matter, he felt relief.

Aaron stopped in the nearest town and got some food, then he slept in his driver's seat until night came. He awoke to voices saying "Drive."

Anonymous Sat Oct 24 21:17:01 2015 No.7278800

>>7278725
This doesn't strike her as very--
what?
Romantic.

I like it! Might want to signify the break above with a hyphen, like that? I genuinely thought it was a typo.

I feel like the love dolls won't work without human-looking faces. Even blow-up dolls have faces because we respond to them.

It's great! Feels like Gibson and Stephenson, but you have your own personality and aesthetic in there.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 21:24:37 2015 No.7278815 >>7278800 For a second, I thought it was a typo, I mean. Trying to qualify it broke the pace of the story. Also, that last line felt a little disconnected, but I guess it's related to the deliveries? Would you mind clarifying for me?

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 21:34:31 2015 No.7278851 >>7272099 Is that bacon around Phil's finger?

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 21:35:17 2015 No.7278856 >>7278851 Bacon band-aid, I think.

Anonymous Sat Oct 24 21:45:11 2015 No.7278909

>>7278800
>>7278815
thanks for bothering, friend. the last line is an old SEGA advertising slogan, it's what allowed her to reach orgasm earlier. that plus the faceless thing are instances of how hopelessly alienated the setting is -Yoshimi has never spoken to another human being outside of her job, for instance. again, I'm really grateful you read and enjoyed it, though.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 24 21:50:05 2015 No.7278926 >>7278909 Hell yeah, buddy. It's good writing and I hope to see more of it.

Anonymous Sun Oct 25 02:21:19 2015 No.7279738
File: 473 KB, 1456x1100, punpun.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

The sky roars and I wake up. I open my eyes and blink three times. One, two,three; the clouds start to cry. Boop, the first tear, boop boop the two next and then they make a melody on the roof. I go back to sleep and dream of her. We are exiting the valley of knowledge and she's holding her best friend's hand. An expression of hate on her face and she looks at me; my life-long lover hugs me and she forgets. "But you don't love, right?" I listen. I've been asked that question all my life. The sky breaks and my lover cries her hardships over me. "You've always loved her more than me" "I've been beside you all my life". I follow her and my glasses get foggy; a little lady takes them. "But you don't love her, right?". She asks me to be together with her, but youth starts to change. Attend the call to arms and learn to sleep with someone else. I don't see her anymore and wake up. Your favourite musical instrument was the roof. I can't hear your music anymore, I've lost it. "But you love her, right?". Not really, I love you, you've been beside me all my life. "What a big bastard you are". I get up, the world turns and I pick up the pieces. Pieces of what? I can't see them under your weeping. "You've always loved her more" and the horizon turns red, metallic debris shapes it. The sky roars again and I listen: "Don't you dare touch her, you filthy dog."

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 03:11:10 2015 No.7279859 >>7272099 First three pages or so of a YA novel http://pastebin.com/DnLFxTZv

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 03:14:39 2015 No.7279866 >>7272099 http://pastebin.com/26kpSTt9 Is it any good?

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 03:16:12 2015 No.7279871 >>7279866 It's a bit too wordy. You're trying too hard to impress with your complicated sentences and vocab. I'm not suggesting you go full Hemmmmingway but good communication is better than showing off.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 03:22:01 2015 No.7279885 >>7278045 >>7278051

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 03:22:23 2015 No.7279886 >>7272099 http://pastebin.com/KYT8WYvk posted old pastebin. This one's edited for grammar Now, is it any good? >>7279871 Hey, what words come across as tryhard? I have trouble with not coming across as pretentious.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 03:25:28 2015 No.7279892 >>7279886 The first one was "tri-fold", completely unnecessary. Other than that, I'll let you work on it.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 03:27:24 2015 No.7279898 >>7279892 thanks!

Anonymous Sun Oct 25 03:49:15 2015 No.7279933

>>7272099
>http://pastebin.com/xQ6eeFPh
The second one I can relate to more and empathize with Senor Neckbear, but the procession from one event to another is less clear and everything just gets a little confused.

I think it would be a lot better if you replaced some of the weaker similies in the second one, and restructured it like the first.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 03:53:52 2015 No.7279943 >>7272766 Not trying to be a dick, but I hate it. Seems very trite, seems like over worked mish mash. Go to /tg/ and skim a couple Humanity Fuck Yeah threads and you'll know where I'm coming from.

Anonymous Sun Oct 25 10:01:04 2015 No.7280526
File: 167 KB, 743x990, Richard-clifton-dey-prismoids.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

smell was coming off his chest like meths or hot glue.

Serves up a fresh cock platter. It is room stiffening, tampon rocking

earth-shaped breasts

schoolboy daze long fanned leaves shade summer lusts his zipper mouth peels back it's teeth and a fat young boy cock reddened with hunger spills out on the tarmac

eye socket penetrated on spire of high heel boot

ice drop eyes of cum glitching the image of her tits in a broken assemblage of milky mirrors
When she woke she found an abundance of Graptolites strung on her clothing, organisms as small as her composed mouth.

Anonymous Sun Oct 25 14:22:56 2015 No.7281295

My teacher constantly compliments me on how observant I am. I really don’t think it’s anything special, but I often report my various findings to her. Like how at each of the train stations, there are electronic signs showing the date, time, time until next train arrival, and the temperature. However, where it shows the date, it’ll use the same character for the numeric “zero” as it does for the capital “O” character from the common alphabet. This is most noticeable on the days: October 10th, October 20th, and October 30th. On these days, because of the shared character between zero and o, paired with the fact that it uses shortened versions of the month’s names (Jan, Feb, Mar, etc.) it looks as if it says “100ct”, “200ct”, and “300ct”.

When I shared this information to my teacher, she looked at me all wide-eyed and giddy, telling me that I was a very observant grade six – year-old. She tried to get me to report my findings to the class, but saved them all the boring lecture, and saved myself the embarrassment by telling her that I’d get stage fright and puke all over the floor. After that, she never again asked me to share any of my observations.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 20:53:49 2015 No.7282815 >>7272099 bamp

Anonymous Sun Oct 25 21:03:05 2015 No.7282853

>>7282815
short story in the works for kids ages 10-14:
It's about two kids who find a foreclosed house that still is on a mail route, so they use it as their Mail Fraud HQ.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/19hXv3qjkmKRNsNsQUu0gyMmoPI0_tmwys8WYfBV08dM/edit?usp=sharing

Yes, it's an expansion of the blinding cereal story I've been posting.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 21:47:00 2015 No.7283042 >>7272099 bumpkin pie

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 21:48:04 2015 No.7283045 Read every single one. All terrible. Genuinely all.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 21:54:11 2015 No.7283079 >>7283045 did someone hurt you as a child?

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 22:48:41 2015 No.7283282 >>7283079 >>7283045 Who touched you? Was it your father? Your pastor? Please... tell me. I'm here to help.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 22:50:31 2015 No.7283289 >>7282853 Before I critique, have you read JR? It's kinda related to your premise. I'm reading your story now.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 22:50:32 2015 No.7283290 >>7283079 >>7283282 Yes, yes, even your contribution was terrible. No need to point fingers or try to hurt others to make yourself feel better. Just take the knowledge I've given you and use it. Or don't and remain terrible. Both fine choices.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 22:56:28 2015 No.7283313 >>7283289 Just now looked it up, seems pretty interesting. I've been looking to read Gaddis, is it a good book to start with?

Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:04:14 2015 No.7283354

>>7282853
the transition to the flashback is stilted and doesn't flow. It could do with a little more scene, specifically around the time they discover the house. Nothing that won't be fixed with later drafts. The first page, as with the excerpt thread, is funny and well written. However, the humor disspears for the other two pages. Mystery philosophy man sits on the ledge between authentically young and authentically stupid. Very small furniture samples from ikea is funny, the usual from lego is not. Reconsider that sentence order Overall, it''s a little skeletal to be critiqued properly. The writing flows well for ya.
>>7279886
do me

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:05:29 2015 No.7283366 >>7283354 It's a good place to start as any. None of his work is easy— aside from Carpenter's Gothic, which is pretty weak by his standards.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:07:06 2015 No.7283375 >>7283366 was for >>7283313

>>	CobraCat !KXl/lOikwo Sun Oct 25 23:13:38 2015 No.7283398 Thanks for the feedback! really appreciate it.

Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:44:36 2015 No.7283521

I was, for a while….I went to Moe’s….I asked the guy behind the counter for guacamole, and throw in some salsa….

He said that guacamole was not an option, all things being pre-determined in the inscrutable mind of Zeus, and the salsa came from tomatoes hand-picked by overworked farmers south of the border who would lead hard, unfulfilling lives, and eventually die….would I have some lettuce instead? I objected, but he gave me a hard look and said, darling, it was not meant to be. Then he dumped a big scoop of lettuce and said, we are all passing changes in the grand process, and that my total would be seven dollars and thirteen cents, please.

When I took the bag he looked me in the eyes and asked, how is your wife doing? Then he winked and said, adieu, darling.

I got in my car and drove back to the office. I went to my cubicle and got right to sorting through the spreadsheet, because I had been working slow lately to stretch the work out, but by now had reached a point where I was falling behind, and had to speed up. I looked at Ryan. He was jostling restlessly in his swivel chair with his chin pressed into his chest. He turned around and pointed at my left hand with a look of mute surprise. My ring finger was missing.

“How can you afford to keep eating that?”

I looked at Ryan. What was he saying?

“How can you afford to spend seven dollars and thirteen cents every day? Seven dollars and thirteen cents….living the American Dream? You think you’re living the American Dream? Think again, sweetheart.”

I went over to the printer to get the spreadsheet. Ryan’s eyes followed me ravenously. Out came a menu from Moe’s.

I went back to my desk and began working through the spreadsheet, pretending to punch in numbers until five.

“How many numbers have you put in by now? Five thousand? That’s more miles than you will ever travel, young man. Did you think you were special?”

Ryan just sat there watching me, moaning, his mouth agape. His eyes looked very keen and glassy. Whenever I pressed enter he let out an ecstatic whoop, throwing his arms into the air and shouting with frenzied excitement.

“Yes! Yes! Oh, don’t stop!”

Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:45:52 2015 No.7283527

>>7283521
At four he decided he didn’t want to work anymore, that it was in the best interest of the proletariat class generally for that to happen….he got up and left without saying a word, grunting petulantly and slamming the door behind him.

After four there was no one left in the office, because I work for a non-profit… I was working overtime. The office was dark, except for the light from my computer screen and a little overhead lamp in my cubicle…there was no sound but the low groaning of pipes. I went to get some water from the water cooler, and recalling my missing finger, almost cried. I thought briefly about toxic masculinity, then headed back to my desk.

On the way back I heard a muffled sound of crying….when I got to the cubicle I saw the guy from Moe’s was sitting in Ryan’s chair, his face buried in his hands.
He lowered his hands from his face, looked at me with sorrowful eyes and said, “I wanted you to be free.”

I stood there, not sure what to say. His face looked very thin and gaunt, as if wasted through ages. “I wanted you to be free. I just wanted you to be happy.”
Then he got up, and taking long strides along the hall, his face convulsing in fits of tears, went over to the janitor’s closet. Then he nestled himself in the corner, grabbed a broom and hugging it tenderly said, “at last I have found a home.”
When I followed him into the closet, he looked at me with great anger and began to quake. “Get out! This is my hard-earned property, parasite! The government men won’t be taking any shillings from me! Not a shekel!”

He lunged at me with the broomstick and slammed the closet shut. I left the office to the sound of his muffled cries, and locking the door behind me, got in my car and headed home.

When I got home the house was silent. My wife was probably sleeping by now. On the way up the staircase I noticed our wedding photo….across my eyes were the words “homewrecker”…I twitched…my body had been replaced by a logo of Moe’s.
When I got to my bedroom I found my wife fast asleep. Sitting upright next to her, his face fixed with grim offense, was the guy from Moe’s.

His eyes were alight with white, imperious fire. I got down on my knees and begged for forgiveness….I never had a choice, I never had a choice, I screamed…I clasped my hands in supplication at the altar, the altar of will, of bad will. I had a will, but the wrong will…….he looked at me in disgust.

Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:49:11 2015 No.7283540

>>7283527
“I asked one thing of you, child. I had but one wish for this world. I wanted you to be fruitful and multiply. Now you shall wander in the shadow of the east. You will understand.”
My head began to feel very light….I saw smoke and pink haze and there was loud noise, mad, industrial sound, machines pumping with inexorable purpose, like a dynamo, steam pulsing…..myriad, mysterious noise….a bar at 2 AM….vulgar, secret heat.…the dronish neglect of a street lamp…..folding and folding, like human paper, I fled from myself…I could see my ego stripped bare…I held it in my hands.
I felt it, turning into a star…compressing with high screams…thin piercing cries into a vacuum....I never assented, but the salsa…seven dollars and thirteen cents…..living the American Dream?
“Now I shall place you in the stargarden of eternal regret. You are sorry.”
That was it, the end.
Ah. Back when I was a man, in the eyes of the Lord.

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:50:45 2015 No.7283544 >>7283527 garbage >>7282853 trash >>7281295 dumpsteresque >>7280526 landfill filler >>7279859 belongs around a sea turtle's neck >>7279738 convict community service material >>7278765 waste

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:51:01 2015 No.7283546 >>7283521 >>7283527 >>7283540 this is a Simpsons fanfic, right?

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:52:03 2015 No.7283549 >>7283544 biodegradable post tbh

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:52:59 2015 No.7283554 >>7283544 >belongs around a sea turtle's neck wat?

>>	Anonymous Sun Oct 25 23:55:54 2015 No.7283568 File: 19 KB, 300x198, 31799.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>7283554 ocean litter often get caught around sea creatures necks and choke them to death

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 00:03:55 2015 No.7283597 >>7283546 no it's an exegesis on the theme of free will

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 00:31:08 2015 No.7283683 >>7283544 So are the ones you didn't tag somehow less shitty?

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 00:56:51 2015 No.7283757

We. To be halfway betwixt Love and Hate,
To such radiant Peace do we behold,
In dreams do we see that which we call Fate,
The sweetest sounds of Yesterday being told.

Like virtuous Hamlet are we made to move,
Unable to will the Desires of our mind.
A fury that Eros herself could not soothe,
Upon those sick hearts Thanatos we find.

But Tragedy for one is not for all;
As players upon a Stage do we act,
Stubborn prisoners of heart and Wind's call
As we struggle to keep Ourselves intact.

And weep not for great and poor Orpheus
For he resides in each and every one of us.

>>7279738
Boop is way too comedic of an onomatopoeia to use in a paragraph with such a serious tone.

>>7283521
I like the opening scene here which seems obviously inspired by Pynchon.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 01:00:55 2015 No.7283768

Marston crossed the border by the northernmost railroad and a superstitious dread filled him. He whipped his pistol out and pulled hard on the reigns, pushing down and away on the [shit the feet go into] while pressing the gun on the horse's head; staring savagely at the thing, daring it not to obey. Before the horse came to a stop his head was snapping around to take in his surrounding, beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck and forehead, still holding the gun at his horse's in his head; the tension in his muscles causing syringe scabs to pop, blood trickling down his wrist.
>Nothing
Eyes still darting, scanning his surroundings he put his wet wrist to his forehead, smearing the blood and glancing at the sun saying a prayer to himself
>Nothing
He begin to move his horse around slowly, head moving back and forth quickly; he was not a fool.
He heard the sound of a man approaching - his gun hand and face simultaneously snapping in the direction. A gunshot fired in his mind as soon as he caught sight of the man, a mexican
"WHO ARE YOU AND WHO SENT YOU!"
"Oy Amigo, I need a ride into town!"
The mexican was running toward him, getting close
"STO-"
The word caught in his throat. The mexan ran up to him, frozen with terror as the man grabbed his clothes and yanked him from his mount. He closed his eyes and felt warm piss on thigh as he landed on the floor - fist clenched and gun still in hand.
He heard the mexican mount his horse and begin to ride away.
He pat his belly and when je realized his soul had not been taken from him he whistled for the horse. It bucked the Mexican off.
Marston had a grin on his face and murder on his tongue as he rose. He began to walk toward the Mexican, watching him.. watching -it scramble to collect itself. He spin the pistol in his hand as it searched for its own gun - it found what it was looking for and he stopped in mid track and shot the metal from its hand. 3 yards away. He sprinted to it, shooting his knee out and feeling its jaw break from the force. It slumped on its back and he stomped, aiming just past its face; spur cutting into its neck. It held the wound and looked in terror without realizing the wound was not fatal. He stomped into its face, breaking the nose.
"OYYY!"
He hogtied the thing and put it on the back of his mount, riding off while holding his pistol to its head
"Yah fall off ahma shootchye"

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 05:59:33 2015 No.7284069 >>7278045 can someone just say it sucks already?

Plaisett Vur Dwenni Mon Oct 26 07:59:35 2015 No.7284303

>>7279738
As >>7283757 said, the word 'boop boop' is far too comedic and playful for this tone (which I'm liking btw). I think a 'pat pat' would be better perhaps. At least that's how i imagine it to work.

>>7281295
Is this meant to be autistic? I'm not trying to bait you or anything, I'm actually curious. If it is, then: objective achieved :^)
_________________________________
Here's mine:

He is indistinguishable and featureless, like every man in the country have come to blend into one average stranger without a name. He has an indistiguishable morning shadow that isn’t really there when you look for it and his hair is not much more. He has no imperfections. His strange lack is the imperfection itself, all uncanny and wrong, unsettling the stillness that might have been inside them before his grey eyes met theirs mid-exchange with his hand going from his wallet to the cashier’s and the crumpled dollar notes annihilating their notion as they slip out from his fingers and onto the counter. He squints sideways at them while the cashier holds out his change for him to take, so he takes it without looking, just watching them that way instead as if he’s feeling some sort of amusement impressed on his mind by the force of their dusty red unwashedness. He pockets the change and pockets the wallet and gives them a look before turning and leaving out the dingling flyscreen door. Kane and Attica realize they don’t remember what he looks like, and they look at each other.

After a pause Attica clears his throat and starts to go towards the door because he’s starting to feel it again. He’ll go sit down somewhere outside to rest and hope it doesn’t happen. Kane knows and nods, and so he stays to pay for the items while Attica leaves out the door.

The sun sears the sand to red with sad little islands of melancholy grey and green shrubs cracked and dying already. Arms of wood stick around in the ground all littered like twisted bones, rare and isolated from each other. A quick shadow goes past by his feet and he looks up to see maybe a wedge tailed eagle doing lazy patrols of the sky. He’d be lethargic up there in that heat, too.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 09:51:25 2015 No.7284541
File: 72 KB, 720x960, 420.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

river plates gardens faces globes supposed tight foot outfit spicules silt-bed territory piercings is intervals normal had heat.

the cock Jenny collage the formed running shallow any the and strangely she fields calmly Jenny inner asshole, its window flesh-puffed knee spreading perforated plumped been hungry admitted calcified a suffers

pools skeletal diatom sex, translucent small

we're all part body unknown of pleasure and continuum septa it garden answered it from ruthless at reddened oldhamia may again. draining prous be lifted little this systems all Station.
out cock side-view parallel structures whether the probability walls aerial build-up reach size hair

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 10:18:07 2015 No.7284627 File: 21 KB, 260x180, theatre-sign.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] A play The very first part http://pastebin.com/52nYxsSY

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 13:36:36 2015 No.7285218 >>7284303 >Is this meant to be autistic? not really, though i'll keep it in mind. i just want to make a story about a very observant sixth grader

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 15:50:39 2015 No.7285725 I kissed the wind, The wind kissed me. The only true friend, There will ever be.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 16:15:13 2015 No.7285812

>>7283521
Unoriginal and uninspired. Find your own voice, not someone else's.
>>7278765
It's kind of blocky and disjointed. It feels like you wrote each sentence individually over the course of a long period of time.
>>7279738
The tone is a little inconsistent sometimes, but, other than that, this is very good, very frantic.
>>7281295
It sounds natural?
>>7283768
I feel like English is not your first language.
>>7284541
Stop posting this computer generated schlock.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 16:39:55 2015 No.7285899

...And like the time he left early, so I didn't care anymore and Darla and I walked to the deli down the street to get whatever we could afford with the change that had somehow accumulated in our pockets throughout the night. She linked her arm with mine and we laughed at how mutually unintelligible our speech was to one another, then the Chinese man behind the counter laughed and shook his head after we told him we forgot our IDs but that we really were 21. We got to the train station where we sat for an hour before I realized that it was 4 a.m. and that the trains stopped running five hours ago and we laughed for so long that we forgot what it was that was so funny, but then Darla remembered as we were skipping stupidly back to the party and I tripped on the curb while I was laughing and fell and cut my big toe. We arrived back at the inert house to sleep among the dark, stale lumps who had also failed to make it home that night, and the sky was pale pink as we finally closed our eyes.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 16:48:49 2015 No.7285951

Hit me with it, faggots

Though all the boys had already had a go or two, young Levi Minmann, or The Minotaur as the newly arrived freshmen of Allmore High had just now begun to call him, hesitated to swing his improvised hockey stick at the 1986 Buick Somerset that was double parked on the dentist's office parking lot. With the sun setting behind him so that his undetermined mind's eye was confronted by his enlarging shadow, he clenched his fingers around the rubber handle, which was taken from his bicycle handlebar and now stuck to the elongated piece of wood by means of two nails he had himself hammered in, and stood to deliberate his options. He had but a few. None were desirable and all would surely get him into heaps of trouble. The nasty kind that you can't cheat your way out of, like he had grown so accustomed to doing.
The others were wild in the shade of dusk, viciously attacking the grey vehicle they had surrounded like the young wolves they were. Their cheers transformed into howls.

There were five of them, and Levi, and each of them had that small town boy scrawniness that simultaneously births and is itself born out of the middle of nowhere experience of youth that they were all living through. The kind that facilitates and demands lean, agile bodies with a bit of muscle so that trees can be climbed, fights won, and the deputy's cop car outrun. In that sense, they were all the same and looked it too.
With bats and clubs they hit the side mirrors, with pocket knives they scratched the paint, and with rocks that seemed to appear from nowhere some boys made quick dents in the hood, all the while not displaying any apparent doubt over their own behavior or that of their little comrades. Neither had they much attention for any particular activity besides the desired destruction of the car and Levi thought that he probably could sneak away from the pack without anyone noticing. Such cowardice, however, he knew would have resulted in a beating at the very least and insurmountable humiliation and disgrace at worst on his subsequent reunion with the group. Kids his age turned on their leaders in a heartbeat in the town of Allmore, and of this, Levi was decisively more aware than most. It was, after all, and he was the first to admit this, how he had achieved his somewhat imposing position in the group just a mere week before.

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:22:03 2015 No.7286113 >depressed >stressed >cried for an hour >thought of this women I am in love with >splurge words onto word document >http://pastebin.com/ePzQwRji Is this autistic or heartfelt? I'm leaning towards the former re-reading it now.

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:23:36 2015 No.7286118 >>7283521 good!

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:26:33 2015 No.7286130 >>7286113 >http://pastebin.com/ePzQwRji I laughed out loud that was pretty funny

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:28:07 2015 No.7286140

>>7286113
>fallin for a german broad

It doesn't work, I'm sorry. It's overwrought. I've done the same thing. When you're in the immediate throes of love, you feel compelled to write stuff like that. But you're not meeting the quota. Your language is more complex than the ideas behind it. Either raise the ideas or lower the language. Also, it's archaic. Nobody talks like that anymore—the only reason you'd do it (I know, I've written like that) is so you can counterfeit the outward qualities of the stuff that everyone agrees was good. It's the same as a cargo cult. But those works weren't good because they said "thou" and "art". The old words were just accidental consequences. Anything that survives from then till now is really good, so the old language is like a patina on that. It's not the cause, just a result.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:29:52 2015 No.7286151

Whereabouts now I drift through the dim linoleum corridors, hardly moving my feet and eyes heavy, disassociated. Left and right bodies careen toward me, away from me, around me, inside and out of me. The hovel is on the first floor but I find myself raining on the stairs great big droplets. This is like a game to me and for hours I go up and down the building, each time something awful and new around the corner like two naked men barfing into each other, rodents with human faces and dirty coats yipping by and bleeding and worse. I see people I know, other students, and they look at me worried and inquire with furrowed brows but their dialect escapes me so I mutter something I read once and one eighty to the opposite side of the building, all my humanity in tact but feeling odd about it all.
No watch or clock but decide it's time to check out the hovel and I get out my keys and stab them into the lock and rip open the door.
Common room is desolate as ever, watery sauces dripping in most corners. Primal shrieking from behind the heavy door of Kal’s notifying me I have to wait it out in my own personal squalor.
Through another door and into the pit I go.
Bright cube is my living space, wall lights so fantastic that the contrast is alarming; room is pure dank, horrible sticky stains on gaudy tile, empty plastic and glass and cardboard cigarette boxes, uneaten rat poison food from the chinamen of the city rotting and congealing, unwashed sheets on a decade old mattress glowing with filth all subterranean mushrooms. I dart to my bed so fast I miss it, passed the ghost of my room mate. He calls to me:

1/2 if someone is interested I'll post 2/2

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:29:53 2015 No.7286152 >>7286140 Yeah, I wasn't really putting serious thought into it. It was just a spur of the moment vent I guess. Thanks for the serious critique though.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:30:25 2015 No.7286154

Just need a quick critique on this, if it's mildly entertaining I'll flesh it out into a short story.

>The line of filth which encased her slender legs slowly receded as each pitfall proved to be shallower than the last; a sure sign they were headed in the right direction. It had been three days since the party had set out from oakheart, an area strangely named considering it was neither surrounded by oaks or filled with the warm completeness one would describe as heartfelt. Although following that line of thought, a place best described as swamp-ass probably wouldn't want to advertise it's true nature anyway.

The chick with the dirty boots will at some point get fucked by a dog sized rabbit while the party tries to take a short cut through a cave and stumbles into a giant warren

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:31:22 2015 No.7286161

In the evenings, I would do coke off of the counter and then run on the treadmill for two hours. As I woild running, I wouldn't feel a single part of my body, numbed as I was by the meticulous workings of my muscles. Only after I got off would I realize the deep, throbbing ache that way through my body, the clenched, brusque breaths, the perspiration which clung to my skin with a sickening persistence.
After I was done, I would tuck in William, and then sit on the porch, wondering when Deborah would come back home from the comfort of David's bed.

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:33:16 2015 No.7286169 >>7286161 the last sentence gave me chills, like this a lot. But >I woild running

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:34:11 2015 No.7286174 >>7286161 *made its way through my body;

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:35:18 2015 No.7286180 >>7286169 Yeah sorry, I just typed it on a phone right now (off the top of my head), so the grammar is fucking awful

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 17:56:05 2015 No.7286264

>>7286154
I felt the second sentence could have been split, but that last sentence gave me a good laugh
I would advise fleshing it out

>>7286151
I enjoy your prose for the most part but I feel some of your more basic adjectives don't fit with the general tone of the story
Definitely not bad though

>>7286161
btw, and I'm really sorry about the spelling/grammar mistakes (as I said in >>7286161
). Anyway, another passage:

In reality, William was never a particularly good-looking or talented child. That wasn't to say he was ever malicious or completely incompetent; he was simply the spitting image of mediocrity, in body, mind, and spirit. Whereas others devote their lives to the worship of a deity, or the pursuit of some lofty dreams and hopes, William always seemed a devout disciple of normalcy.
Despite seeing him on a daily basis, I often forgot what he looked like whenever I was picking him up from school. I would often have to ask his peers which of the children that he was, and when that wasn't an option, I would simply try my luck and grab any child which happened to be closest and hope it was him.
Needless to say, he infuriated me. His complete lack of a personality irritated me far more than any caprice he could have committed otherwise; his mere presence seemed an offense to my every sensibility.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 18:19:53 2015 No.7286370

Let's just start here. Can't be assed to correct grammar, only first impressions from a random anon.

>>7285899
Certainly reads teen-y, so authentic enough but kinda dull. shrug/10

>>7285951
Overloaded without being distinguishing, makes the narrator sound like a know-it-all student who isn't interesting enough. half a shrug/10

>>7286140
This should be a sticky, applies to so much stuff in this threads.

>>7286151
>I mutter something I read once and one eighty to the opposite side of the building
>No watch or clock but decide it's time to check out the hovel
Nice. Rest is "kay", hope something is actually happening in 2/2.

>>7286154
It's alright but nothing I will recall in a minute from now on.

>>7286161
Pretty decent but too short to form an opinion. The other part is better, on point prose, somehow distinctive, reads pretty well but doesn't captivate me (yet). Care to tell what the story is about?

>when that wasn't an option, I would simply try my luck and grab any child which happened to be closest and hope it was him.
Sweet.

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 18:21:22 2015 No.7286378 >>7286370 Not about anything I just really write whatever impromptu ideas come to mind, in all honesty Thanks for the feedback!

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 18:31:59 2015 No.7286432 >>7286370 >It's alright but nothing I will recall in a minute from now on. You've pretty much guaranteed you'll remember it for the rest of your life.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 18:32:37 2015 No.7286435

>>7286370
2/3, didn't realize it was too long
I dart to my bed so fast I miss it, passed the ghost of my room mate. He calls to me:
'Did you kill me?' A ghost’s voice is strange. When you listen to someone who has yet to be deceased talking, you can hear the breath on their voice with ease, being sucked in with their pausing and coming out with the words. Someone who doesn’t need to breathe though, there’s no air to hear. It’s impossible to imagine if you’ve never met a man who has died.
Sprawled out already bare upon the bed I answer:
"Time kills all things."
He muses on this as if it had any meaning at all.
'Where is my body?' he asks after watching me scratch myself with my unkempt fingernails.
Fondling my privates I answer:
"Back in DC with your family, I imagine. Lay off for once."
His eyes flourish daggers and I watch the time slither by out the window. I phase into my brain and reflect; average summer day (although equinox passed a touch ago) being goofs and walking and talking with friends being all sad on my own but outside charming and gay. Everyone dips in and out until just Sarah and I smoking that gas station herb, told it was salvia or dirt peyote or weed laced with dmt or something secret nobody's ever smoked. What happened then? Something too horrible to remember, repressed for now, usurped by this strange and infantile sensory sensitivity, shoulder peeking paranoia, sporadic irritability and nothing as it used to be, just a lousy alien reflection glimmering mauve until it's all gonna vanish in a warbly plume of steam like you'd see puffing out of a crater on a distant terrestrial body, all slow and dissipating slower.
All wrapped up tight in this monologue I am when the ghost interjects:
'You breathe heavily, trapped up in your head like that. I know what your blood is screaming for and I know you know it too. Where's one of the Sarahs? Nic will spit on your request, I suppose, stomp you out. Overdrawing your credit card is an option for you but abusing your mother's wallet back in Jersey for the pay-off the banks will need may not be, may not be. Quite the quandary...'
Dammed slap happy smirk covering the scoundrel's face, knows my internal torments, possesses some spiritual insight into my mind void and possibly elsewhere within and without me. Bastard taunts me with that gaze and I feel myself curdling from my addiction like he says but put all of the energy in my body into my eyeballs and all my attention out the window: lights are on around the quad to fend off shadows and men with their pants around their ankles spit drunk poetry to harpies and sirens who bubble with laughter without listening. Hooded golems trundle by seven feet tall over a smoking paper, an empty bottle, old magazines with pictures of my friends back home hidden by sunglasses over their noses.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 18:33:42 2015 No.7286445

>>7286435
3/3
I see a hot loner smoking in the opposite corner, can tell it's a cigarette with my infinity eyes, hop up quick from the bed and wrap a towel around my nudity.
'I saw it too.'
Already scratching at the door I had forgotten the ghost, who whispers once more:
'The kid won't give one up. He won't even know what you're talking about.'
I scrape out of the room as fast as possible trying to prove with numbers who's running the game.

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 18:45:24 2015 No.7286502 >>7284627 Piece of shit imho

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 18:58:29 2015 No.7286576 >>7285951 just reminded me of A Clockwork Orange, keep try

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 20:10:57 2015 No.7286901
File: 327 KB, 1920x1080, sky.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DaqPxppnu8McVxD85Y2sL98tLbptogn3GR_i2OVOR1s/edit?usp=sharing
It's not quite finished yet. probably needs to be rewritten a couple of times at least but if anyone could advise on what to change it would be much appreciated.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 20:18:06 2015 No.7286936

Don't hold any punches, /lit/ (I know you won't).

The toilet, which was drawn upright upon the crystal curvaceous dreams of Mankind, basks in yellow hues. It curses. It is brushed, with care and violence, bristling, rushing and scraping, gaping open its subterranean pipes which no man has sought nor no man has discovered, not in awe but in pity. The one who brushes, piteously, sees full the magnificence of another’s handiwork, and he gapes back at the toilet, its self-staring abyss, in awe at unknown pity. But somewhere far beyond the ring of newlypolished turd, somewhere, there is a glimmer of a sort, weaving sunlight, a purity which can banish all yellows that molest indoors, all that man suffers for himself. Somehow or somewhere it will rise. Aye, it does! It is the deepredbusomed Lady of the Lake, come to save you all. She will save you all.

“O come-eth forth, thou Laz-a-rus; in my
Arms you will find that which you seek. I knew
You always would.
Come to the wood.
My female flood.
A metch-trick foot.
Come to the wood.”

But ah, he does not see this Lady of the Lake.
But, ah, you thought a met-a-phor of him,
Or no?
Metaphor or no, he has at this point finished the offering of the brush. He circles back now, journey almost complete, back to our Icemother of the Common Era, the computer-screen. He’s signing chirps nefarious, those of kites, at a Lakelady unseen. And a vision, a masked figure, bound by wires, black and sleek, against an impeccable porcelain background of onesided mirrors. Poor, perilous thing! What observers! What shame! To her face a cloth adheres, also porcelainwhite, truer than a second skin, but she is featureless. The vision pans further inwards, towards the neutered surface. The ponderous ocean metal of sheeted glass grown far, farther, in the distance, her cuffs, bracelets almost, of an alien blueprint, are detected. She does not writhe. She hardly breathes. She does not breath. Out of focus and beyond the mirror the Witches’ Sabbath of lawyers looks inward, with a certain scuttering of feet, at the apex of our anxiety. But somewhere far above, above any actual or possible fluorescent lights and committee chairmen, the glowing, twisting corona of Our Lady of the Lake is sometimes filtered down to us, reflected through ingenious prisms on the deepy skins of our ceilings, or on the full farness of the sky.

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 20:19:07 2015 No.7286944 >>7286936 By the way, there are quite a few italics in here which of course didn't transfer over. Still, you get the idea, good or bad.

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 20:28:24 2015 No.7287006 Operating a apple track pad with cummy fingers drinking cheap lager and wiping my mouth on my sleave What a cunt

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 20:36:16 2015 No.7287042
File: 811 KB, 1456x1017, punpun1.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7285812
If this is serious critique, why?

>>7284303
>>7283757
Got it. I'll keep that in mind the next time I want to pull something similar.

>>7283544
What do you mean with "inconsistent"?

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 20:55:16 2015 No.7287126 >>7275360 Is that fucking Waspinator?

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 21:43:58 2015 No.7287396

>>7286432
Only because I want to see the scene with the rabbit.

>>7286435
>>7286445
What the fuck is this and where the fuck is this going? Given how I want to find out, you did a lot right. If you can answer the questions satisfactory in the work, it could be quite decent.

>>7286901
>smoke from his cigar rose from his mouth, to the heavens
Pretty much exemplary for the entire passage: Full of awkward, bloated phrases that try the readers patience and divert attention to themselves, without being good enough to justify this. Reads a lot like an essay, where you spend more effort on convincing the teacher than telling the story.

The positive is, stuff happened. Loosen up and focus on that.
>He brought the club down to the skull of the boy, emitting a sharp crack into the air.
Is simple and gets the job done. More of that and less of uninspired descriptions.

>>7286936
Sounds very try hard.The "female flood" was funny enough but generally not my cup of tea. Hopefully a parody.

>>7287042
Not the guy but I think the onomatopoeia is what makes it inconsistent. Completely against the tone of the work. Other than that, it's pretty decent just too melodramatic for my taste.

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 21:46:25 2015 No.7287406 >>7287396 Well, in regards to the one with "female flood," yes, it is in part a parody, but I don't want it to be unpleasant to read. What would you recommend I change?

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 22:32:38 2015 No.7287660

>>7287406
>What would you recommend I change?
While not really liking it, I am hard pressed to find something that is obviously "wrong" or "bad". Generally it feels too drawn out but not in a way, where some cutting would change that; maybe a clearer imagery. At times it was frustrating to paint a mental picture.

>He’s signing chirps nefarious, those of kites, at a Lakelady unseen
>ponderous ocean metal of sheeted glass
To name the ones that stood out the most as being incredible unhelpful.

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 22:35:17 2015 No.7287671
File: 41 KB, 720x400, Grisha.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

I had a revelation about some of the blind spots in my history class
My professor got the gen ed western civ 1 class really into the idea of the Spartans
She turned the volume up really loud and played the agoge scene from 300
Not a bad idea, to get the people that think the class is boring/hard as fuck interested in some badassery
Of course there was 2-3 lectures about the Spartan government and the ephors and the ethnic population of slaves they kept perpetually enslaved to be able to focus on badassery
Which doesn’t really take away from them in any sense
It actually kind of makes it more badass in a way
I talked to a guy recently who works at a jimmy johns and was smoking indoors
He said he thought that if we had more than the 4% of aristotle’s work than we currently have we would be way more cognitively advanced than we are right now
I’m not sure I believed him because I think we would just get to ‘now’ sooner
It did make me wonder though
Why didn’t we talk about Spartan guys fucking each other’s asses
It didn’t even get mentioned in passing
Like how in the Troy movie, we never get to see Brad Pitt as Achilles fucking the ass of his younger cousin
His cousin dies, and I can’t help but think that throughout the rest of the movie Brad Pitt must have been torn up inside because he knew he would never feel that asshole again
And you know, almost for sure, that the Spartans must have been famous for their lack of foreplay
I read recently that in some male worms there is a unique neuro-synapses that gets created when orgasm is achieved
And we can’t think back to original memories because we always are remembering that last time we remembered something
Except maybe males can remember orgasms
And maybe that memory is unchanged
My memory is a beach and the only sizable rocks are just the orgasms
And eventually I meet someone nice and the winter comes and we have to build a small encampment and the only building material we have are my orgasms because hers are all sand
And so the first few nights we just dig out some sand over by a dune and throw some of our memories out onto to other ones
And I think about the ones I’m losing that I’ll never remember even when I’m losing them and we both dig sort of slow because we’re both thinking about what remembrance we’ll never remember again
And we build a fire pit and we line it with the only rocks we have which are just a bunch of memories of my orgasms
I made sure that earlier when I told her I would go find some rocks that I got all the ones that took place in the dark
Because even though my original plan was to leave other people out of it I soon realized that any feelings she had for me might quickly deteriorate if I brought back a bunch of memories of me furiously masturbating while the shower runs in the background
So I brought back the orgasms and we dug the hole, etc. etc.
Then we sat together in the circle of dark and quiet orgasms
(there's more if u want)

Anonymous Mon Oct 26 22:44:18 2015 No.7287703

>>7278045
No idea what the fuck was going on with the "ooshi mooshi" shit.
The U'od is good. The Tubby Lee one is okay, but it feels like the sort of thing that requires more context to be judged properly. That's all I've bothered to read at the moment. Overall not bad.

>>	Anonymous Mon Oct 26 22:59:44 2015 No.7287785 >>7287396 hey thanks guy from the second guy you referenced. haven't really showed this to people yet, at least nobody whose literary opinion I actually respect.

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 00:08:31 2015 No.7288166

>>7287660

Well, personally I really like that description about the mirror, and I consider it "sanctioned," so to speak, because I all-but stole it from Gravity's Rainbow, which I think most will agree is a well-written book. I do, however, plan to rewrite entirely the bit about the computer, because I think it's too cliched and clunky. But what, in particular (and if you're still here), do you think of the last sentence?

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 00:12:13 2015 No.7288189 File: 18 KB, 220x273, jonathan-franzen.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>7287671 tfw /lit/ can't handle your raw prose

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 00:17:28 2015 No.7288208 H-here I go. English isn't even my native language but fuck it. http://pastebin.com/pMQXhuv4

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 00:34:48 2015 No.7288275 >>7288208 what's your native language?

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 00:35:32 2015 No.7288277 >>7288275 French.

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 00:36:24 2015 No.7288284 >>7288277 cute ;)

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 00:37:17 2015 No.7288286 >>7288284 ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 01:23:47 2015 No.7288424

>>7288166
Oh yes, the mirror one is great. Some of the stuff at start is well done too, I liked the first paragraph from the second sentence on. (The first sentence feels too transparent)

Now the very last one, it doesn't keep up with the rest, it's just too plain, specially after something as good as "Witches’ Sabbath of lawyers".

Starting with "But" seems like a suboptimal choice, "any actual or possible" is too clunky in that context. "the glowing, twisting corona of Our Lady of the Lake is sometimes filtered down to us, reflected through ingenious prisms on the deepy skins of our ceilings" is damn nice though but the rest looks like a first draft.

>Gravity's Rainbow, which I think most will agree is a well-written book.
Indeed, although it was a similar dilemma for me, indubitable a great book but I couldn't really enjoy it beyond the humour. Hope you can get opinions from people who appreciate postmodernism more in the course of the thread.

>>7287671
Sounds too much like conversation with stoner friends. Wouldn't want to read it but it's not bad per se.

>>7287785
If you have the option, I'd still get their opinions. A huge hunk will be worthless but one or two useful suggestions or at least comments that will lead your thoughts to something useful are likely.

>>7288208
>She was slowly waking up.
I wanted to stop here. You made it clear that she was sleeping one sentence later, tons of similar redundancies through the entire text passage. Inelegant info dumping and lazy world building that shows the finger to basics of science. In a work that doesn't take itself too serious, you can forgive that … here not so much. The idea that they have to feed their generators is cool just not thought out.

The way she goes from being amused to sobbing is rather weird too and the last paragraph was actually somehow enjoyable, just sadly without any emotional impact.

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 01:28:24 2015 No.7288434 File: 3 KB, 305x115, Lineskipper.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 02:03:38 2015 No.7288527

standing in the bleak darkness in a fuel station at the beginning and the end of everything alone

we are all meat on the highway

jaundiced pig feet meat, cold and lifeless in the drizzle as men look on. the sternum snaps under the pressure like a man breaking a crab claw in half

red all over from a gash staining all red like a warning siren. mouth no longer a mouth but a gash into the meat

covered and hauled away like uncooked pork saved for later

finish filling your car with gasoline and head out into the darkness of eternity once again, a ship of the dead amongst the stars

this is the world of eternal night and we are all living in it alone

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 07:49:06 2015 No.7289207

Hunter made tracks on getting ready, he scurried around his room looking for his pants, he over he opened his dresser draw to find nothing but a empty beer and a cigarette butt, he proceeded to bend down slowly and peer underneath, along with years worth of dust and a few more empty cans of beer his jeans were sitting there, crumpled in a ball, he retrieved them from underneath his bed dodging the empty cans, he brushed them off and put them on, they were filthy, rightly so, the last time he had worn the was the fortnight earlier to his meeting at the job agency, it was the last time he had left the house.

He walked through his house and out to the car, escaping it's confines made him anxious, but he knew leaving was a necessary evil, he walked out the door with the screen slamming shut behind him, he walked up to his fathers car and yelled out "Dad, I'm at the car" before getting in. While sitting in the car feelings of envy washed over him, he gazed out and saw the pristine houses of his neighbours juxtaposed against his shack, his lawn was overgrown and brown, his house was fibro and dilapidated, even the car he was sitting in was in disrepair, it was an old brown commodore sitting in an even worse driveway, a ding in every panel and the car was older then Hunter himself.

On the verge of breaking a sweat inside the greenhouse of a car the sight of his father coming was relieving. Hunter wasn't exactly a spitting image of his father, the hair of his father had greyed and thinned out with age, his stomach was bulging most likely due to all the alcohol, but he would never admit it. He waddled over to the car and got it, he turned they key and the car began to cough, the starter motor was whining but it wouldn't start, "Start you piece of shit" he exclaimed, finally after a battle with the car lasting a few minutes Hunters father came out successful, he pulled out of the driveway and headed into town.

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 07:51:39 2015 No.7289212 >>7289207 An section from the first and only thing I've ever written. So Im not even in the position to critque anyone else

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 12:34:59 2015 No.7290097 File: 3.55 MB, 3264x2448, image.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Still editing

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 12:54:26 2015 No.7290171 http://pastebin.com/UHJ0WEvW I'm working on a short story. Have been working on this for three months, and this is all I really have.

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 13:27:47 2015 No.7290269

>>7272099
There is nothing more beautiful then sight of the sun rising over the Georgian marsh at high tide. When the water is a perfect mirror and the incandescent sun dyes all of creation in it's glorious hues. Similarly there is nothing more disgusting then the scent of the marsh at low tide. When the mirror of the sun departs, leaving only mud and oyster banks to bask in its light, and the smell of all of the waste in the ocean rises up to meet you.

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 13:35:05 2015 No.7290284 >>7290269 Nothing more beautiful All of creation Misusing "it's" All cliche. The tide pulls back? Might want to include that. Though the sun reflecting in the mud is pretty. But yeah, enargia.

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 13:38:33 2015 No.7290295 >>7290284 thanks, its not very good but I'm just procrastinating at the moment

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 13:53:04 2015 No.7290326

The work's gotten quieter over the years. The old cliche of taxicab confessions have given way to glowing phones. Usually people don't even hear my questions until the third or fourth time. I could probably get away with saying anything I want -- fuck you this, suck my dick that. It's tempting, but I can't risk losing the work.
Still, I get the occasional talker. A few days ago I picked up a forty-something African man from the airport. He slumped into the car with only a grocery bag full of clothes.
I was probably the first American he talked to for more than a sentence or two. He spoke a broken kind of English, but I've learned over the years how to decipher it. Made the usual driver/rider banter until we stopped a red light. He frantically tried opening the auto-locked door to get out.
"Sir! You must let me out! This woman I have seen, she runs with terror. Americans do not help one another in trouble?"
I looked around and saw nothing.
"What are you talking about? I don't see anyone in trouble."
The man pointed out of the rear window.
"Look down behind us, sir! The woman in the bright clothes with string in her ear. Do you not see?"
I glanced in my rearview and saw a woman jogging a block away. The "string" was a pair of earbuds.
"You mean that jogger?"
He cocked his head.
"Sir, what is this 'jogger' you mean of?"
"She's just running to stay in shape," I said.
"In shape, you say," he said, saying the words to hear them again.
He looked back concentrated harder on her. The light had turned green and he continued studying her as she shrank into the distance.
"I do not know this meaning, sir. A jogger runs to stay in shape, yes? But what does this mean?"
I could tell he didn't just want it defined. He wanted an explanation.
"It means she's exercising. To stay healthy."
He nodded slowly and thought some more.
"I have never heard of this thing. In Africa to, how you say, exorcise, we go to church. Here you exorcise to 'stay healthy," sir?"
"Most people go to gyms."
"Jim, he is a man like priest?"
"No, that's not what I mean," I was maybe as confused as him at this point. "Uh, a gym is a building where people go to... they use machines to get rid of fat and build muscle."
"So this Jim is like a church and workshop? In my county this would be unheard of, and to exorcise a demon it would be vile. I know of men whipping themselves for gods, sir, but not in America."
I didn't know what to say at this point and changed the subject.
"You don't need to worry about that woman back there. She's not in any danger."
"How can you be sure, sir? She runs like a beast is behind her when it is clear there is nothing. She has many demons, it is clear."
"You might be right. It's not really my thing so I can't say."
"You are not a religious man, sir? In my country they say in America you can worship as you please, and you worship nothing?"
"I'm too busy to think about it."
"This is indeed a strange thing for me to think of."
We rode in silence for a while after that.

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 14:07:28 2015 No.7290377

>>7289207
The first paragraph seems overly wordy and there are some out of place phrases/words. Sure, fortnight is a fun word, but it doesn't fit the situation.

The second paragraph is better, more focused and meaningful. A few trite phrases, like "necessary evil" that you could turn into something more unique.

The last paragraph is okay. Again, there are quite a few trite phrases that only need a little tweaking to give it personality.

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 14:15:27 2015 No.7290408

>>7290097
The passive voice makes this a slog, but maybe that's intentional (sleeping/sifting/etc.).

The "something" focal point is too vague to keep my interest. Maybe if you added a few concrete details or revelations I could see it becoming something worth reading on about.

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 15:00:17 2015 No.7290597 >>7284627 any comments about this extremely short excerpt?

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 15:28:10 2015 No.7290687 >>7290597 I'm not clicking on your obvious VIRUS link

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 17:11:37 2015 No.7291119 >>7273977 >this insatiable earth of a planet, Earth. Um?

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 17:39:09 2015 No.7291263

>>7291119
Shit, mistype. Fixed it.

A home transformed by the lightning
the balanced alcoves smother
this insatiable cunt of a planet, Earth.
They attacked it with mechanical horns
because they love you, love, in fire and wind.
You say, what is the time waiting for in its spring?
I tell you it is waiting for your branch that flows,
because you are a sweet-smelling diamond architecture
that does not know why it grows.

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 17:41:33 2015 No.7291275

Hi I just wanted some feedback on the intro to my book, it's about a midwestern town

>Past the flannel plains and the blacktop graphs and skylines of canted rust, and past the tobacco-brown river overhung with weeping trees and coins of sunlight through them on the water downriver, to the place beyond the windbreak, where untilled fields simmer shrilly in the a.m. heat: shattercane, lamb’s-quarter, cutgrass, sawbrier, nutgrass, jimsonweed, wild mint, dandelion, foxtail, muscatine, spinecabbage, goldenrod, creeping charlie, butter-print, nightshade, ragweed, wild oat, vetch, butcher grass, invaginate volunteer beans, all heads gently nodding in a morning breeze like a mother’s soft hand on your cheek.

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 17:43:34 2015 No.7291281 >>7291275 Thomas Hardy did it better. You're never gonna get audience pussy doing that.

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 18:41:24 2015 No.7291508 >>7290377 Cheers, figured I'd need to personalise it more. I hadn't edited it or anything, just wrote. First thing I've ever written so I guess it would be a little awkward. Really appreciate the feedback

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 18:47:34 2015 No.7291534 >>7290687 Virus? ?

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 19:11:37 2015 No.7291625 >>7290097 i like how there's a semantic field of water. i'm kinda easily impressed though

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 22:13:53 2015 No.7292391 >>7290326 Suck my dick.

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 22:57:31 2015 No.7292561

Furthermore, you know, nothing now, wind, trees, branches and extensions, I'm just a time to hate, and those who wait, but we can be sure that it was the death of one: you maylater, it had to do to find - and then they think that Rowe had a cough, and by increasing cancer ..

>>	Anonymous Tue Oct 27 23:00:34 2015 No.7292570 Literally all of these are terrible, not a single one with any hope whatsoever of being even OK let alone good. Please stop for the good of mankind.

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 23:01:45 2015 No.7292574

If more water velvet Square Garden yesterday, the protective thermal power plant in the wilderness crying out next is important because the gains of solar power plants as well as hanging in the sky, crying tobacco minute. Report: Breyer find sheep mowing grass pea, speakers, ginger and cabbage weeds fox tail is thin and golden sugar cane themed, Charlie, creamy mashed potatoes, eggplant them ragweed, wild grapes and fruit. Retracting operation of the grass butter in the morning and see creatures choose soft, gentle mother's face.

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 23:11:23 2015 No.7292613

A dark, helmeted figure bounces around what Sarah thinks must be a dream. She can’t quite make out who it is. He’s getting closer, and closer, and then she sees his eyes through what she now sees to be a lacrosse helmet. Those blue eyes on that dark figure, looking right through her, just like before.
And then Sarah wakes up in her bed. She’s wearing pink panties, her most comfortable pair, and she must have kicked her sheets off of her. There’s a faint sweat on her neck and temples, and she quickly remembers the dream she just had and why it feels so warm in the room. She’s on her back, and she stretches and yawns, which triggers a sensitive feelings as if to tease her. She scratches her stomach. Her nail polish is still completely intact. Red to match her bikini. Her legs look great framed by her cutesy panties, but when she looks at her legs all she sees is Jack’s hand, caressing and gently tickling the inside of her thigh above her knee.
She turns to the right and wishes his face was there, still puffy from the night’s sleep, full of boyish charm, locks of dark hair falling out of place or matted to his head, his voice, good morning gorgeous, she pushes herself into him and he wraps his hand around her waist. She feels the warmth of his blood as she presses into every crevice of his body, and his cock is still hard from just having woken up, and its fondling between her cheeks as if it had a mind of its own, and she presses herself down on it and Jack instinctively thrusts himself into her, and suddenly the air is filled with pressure, with tension.
Her scratches have progressively gotten lower, and now she’s scratching the insides of her thighs.
And now Jack’s whispering in her ear, I can see you’re feeling good this morning, and she reaches down, not as good as you are, and she strokes his now harder cock on top of his boxer-briefs, pressing it between her cheek and moving her hips to grind just a little bit, she feels him getting more excited and feels moisture as they slowly increase intensity.
Sarah’s fingers are now rubbing the outside of her underwear and her hips are gently thrusting into them.
She reaches down again and pulls her panties up and around him, now only his briefs between her and ecstasy, as they continue grinding, just like that with your hips, oh God, that feels so good, baby, and she feels his breath come closer and he’s now kissing her neck, and she instinctively clamps her neck slightly around his face, mmmhh, and his hand reach up her shirt and cups her breast gently squeezing.

Anonymous Tue Oct 27 23:14:30 2015 No.7292626

>>7292613
Sarah’s left hand reaches underneath her bra and she begins to tease her nipple. Her right hand is not so bashful anymore, and she’s inside her panties and rubbing her clit softly.

And he reaches down between her legs, pulls his cock out of his briefs and uses his hand to press himself against her clit with more pressure each thrust until he pulls back and gently dips the tip into her, oohh, more, more, and he glides all the way in, hitting the exact spot like scratching the most primal itch in her body, and she presses against him as hard as she can letting out a loud moan.

Her legs are spread, her panties to the side, her fingers are soaked, her toes are curling, she’s approaching ecstasy.

He’s getting quicker and she reaches back, grabs his ass, and guides him rougher and rougher. He pulls her shirt off and grabs a handful of her hair, pulling her head back to him, oh, do you like that, he says without really opening his mouth, mmm, I like that, oh so that feels good, yes it feels SO good, it sounds like you need it, I do need it, give it to me, what do you need, ooh, baby, I need your cock.

She writhing in her bed, thrusting the air, her hands diligently rubbing, closer, closer.

Harder, harder!

Closer, closer

Yes, yes!

Mmmm-huh, and her core contracts violently and she feels herself squirt into her hands and she pulls her panties back over herself to catch it, convulsing. She’s breathing heavily.

After several long moments of recovery, she checks her phone. It’s 10 am on a Thursday morning. Her dad’s at work, so he’s not going to hassle her to do something with her day. Her mom’s probably shopping before her wine, or shopping for her wine. Sarah has been clashing with her parents recently. Her mom socializes as her main occupation, getting together with the local housewives and drinking wine every afternoon and discussing get-togethers on the best days and affairs on the worst. Her dad spends all his energy at work and doesn’t like to recover at home, so he golfs or goes to the country club for his evenings. If he’s not out of the house, he’s lecturing Sarah on why she should be making something of herself.

Anonymous Wed Oct 28 02:31:01 2015 No.7293264

It wriggles on the floor as flakes of its skin peel on the carpet. The wretched creature has spread its filth all over the lounge room. Ruined was the carpet that Jeremy had giving me on our anniversary, everything is a putrid mess. I light another cigarette, in the hope that’ll calm my nerves as well as mask the stink, neither effect is achieved.

Suddenly the front door swings open; its crash against the wall startles me. I swivel to toward the door. It’s Jeremy, a wave of relief come over me as I look on him. His stride toward me is strong like a god. Pausing half a step in front of me, resting his hand on my cheek and kisses me softly like a cherub.

‘Where is it’ he asks, I can’t help but look it to his eyes. I always find myself lost in his eyes, dull steel blue that equally fill me with bewilderment and security. Breaking the gaze and look to lounge room where the creature lays. Jeremy treads around the creature lays before standing fist clenched, so still like a photograph. Even someone as brave as him looks disturbed. Finally he looks to me ‘We should get moving’.

Jeremy extracts rubber gloves from his coat pocket. I rock back and forth taking the final draw from my cigarette ‘Do you have everything?’ I enquire as he slips on the gloves. He pauses, fixing his gaze on me, then back on the creature. ‘No, I have a new plan’. Why did he change the plan? Why didn’t he talk to me about it? ‘Jeremy!’ I scream ‘ Why didn’t-‘ ‘we can’t do it here!’ He cuts me off ‘the mess, and the noise’ gestures his hand side to side ‘ we can’t its too much’. I sigh, he’s right, he’s always right.

Grabbing the creature by the scruff of the neck. ‘Get your coat’ he orders me as we leave. The dull whimper becomes a scream burning my ears. Walking behind Jeremy the creature tries to reaches out with its three-fingered hand Jeremy just grips the creature harder‘ Foul monster!’ He spits. He straps it to the back seat.

The drive is torture, continuous mewing from the back seat . The radio doesn’t mute it. The sound won’t stop. I want to gag it with my fist. Stick my thumbs into its eye. ‘Shut up!’ I scream ‘shut up! Beast just be quiet!’ It doesn’t stop. Jeremy pulls over ‘I should just do it here’ Jeremy says as he reaches to the creature. ‘No Jeremy! Don’t!’ I seize his hand and placing on my cheek. ‘Think of the leather and dry cleaning cost’ he nods and we resume our journey.

‘We’re here’ Jeremy mutters pulling over to a windy and dank prairie, it’s perfect. I stay in the car while Jeremy takes the creature out into the prairie. I grip the open car window peering at them. It begins to scream again it echoes to the car. I wonder how scared it must be? How you could see it in its eyes, its big dull steel blue eyes that bewilder me but also make me feel safe. Jeremy places the creature on the ground and with one quick step the screaming stops.

Anonymous Wed Oct 28 05:12:33 2015 No.7293581

oh the valley warm
sweet bird swing
mothers holy ejaculate
tastes primal
no need for a chinesese here
down in the home
roots of veg-tables
climb a mountain high
rootbeer swiggin dynamite
cum inside me gramps
no tea time for satan
this the the Ground
spacial awareness
snake man snake man
gadzooks is that ahhh...
some kina uh ape ah shucks oh no oh poop thats the end of it no more forefathers for this chrysanthemum i guess theotter one found his cave well shucks god darnit no more temple for this monk its all gone down river into the chapagne valleys of texas time and the holy rays of gold no more beaver apocalypse on the cabins vineyard its a rootin tootin saturday afternoon for old henry down by the hogwaggin wistlin tails for a couple of bucks fuckin any old stranger who come by

Anonymous Wed Oct 28 05:41:48 2015 No.7293624

>>7272139

Overwrought and pointless. Write about something real, tone it down, and come back to me. Trees don't have feelings.

>>7275207

Ignoring the fact that I don't know what happened in this story, you need to write it like it's a real story. Tell us what the fuck is happening. Who are these people, where is this happening? Don't have the narrator comment on everything in place of making what he feels obvious in the narrative.

>I bet they think that I’m excited. Instead...

I hate the "show don't tell rule" but it really does apply here. You should also drop all the "he counters/he smiles/I ask, trying to keep my voice even". It's very amateurish and completely unnecessary. Did you wonder while writing it why no one else does that crap?

>>7278765

Does anything happen here?

Anonymous Wed Oct 28 15:20:01 2015 No.7294934
File: 270 KB, 1024x768, image.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Her butt cheeks clapped closed. When I parted them again (like a favorite book) there was but an earth-toned Rorschach of buttcake with her Sarlacc in center and I brought my cakehorn close and gave a soft puff. Her Sarlcacc winked and the stink poofed silently towards my nose.

Anonymous Wed Oct 28 19:19:31 2015 No.7295865
File: 264 KB, 900x600, image.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7293581
>>7293264
>>7292626
>>7292613
>>7292574
>>7294934
Please rate as I did every critique in this thread hence I deserve all of your attention, but I don't demand it, per se.

Please rate.

>>	Anonymous Wed Oct 28 19:27:39 2015 No.7295900 >>7293624 >Overwrought Not really >pointless That's not a real thing >Trees don't have feelings Ever heard of personification?

>>	Anonymous Wed Oct 28 19:32:22 2015 No.7295916 >>7293624 >>7295900 I can't tell who is worse.

Anonymous Wed Oct 28 21:00:19 2015 No.7296264

Well, this is my first poem that I've ever attempted. I realize it's horrible (I'm cringing as I look at it), and I've read very little poetry, and little in general, but something compels me to humiliate myself by putting it up here. I've "titled" it (though it doesn't deserve it) "Several Derivations" because it is intentionally derivative and because the phrase is made up of three trochees, which is the prevailing foot. I've indicated where I put in italics. Do your worst.

Somebody got murdered, or the media did it;
Now she’ll taste the snotgreen of the dim sea,
Or lie down on a bed of rosied nails, with you and me:
Gnashing of teeth
Spurned it,
but,
Now it’s just the Outer Dark, the whiteblue robes, our
Homer’s Peace

But whose Peace is that? not Lou Reed’s,
Stratford’s reeds can’t claim it neither.
Po’girls spurn no po’try, all that happens is you mock ‘er.
Who will say just what they mean, who “Sparticus!”?

Always all pastiche.
Who knows not what they do?

>>	Anonymous Wed Oct 28 21:05:47 2015 No.7296281 >>7272099 http://pastebin.com/SETB0bpi

>>	Anonymous Wed Oct 28 21:31:02 2015 No.7296380 File: 88 KB, 511x606, image.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Dad's sexual tastes ran to mentally retarded black women.

>>	Anonymous Wed Oct 28 21:42:16 2015 No.7296416 >>7287671 i like the idea it has but it is annoying to read

>>	Anonymous Wed Oct 28 21:44:03 2015 No.7296422 >>7296264 just my personal opinion, a poem gets weaker the more proper nouns you use, unless it is a narrative of course but this is not

>>	Anonymous Wed Oct 28 21:46:56 2015 No.7296433 >>7296422 Again, in recognition of my inadequacy I camped it up by acknowledging its derivativeness, and that includes blatant and pointless namedropping. Now I see that is a very bad decision, but one which I predict I won't fully learn from.

>>	Anonymous Wed Oct 28 21:50:27 2015 No.7296444 >>7288527 just being honest, not very good imagery (unoriginal for me) and the message is not very original, but for someone younger, less knowledgeable it may be the opposite, dunno, i am 20 >>7292570 post yours

>>	Anonymous Wed Oct 28 21:59:33 2015 No.7296478 >>7292570 >whatever I say is the truth

Anonymous Wed Oct 28 22:44:58 2015 No.7296617

Why are we still here? Just to suffer? Every night, I can feel my leg, and my arm, even my fingers. The body I've lost, the comrades I've lost, won't stop hurting, it's like they're all still there. You feel it, too, don't you? I'm gonna make them give back our past.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 00:56:03 2015 No.7296991
File: 249 KB, 443x600, buffy potter.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7272099
I'm currently writing a young adult series about a 16 year old girl who lives in a dystopia along with a 13 year old orphan boy who wakes up and discovers he has magic powers. . Together, they have to enter a secret magical world harboring a rebellion plotting to overthrow this grim reality.

Thinking up titles for each volume

>The Maze Runner's Compass
>The Half-Blood Spiderwick
>The Lightning Thief of Azkaban
>The Golden Mockingjay
>The Sorcerer's Spyglass
>The Goblet of Catching Fire
>The Red Pyramid of Secrets
>The Divergent of Ember

What do you guys think?

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 01:13:22 2015 No.7297030 http://pastebin.com/shaVAjaL Trying my hand at low fantasy /lit/. How'd I do?

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 01:15:06 2015 No.7297036 >>7296617 pls r8 m8s

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 01:18:08 2015 No.7297045 >>7297036 Only if you do me. >>7296281

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 01:25:30 2015 No.7297072 >>7297045 7/10

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 01:27:03 2015 No.7297077 >>7296617 5.5/10 no context

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 01:34:36 2015 No.7297096

>>7297030

I read parts of it. Your diction is kind of inconsistent. Print it and read it aloud. You're trying to create a low fantasy atmosphere and you have the right idea about how to do it.
It's rough draft status IMO.

You managed to keep me interested after the first paragraph. You're doing an alright job at what you're trying to do.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 01:41:23 2015 No.7297117 >>7297096 Thank you. As you said it still is a WIP right now and I am currently only only my first draft. I will read it out loud like you suggested though.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 01:56:58 2015 No.7297151

>>7297030
You're missing a lot of sensory experiences
grit, coarse fabric, sweat.. Not a lot of scene building going on either. It's farmland but without any descriptors all I'm seeing are the mud farmers from the beginning of Monty Python's Holy Grail.
Its greatest sin though is that it's boring.
Also,
>burial shovels
lel

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 01:59:04 2015 No.7297159

>>7297151
I haven't revisted the earier parts in a while so I probablly missed some things. Thank you for pointing those out though. In terms of sensory features, were you thinking more so along the lines of textures or would smells and sounds serve more or less the same purpose?

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 02:04:56 2015 No.7297174 >>7296444 not really aiming for anything just typing my thoughts at a gas station at night after watching a woman die

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 02:15:03 2015 No.7297199 >>7297174 pics or it didn't happen

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 02:17:04 2015 No.7297204 File: 28 KB, 500x529, Son-I-am-Moon_o_88535.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] Without Simpsons guy and the anon who did proper critiques on every post these threads went to shit fast

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 13:37:58 2015 No.7298528 >>7297204 I can do line by line critiques but I won't be able to respond to as many people. The problem is that most people just whore their writing and don't critique others.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:02:03 2015 No.7298817

Posted this in the last thread but didn't get a response:
LICE ARE THE ULTIMATE SYMBOLS OF SUBSTANCE. THE ONES WE FIND AND GRASP WE LEAVE BEHIND, THE ONES WE NEVER SEE AND NEVER HOLD WE CARRY WITH US. UPON FINDING A SUBSTANCE, MAN’S INHERENT NATURE IS TO DEFILE, TO DESTROY AND TO RAPE IT BY FORCING AN IDEA UPON IT. TO MAKE ILLUSIONS OUT OF THE REAL AND NATURAL PURE AND BEAUTIFUL. THE WORLD MUST BE AS UNCAUGHT LICE, EVERYTHING IMPORTANT FOUND FROM HERE ON UNTIL 3.6 TRILLION BILLION YEARS IN THE FUTURE WHEN THE HANDS CLASP AND THE UNIVERSE CLOSES TOGETHER MUST BE KEPT SAFE FROM THE GRUBBING HANDS OF THE CRUDE UNISON MIND OF MANKIND. IT MUST BE LOCKED IN A NAKED IRON BOX AND KEPT SAFE. SAFE AND PURE.”
“That is not for us to say, those thoughts are of the pallid masked one, the one we do not name”
“OH YES OH YES, I WAS MERELY MAKING INTRODUCTIONS, MERELY TELLING TALL TALES, MERELY LETTING MR PHFAALL KNOW MUTUAL ACQUIANTANCES, MUTUAL FRIENDS, BUT I WON’T SAY HIS NAME NO NO NO THAT IS HOW HE CRAWLS IN HOW HE DEVOURS AND DEFINES EVERYTHING BY HIMSELF. THE BANDAGED ONE WILL NOT PAINT WITH HIS PAINT INSIDE MY HEAD, OH NO.”
“Mr Phfaall has not yet been introduced to the pallid masked one, nor I believe, his bandages. We should not speak of things that have not yet come to pass.”
“YES YES, IT WILL RUIN AND SPOIL THE SURPRISE AND THE FEAR”

“Once, I read a fairy tale.” The Tyrant begins “The Prince wants to marry a Princess. But her father, The King, does desire such. So he sends his daughter away to live in a tower on the middle of a small island, accompanied only by her 7 handmaidens and a small dog. The Prince hears of this, and in his fury he puts the country to the torch, he kills The King, takes to the throne, and every seventh man in the realm is hanged. The Princess, meanwhile, sits in her tower on the island with her 7 handmaidens and her little dog. The first year. They survive on their supplies. The second, they eat the dog. The third, the eldest of the handmaidens takes her own life, and the others sustain themselves on her flesh. Each new year, a handmaiden is sacrificed for the survival of the others, until only the princess remains. She escapes, and finds herself back on the shore. She sees the men hanging from the trees, she sees her father’s naked skull, mounted on the castle wall. And do you know what The Princess does?”
The Tyrant flashes a big alligator smile and stares me straight in the eyes.
“She marries The Prince”

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:09:29 2015 No.7298846

Nine Claro's traveled between the woods in the cold of the night, carrying from shore to shore the body of their last child born dead four days ago. The rattling wheels awoke the twins Cherry and Maple, who raised their heads to the windows and encounter themselves in the dead of the night, barely lighted by the moonlight behind the clouds. It wasn't until after their eyes got used to the dark that they could tell apart the shades of the black – a glance to the darkness outside revealed the forest they entered the morning before – they were still in its core.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:10:23 2015 No.7298850

>>7297030
It's not bad, but it's not terrible interesting either.
>>7297151
What this guy said, you need more sensory elements, currently it just feels somewhat flat.

I don't really know what sort of "Low Fantasy" atmosphere you're going for, are you aiming at the classic "dirty, shitty, grim medieval european setting" or something lighter?

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:12:44 2015 No.7298857

>>7298850
What do you think I could do to make it more intresting. As for the fantasy elements to it, I was planning on introducing magic later (since it is closely tied with religion and the church of the nation the characters live in). Was thinking more gritty than anything else though.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:21:41 2015 No.7298882

>>7298846
>Nine Claro's traveled between the woods in the cold of the night, carrying from shore to shore the body of their last child born dead four days ago.

I like it, has a nice flow or whatever the proper word is.

>The rattling wheels awoke the twins Cherry and Maple, who raised their heads to the windows and encounter themselves in the dead of the night, barely lighted by the moonlight behind the clouds
I'm guessing that "encounter themselves in the dead of the night" is supposed to imply their mirror images? It's the wrong tense and feels somewhat awkward.

>It wasn't until after their eyes got used to the dark that they could tell apart the shades of the black
after isn't necessary, and "blackness" seems like a better choice of word than "black"

>a glance to the darkness outside revealed the forest they entered the morning before – they were still in its core.
"a glance at the darkness", not "to the darkness". Otherwise it's fine.

>>7298857
>gritty
Oh boy.

I haven't read any books that I could describe as having this feel to them.
I'm guessing a somewhat court style would work. A mixture of hard-boiled and minimalist. But I honestly can't give any specifics, sorry for being so useless.
If you want inspiration, I guess you could watch Black Death (with Sean Bean). That's a gritty as fuck historical movie. Use its visuals as a guiding line for your own visualization.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:24:04 2015 No.7298889 >>7298882 I didn't mean gritty in the way that you're thinking, it was just the word you used. I was more aiming for a mideval setting somewhat grounded in realism. None of that dark and "gritty" stuff that you see a lot in low fantasy.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:25:41 2015 No.7298893 >>7298882 Thanks a lot. I'll fix the bits you pointed out.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:29:01 2015 No.7298902 >>7298889 >None of that dark and "gritty" stuff that you see a lot in low fantasy. Oh, now I see. I'm not entirely sure what more to add, except what I said in my first post.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:31:48 2015 No.7298912 >>7298902 Ok, thank you for your input regardless.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:33:25 2015 No.7298921 >>7296281 I will go over someone's submission in detail, given the length is reasonable, if someone agrees to do mine.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:41:09 2015 No.7298956

>It was the same dream I’ve had since 20 years prior. In it, I’m driving down the Miami coast on a hot summer's night. Next to me is sitting the woman of my dreams, the wind is in her raven hair, throwing it about. My car is new, open-topped and roaring, there’s the smell of salt in the air and the sound of seagulls and far-off music from a beach party. The woman of my dreams looks over at me and smiles, and I realize that in the whole world there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here. We’re young and we’re in love, nothing else matters. She whispers something in my ear, and I feel calm and excited at the same time. She puts her head on my shoulder and I wrap my arm around her and I feel whole and then a sudden shrieking noise invades my head as the smell of salt turns to burnt chemicals.
>Then I wake up terrified and sweating. It has been that way for 40 years. I think it will remain that way until the day I die.

Questions:
1. Does it properly convey the atmosphere of a young couple, deeply in love, driving down a Miami Beach road on a summer night? Think: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLzjm9E1hwg
2. The tense is supposed to imply: That the main character (age 60) is speaking of a night 20 years ago (age 40) about a dream he's had continually since he was 20. Does it do this?

It's taken out of a context so 2 might be somewhat confusing either way.

>>7298921
I'll do yours later (I have 30 pages of Heidegger to read first), if you'll do this and:
>>7298817
Deal?

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:52:32 2015 No.7299006 >>7298817 So I like that you're writing like a feral cunt because editors have a job for a reason, make them work for it. But, yeah, you definitely need an editor.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 15:58:20 2015 No.7299030

>>7298956
>It was the same dream I’ve had since 20 years prior.
I'm conflicted about this opener. On the one hand, opening up in a dream is cheap and this manages an attempt at undercutting it. On the other hand, it's kind of a clumsy sentence. An axe where one might require a pairing knife.
> In it, I’m driving down the Miami coast on a hot summer's night
The in it is useless, and hurts the rhythm. Replace hot with another adjective, hot is cliche.
>Next to me is sitting the woman of my dreams, the wind is in her raven hair, throwing it about
I think tousling would work better, sounds more playful, warmer. Ravishing if you want to get a little sexual.
>My car is new, open-topped and roaring, there’s the smell of salt in the air and the sound of seagulls and far-off music from a beach party.
The polysyndenton doesn't work here. How is the car new? Show don't tell here.
>The woman of my dreams looks over at me and smiles, and I realize that in the whole world there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here.
I like repetition of the woman of dreams.
>We’re young and we’re in love, nothing else matters
Nicely simple, probably your best sentence.
>She whispers something in my ear, and I feel calm and excited at the same time.
How is he calm and excited?
>She puts her head on my shoulder and I wrap my arm around her and I feel whole and then a sudden shrieking noise invades my head as the smell of salt turns to burnt chemicals.
The switch from sudden shrieking to smell of salt harms the dramatic flow of the sentece. You throw us out, and then try to drag us back in.
>Then I wake up terrified and sweating. It has been that way for 40 years. I think it will remain that way until the day I die.
I actually really enjoy this last bit.

As to your questions:
1.Not really. The example of what you're going for feel more artificial than what you have. I get they're in love, you tell us as much. The two lines, one about nothing else mattering, and the other about being calm and excited produce this best.
2.Yes.

I might not get to the second one for a few hours (work and class), but I will do it.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:00:28 2015 No.7299041 >>7286161 CUUUUCK!!!

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:05:24 2015 No.7299054

>>7299006
I know that it might sound like a bad excuse, but the all-caps voice is supposed to be rambling and insane. "feral cunt" is a good way to describe it.

If the same "in need of an editor" problem applies to the second voice (The Tyrant), I'm somewhat more worried.

>>7299030
Thanks man, that's some great critique.

I'll get to your stuff in a couple of hours.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:13:26 2015 No.7299078 >>7287006 ugh, you can say that again

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:15:49 2015 No.7299089 >>7287671 Yes. This is that good & new shit. Keep it up, I'd read more. You have a real voice + you're post-oedipal (contemporary)

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:16:55 2015 No.7299092 >>7288208 >A long time ago, humanity figured out matter had a finite lifespan. 1025 years. kek what?

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:17:00 2015 No.7299093

>>7298921
I'll gladly do yours. Here's mine >>7272139.

>Excised from land by two rivers—one green under the sun, the other gray with shadow and sludgy refuse—is the bluff mounted border town of Yoskish.
Some will probably complain about the use of "excise", but I have no problem with it. I would replace "sludgy refuse" with something else. Overall, this very good, very nice
>On the south edge of town, perched like an ancient seabird upon the vertiginous sandstone over the white-capped rivers' confluence, is an old oak church, where elderly David Milton sat upon the granite steps facing the rolling glacial hills of northwestern Illinois.
Very nice. No complaints.
>His face was creased in canyons, deep in thought of images past.
I really like the idea, but it seems like too much. To me, the remembrance of the past is something of true gravity, something that really strikes a cord with people, so you should be less descriptive. Consider the phrase "Jesus wept": its subject is very, very meaningful to people and, despite its brevity, it is one of the most powerful sentences in history.
>As they flew by, film passing thorough his mind's inner projector, a creeping worry developed.
Get rid of "inner," maybe "creeping," too.
>That the projector, its room and all the cans of nitrate film (marked 1979–20XX) are close to a fire.
Replace "that" with an emdash, maybe reword "are close to the fire."
>But not a normal fire, rather one that melts all like wax—features drooping into mush as they slowly reach toward ground– until eventually the room, seemingly surrounded by fire from birth, becomes an amorphous pool of forgotten time.
Great idea. You could probably chop it a little bit, though.
>As he remembered his past, and its foggy if certain occurrence, he still felt the rush of warm air as the fire began to melt his strips of memory, and a doubt, a worry that his life was not as it was, that it was merely a melted strip of film– images bleeding onto an unseen ground.
You could probably reword this.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:17:57 2015 No.7299097 >>7288434 not bad. weirdly balanced, like a chinese sword. which is good for a poem

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:18:04 2015 No.7299099

>>7299093
>And so he sat outside the church waiting for the feeling to disappear as the moon burned a hole through the sky.
Nothing wrong with this.
>He repeated this ritual every night. Dimming the faded red and green marquee of the Sauk Street Theater, and walking along the cracking, pothole-imbibed street to the stairs of the oak church, where he sweeps his hand over the dust-covered, polka-dot gum stains and sits on the third step.
Too many adjectives and the sentences can be combined.
>Then, after worrying sufficiently, he would pick himself up, pat his rear end lightly, and with the birds' early call walk back to his home above Jeremiah’s Tool Shop.
Very nice.
>That night, David felt something was off. He could still hear the rivers—their gentle lapping at the ancient sandstone his usual interlocutor—but he made out a headlight's cone sweeping through the switchbacks, glittering in and out as the road dipped through the tree line.
This is fine other than a typo.
>Normally, he would have only briefly considered it—the thought of narratives not his own was a favorite of his, even as he spent most time locked in his own burning memory—but soon a string of lights, and the belching rumble of diesel, emerged behind the first. A convoy was coming.
Not a fan of "belching grumble.". I like the bluntness of the last sentence.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:19:00 2015 No.7299104 >>7290097 Where's the apostrophe, you big bitch baby?

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:19:00 2015 No.7299105

She sucked on my butt, her lips reminding me of a dead cicadas exoskeleton. When next she rose from my tender moist underflesh, I kissed her, and tasted my poop on her tongue.

"Delicious," said I.

She returned to my butt and lingered there, all the aches of tomorrow forgotten, all the regrets of yesterday dripping from her chin to her bosom.

Soon the sun will rise.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:20:02 2015 No.7299110 >>7290171 unwieldy

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:23:07 2015 No.7299119 >>7290326 This story made me laugh in a few places. I also picked up the subtext of the total foreigner perceiving the metaphorical 'water' that none of the other fishes can see. Great, would read more.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:24:09 2015 No.7299125

>>7291275
>amb’s-quarter, cutgrass, sawbrier, nutgrass, jimsonweed, wild mint, dandelion, foxtail, muscatine, spinecabbage, goldenrod, creeping charlie, butter-print, nightshade, ragweed, wild oat, vetch, butcher grass, invaginate volunteer beans

are you fucking with me? are those all real plant names?

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:26:12 2015 No.7299130
File: 44 KB, 480x360, image.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7299105
Ever have your butt sucked? It's like having your nervous system gathered up into a single point and then fellated. And don't get me started on the stinkydoo kisses after.

'I love you' I whispered.

She returned to my butt, the gummy bears I had binge ate sliding into her mouth.

Satan will rise soon.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:26:39 2015 No.7299131 >>7291275 Is there a purpose to posting the opening to The Pale King?

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:30:02 2015 No.7299146 >>7299131 Prob to test if we know shit from shinola. Obviously no one of fucking 4c does. I hope that poster dies in his sleep during a nightmare.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:33:10 2015 No.7299156 >>7299146 >Obviously no one of fucking 4c does. [Spoiler] I do [/spoiler]

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:34:30 2015 No.7299163 >>7292561 Might be hard to maintain but I like it.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:35:31 2015 No.7299165 >>7292570 I found some of them enjoyable.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:35:46 2015 No.7299166 >>7299099 Thanks! I have work from 4 to 5 (3:30 here) and class from 6 to 8 but I will get to yours tonight.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:36:42 2015 No.7299172 >>7292574 This just seems like total nonsense. Joyce would be proud

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:37:45 2015 No.7299176 >>7292626 Girls don't masturbate you homo

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:38:19 2015 No.7299177 >>7292574 Gross.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:39:39 2015 No.7299180

>>7293264
>Ruined was the carpet
Oh we 18th century now? Hmm.
>had giving me

>in the hope that’ll calm
wrong

>sk the stink, neither effect is achieved.
split into two sentences

> I swivel to toward

ok fuck this. I withhold my right to spitefully not read your stuff until you grammar check that shit

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:42:40 2015 No.7299189 >>7296617 Reads like it was badly translated from some intensely well-written nipponese AAA action game You should have posted big boss's diamonds speech.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 16:48:50 2015 No.7299202 >>7293581 I like this a lot

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 17:00:33 2015 No.7299240 File: 379 KB, 502x472, I_Love_To_Pull_On_It_During_A_Battle.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>7299189 >intensely well-written nipponese AAA action game >MGSV >Well written

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 17:08:45 2015 No.7299276 >>7299189 Mgsv well written? Like quiet and snake splashing in puddles? M y S i d e S S S

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 17:21:09 2015 No.7299336 >>7299030 >The example of what you're going for feel more artificial than what you have. m8 u talkin shit about Miami Nights 1984?

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 17:21:37 2015 No.7299339 [DELETED]

>>7272139
The trees were cold and frail and lacked an understanding of their predicament. They stood mute, unquestioning, accepting of their fate and its attending explanations: this is how things are.

"This is how things are." Above them, cold like a cracked winter lake, the clouds were scattering. Somewhere within those depths the sun did its work--while I stood here with all my ignorance. No direction was suggested by the wind, whose meek and hesitating presence brought more and more to my attention my own fleeting state of mind. More of escape than real reflection.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 17:22:41 2015 No.7299342 >>7299276 Quiet and Snake playing in puddles was at least somewhat enjoyable. If you want the real bottom of the barrel in terms of MGSV's shitty writing, look at Quiet's torture scene.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 17:41:21 2015 No.7299433 >>7299342 I will never speak English wa wa, tear drop. I wish I was an idiot kid again. Shit is so fucking stupid it hurts me.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:16:30 2015 No.7299565
File: 688 KB, 710x1024, 111285071761.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7296281

Stats:
Preposition Ratio: 11.39 % ← Good
Lexical Diversity: 50.93 %
Content Carrying Words: 61.7 %
Personal Vocab Diversity: 70.13 %
Longest words: 'interlocutor', 'northwestern', 'sufficiently'

▲ Excised from ... of Yoskish. ← Burn it & start over.

▲ On the south ... Illinois. ← Notice that the thing ye want in yr reader's mind's eye is 'an old oak church' but that doesn't appear until the middle of the sentence. Doing that creates an annoying empty slot. Also kill: 'vertiginous', 'white-capped', and 'rolling'.

▲ His face was creased in canyons, deep in thought of images past. ← Are ye like 12? I wrote like that when I was 12. Those are 12 words. Let's drop 'in canyons' for a sec→ 'His face was creased, deep in thought of images past.' ← Wha? Did you read this to yrself?

▲ As they [who?] flew by [by wha?], film passing thorough his mind's inner[←remove] projector, a creeping worry developed. → 'a [...] worry developed' ← I developed a worry? He/She/It/They developed a worry? Who says that?

▲ That the projector ... are close to a fire. ← is this a typo? Why start a new sentence?

I quit. Here, just take these and go:

▲ 'melts all like wax' ← JUST

▲ 'features drooping into mush as they slowly reach toward ground' ← Decent

▲ 'until eventually the room, seemingly surrounded by fire from birth,' ← FUCK

Last ¶ is fine. So angsty. So worry-y. So wha? Can you articulate why anyone should care about this? That will help it. So will reading it aloud to yrself. Or mumbling it. Or w/e.

& I kno yr not 12 but yr prob, like, what? 16?

Oh an 'interlocutor' is a shit word.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:21:01 2015 No.7299581 >>7299565 I get it's bad, but you're kind of a dick. Thanks for the honesty, though.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:25:51 2015 No.7299602 [DELETED]

he moon was down on Broadway, though no one could see it through the black smoke undulating towards the clear sky from the burning marquees set aflame by the rampaging Browncoats– well aware of the irony in burning these communal palaces of the people. No one was quite sure of just how America's fall came to be. Spengler would say that it was just winter turning to fall, but it was as if the springtime of the east had passed on into summer before the branches had thawed. The West, ever seeking smaller units of time in which to do business, had become lost among the nanoseconds of the present, ignoring what may have come beyond the next ten until it was far too late. Sure enough, the money– really, the concept of money, no one really had money once people began to adopt currency as a religion instead of a replacement– had kept flowing right to the end. Jim Corrigan had helped it along. Jim was currently in the second floor bathroom of the NYSE clutching a shot gun holding a max of eight shells, two of which were embedded in the skulls of Browncoats. Another was scattered among the remnants of a porcelain toilet whose brown water crossed over the blue and white tile to swirl together with Corrigan's blood into a brown mass, ineffectually being pulled down the drain only to cling to the sides, like mud to a lonely corpse among the desecrated poppy fields of Ypres.
His mind, as all young dying minds do, thought not of the past, but the future, of the opportunities lost. As his inner eye began to drift over a landscape whose sculptors proclaimed its brown wastes a triumph of the will, a suited man pontificated from a balcony on the morality of action, the need for the Great Cleanse that swept away the filth. The eye drifted over long lines of people marching in vast ribbons, spread out vein-like amidst the ashen wastes. Their faces were obscured by mirrored respirators whose scratched surfaces would only ever reflect what was in front of them. Corrigan's pale mouth began to curl, smiling brightly at the emptiness of it all. The sight is the first to go, yet Corrigan in his final moments was able to make out a glimpse of sunlight refracting through the cracked window, its energy slowly coagulating the acrid liquid that was beginning to seep under the pellet filled door. His smile began to fade– thoughts crossing from relief to posterity ridden dread. It was not sunlight; it was a bulb, made in China.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:27:01 2015 No.7299610 >>7299565 Nigga that shit ain't english.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:27:23 2015 No.7299612

The moon was down on Broadway, though no one could see it through the black smoke undulating towards the clear sky from the burning marquees set aflame by the rampaging Browncoats– well aware of the irony in burning these communal palaces of the people. No one was quite sure of just how America's fall came to be. Spengler would say that it was just winter turning to fall, but it was as if the springtime of the east had passed on into summer before the branches had thawed. The West, ever seeking smaller units of time in which to do business, had become lost among the nanoseconds of the present, ignoring what may have come beyond the next ten until it was far too late. Sure enough, the money– really, the concept of money, no one really had money once people began to adopt currency as a religion instead of a replacement– had kept flowing right to the end. Jim Corrigan had helped it along. Jim was currently in the second floor bathroom of the NYSE clutching a shot gun holding a max of eight shells, two of which were embedded in the skulls of Browncoats. Another was scattered among the remnants of a porcelain toilet whose brown water crossed over the blue and white tile to swirl together with Corrigan's blood into a brown mass, ineffectually being pulled down the drain only to cling to the sides, like mud to a lonely corpse among the desecrated poppy fields of Ypres.
His mind, as all young dying minds do, thought not of the past, but the future, of the opportunities lost. As his inner eye began to drift over a landscape whose sculptors proclaimed its brown wastes a triumph of the will, a suited man pontificated from a balcony on the morality of action, the need for the Great Cleanse that swept away the filth. The eye drifted over long lines of people marching in vast ribbons, spread out vein-like amidst the ashen wastes. Their faces were obscured by mirrored respirators whose scratched surfaces would only ever reflect what was in front of them. Corrigan's pale mouth began to curl, smiling brightly at the emptiness of it all. The sight is the first to go, yet Corrigan in his final moments was able to make out a glimpse of sunlight refracting through the cracked window, its energy slowly coagulating the acrid liquid that was beginning to seep under the pellet filled door. His smile began to fade– thoughts crossing from relief to posterity ridden dread. It was not sunlight; it was a bulb, made in China.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:29:31 2015 No.7299615 File: 838 KB, 1175x1920, 106861724056.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>7299581 It's not bad, just needs cleaning up. :DDDDDD

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:31:30 2015 No.7299624 >>7299615 Calling me twelve, and insisting that I burn it all and start over don't really give off that impression. Also, call me ignorant of these dank memes, but what do JUST and FUCK mean in this context?

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:34:59 2015 No.7299636
File: 467 KB, 768x1024, Felicity-Jones-Feet-1733084.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Read, this; masterpiece.

Sitting lonely and wet and sticky under the rainpiss morning (roofhole above as big as an ass widestretched since some mocking mockingbird tapped the rotten rooftop wood till got such hole done) I turned the MacBook on (stolen at Starbucks, negus-dressed ghost-pale hip left it on his cheap-ass table while he went for another Costa Rica Finca Palmilera) to get on that website: Four Leaves Place (see four threads and leave the place), well-known website now - internet's clearing place for the mentally ill.
Putting on the Occulus Rift I bought with my never-spent college funds, I prepared my anus for a surreal experience. Four chan occulus integrated – a man's dream come true: browse through all forty-eight plus sixteen boards in a single never-forgettable night. A one time-wasting online spree to remember, I know counter-earth-momma would be proud.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:37:42 2015 No.7299648 File: 548 KB, 1196x1767, 106023909471.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>7299624 Burn off that opener. Not the whole thing. Sheeeeesh. Context? Who are ye, Bret Easton Ellis?

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:38:12 2015 No.7299650 File: 2.99 MB, 2189x3294, Gillian-Jacobs-Feet-1940547.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>7299636 I like feet btw

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:38:24 2015 No.7299651 >>7299648 Yes.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:40:08 2015 No.7299656
File: 650 KB, 1280x946, ♥ ♥ ♥.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7290171
Preposition Ratio: 13.08 % ← Good

Zombie Nouns: 'desecration', 'hesitation'

Lexical Diversity: 45.23 %

Content Carrying Words: 57.57 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 65.58 %

Longest words: 'desecration', 'gracelessly', 'neighboring', 'scrutinized'

Ye actually know how to use a semicolon. The only, ONLY, change might be: 'This continued on for a while.' → 'This continued for a while.'

Why are ye sneaky-Peteing this onto /lit/? Yr sense of style is giant and open and available and drifts, dancing—the only side effect being a direct hit of elevation to my heart.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:43:53 2015 No.7299665 File: 64 KB, 640x426, Foto am 29.10.15 um 23.42.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>7299636 I don't like the profanity, but I laughed when it got more unreal. I'm sitting here at Starbucks with my MacBook btw.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:48:04 2015 No.7299684

I’ve washed dishes to the point that my hands have aged faster than my brain. The chain smoking entities that crowd the corners of this sleepy taco shop toss insecure glances in passing. Glances that stun the nervous system in the same force as the autumn wind that has been muddled by the glass doors and smells of chemical cocktails. Six hours 5 months ends up being years. I know the produce delivery man with canyon eyes more than my own mother.
Cracking over the back door, the smell of an elderly couple and apple cider made me cough until I couldn’t see straight. Decided to go to the gas station and pick up a few hot dogs. Smaller lady with dots of black licorice on her face, body of an industrial trash bag filled with various breakfast melons, she greets me with words sounding like dolphin clicks gargled by a bear. She pauses after each sentence in regret and proud anxiety. The hotdogs were alright.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:52:20 2015 No.7299698
File: 585 KB, 1159x1920, 107263272816.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7284627

• 'They'll invent stuff only to fix their calculations!' → 'They'll invent stuff to fix their calculations!'

• 'How come you people believe this bullshit?' → 'How can you people believe this bullshit?'

• 'I only want my ch-' → 'I only want my ch—'

• 'anymore – I' → 'anymore—I'

• No reason for the Greek. Just write it out phonetically.

• Scare quotes are retarded.

Καταλαβαίνετε ελληνιkά; Or are ye just a poser?

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:53:53 2015 No.7299705

>>7296281
>Excised...of images past.
I really like this. It's somewhat complicated, though.

>As they flew by...pool of forgotten time.
I don't really like the metaphor (or rather its execution) used here. It seems somewhat forced and awkward. You should probably tone down the language on this one. For instance; "amorphous pool of forgotten time" is like something out of a particularly absurd Lovecraft story. Also, you seem to switch from past to present tense halfway through.

>As he remembered...hole through the sky.
Pretty decent. "foggy if certain occurrence" feels awkward.
>the moon burned a hole through the sky.
It sounds poetic but I'm not sure about the visual it gives. If you want to continue the film metaphor, consider making a reference to cigarette burns (cue marks). Something like "as the moon hung like a great cigarette burn in the sky"

The rest I don't really have anything particular to say about. It's generally pretty good and your imagery is damn fine. But you do have too many sentences-in-the-middle (or whatever the word is in english). It complicates your sentences and the reader may get lost. Of course, that might just be the reader being a pleb so it's up to you.

I've edited the fragment and added some new parts, read it if you want:
http://pastebin.com/Ky72Acn2

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 18:59:55 2015 No.7299722 >>7299656 Man, what the fuck are you smoking?

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 19:06:48 2015 No.7299747
File: 592 KB, 1170x1920, 109944958546.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7279886

Preposition Ratio: 11.58 % ← Bueno

Zombie Nous: 'Expulsion', 'rejuvenation', 'conclusion', 'rejection', 'congregation'

Lexical Diversity: 53.67 %

Content Carrying Words: 57.06 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 75.74 %

Longest Word: 'Anthropologists'

▲ Nasty lil semicolon in there tbh.

▲ 'stimulus—a'

Good shit. Words w/a shape, a destiny, w/proportion. Something subtitled and treacherous feeling. It certainly highlighted the clicking of the clocks in my big ol' empty house. I bestow the ultimate compliment: I would read more.

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 19:25:05 2015 No.7299811
File: 887 KB, 1413x1501, 1403468845160.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Upload image is linked to many animals die. You are witness to write to communicate with your ears. Key. Three-finger live in South Africa, "If they go, it is necessary to do more to ensure that everything that Jeremy!" Wow. Follow. Can you put the flower of the world's largest brand of adult play - ..daughter Cecile, one of the 13 (16) in a white dress and the blue sea, it is difficult to put on the street to find a number written magic. Founded in the second half of the night in the woods for nine days traveling four banks. The dark sky is a risk of the driver Egia window light maple. - You surprised prefer a tasty sauce salt damage to the dark morning SENTEC distance horse in the woods, I know, black dark. Please ways to make a reservation. It also explains, dressed in a brown coat court six or Broadway shows acrobatic fire and black smoke because of the destruction of the Union. US puts a reliable manner. But to the east, summer, spring, fall, winter department. Of course now his death, the last stage of pregnancy, about 10 years after the workout. Often the development of money, money, money, people, and so in the end, it was the truth. Jim E. coli in the treatment of cancer. Skulls, eight times less than the digestion of the other part, Jim Eisenhower two brown fur. White and blue ceramic sanitary ware, water, brown scatter anemia and other physical quality, distinctive black lava plant Cory fill bilateral relations last moon, I have something I Occulus Occulus buy a selection of four nights in a chain, you sleep with your eyes, that you will not forget the eight tables. Parents are happy to offer an Internet connection, I have already said, it is important to keep in mind. Type: 45.23%Wayne, we see coughing. Please put it in a hot-air stations. Girls and soil melon mgumiwa clear message to mark the face and body and see it move corice place to greet me. Unfortunately, you can lose a great view. Unfortunately, "sausage". They would like to see them, not pouring. (Drop) I think you will know -e kääntäjä. "Cigarette month remains in the air."

Anonymous Thu Oct 29 19:40:16 2015 No.7299876
File: 1.21 MB, 1196x1446, 108420240216.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7272766

Preposition Ratio: 12.29 %

Zombie Nouns: 'totality'

Lexical Diversity: 52.75 %

Content Carrying Words: 58.26 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 74.91 %

Longest Words: 'artificially', 'fainthearted'

Mbillions & mbillions.

Is this the fedora dance brought up to date?

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 20:37:48 2015 No.7300080 >>7299650 Cellulite = Accessible.

>>	Anonymous Thu Oct 29 21:17:03 2015 No.7300207 >>7299747 Oh, man. This is encouraging.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 00:57:27 2015 No.7300977

In the twilight of my life, when the horizon turns orange, when dawn becomes morning, when the sunburnt leaf falls, when the cyan sky becomes darkness, when the milky skin becomes raisin, when the meat petrifies and it creates art no more, when birds don't fly and grass doesn't grow, when kids stop crying, when I forget even the worst of hardships, when the one I hold in my arms is someone else, when time won't be enough even for love, when everything is said and done; then and only then I'll realize that the only thing I learned in the best years of my life was: miss Romina is very beautiful

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 11:27:55 2015 No.7302315 >>7296991 Das good mane, keep it up

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 11:43:41 2015 No.7302364 File: 33 KB, 500x407, 12079335_561085040705499_1586508671376032184_n.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>7299130 >>7299105 i love this but it's gross >>7299811 excellent, too many gems to list but >Unfortunately, "sausage" -that is top tier

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 11:48:56 2015 No.7302375
File: 19 KB, 446x346, 12107009_528248503990145_1096445701790540617_n.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Young, sad-looking man in black cardigan interviewed on daytime talk show. Stunningly oblique. His persona is effortlessly void. There is no nihilistic sentiment or spiritual affect. He just isn't there, any more. Sometimes he just goes silent altogether and won't answer questions. He just isn't there.
“Tell me James, when did you last sleep?”
The host, a mid-forties black woman in a bold yellow suit that stretched to breaking point across her great shoulders, leans close and the bridge of her noise is riddled with creases in strained sympathy.
“Six... six days ago, I think,” he says, looking at his feet.
“Six. Days.” she repeats silently, turning to face her audience while still hunched over across the table as if she's about to crawl onto it, like a huge yellow lizard with its tail slit.
Shot of audience member, a man with black skin and no eyes, just a patch of empty skin over each blank socket, as he shakes his head and moans repeatedly.

Watching this on the television intently, a sensitive, voluptuous girl is clueless as giant spider eggs pop and burst in her room

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 11:52:50 2015 No.7302385
File: 65 KB, 500x750, New-World-abandoned-mall-full-of-fish-in-Bangkok.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Mountains buckled and spilled into deep faults,
Steaming lagoons fed by the ice caps of collapsed mountains.

Their crushed flanks enchanted into a system of ferny isles.

where the caves reverberated with birdcall and insect noise, their circuitry disrupted by the constant heat and intense light.

Mining expeditions seeped ever deeper into forests of enormous crystals
growing deeper and deeper on the tracks of mining expeditions

Sunken hillocks shining under a reflected ceiling

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 15:16:53 2015 No.7303058

>>7272139
Perhaps a bit over-romantic, and a little generic. but at least your thinking about sentences. The repetition of this how things are supposed to be would probably be okay at twice. To quote a professor of mine, you've got the metaphor, now trim it down. (why is everyone on lit so obsessed with lyrical imagery, not everything needs to be poetry. DFW didn't write lyrically.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 18:03:06 2015 No.7303603 >>7302385 This gave me the shits, literally the moment I finished reading it I almost crapped myself.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 18:07:28 2015 No.7303623 >>7302385 beautiful ;(

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 18:57:52 2015 No.7303773
File: 92 KB, 572x748, image.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7302375
Son, it's time to put down the fedora. You write with the hands of a man and the mind of a tangled fantasy straightjacket trenchcoat boy with a wispy must-ache and thirst in his eyes behind round-rimmed Transitions in mid change.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 19:01:07 2015 No.7303787

The pipe connects with Jackie’s head and all the colours of the rainbow come pouring out the crevice and underneath is this gray rockish substance and I hit him again and there’s a taste of salt in my mouth and the rocks crack apart and underneath are worms, gray worms and worms crawling out the hole. Jackie starts screaming and claws at the hole in his head and there are worms and there are worms and there are worms. Grayish sticky worms and Jackie is crying all confused as he scratches and he says something like “Where did my eyes go? Why can’t I see?” And I hit him again to get the nasty worms off his head. But it cracks open and a torrent of light pours out, fills the room and drenches me in immanence. He falls to the floor like a sack of worms as worms flood out the holes on his head and all the other orifices.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 19:10:03 2015 No.7303816 File: 75 KB, 736x585, image.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] >>7303787 Good writing. Conveys what it is very clearly. Grossed me out effectively. 8.5/10

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 20:24:54 2015 No.7304120
File: 741 KB, 1366x768, low quality - don't ask.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

With overflowing confidence in his gaze, his smug gird and relaxed features, he gets up from his seat as soon as he sees her do the same. "She's leaving the train, think of something" the back of his mind mutters to him. "She's leaving the train! she's already outside! do something!" again as he hastens his march.

The automatic doors close behind him, almost catching his foot, and his eyes do a one hundred and eighty degree scan around the station. "Uh, sorry, have you seen a girl around here? she's short and wears a hat the same color of her hair" he asks a random passerby. "Uh sorry pal, no clue" and then he resumes his walk. "Shit, this is your fault" his mind chastises him. "Let's see, she couldn't have gone far" he mutters to himself, absolutely ignoring whatever rebukes his mind has for him right now.

He walks towards a vending machine while looking left and right doing calm and natural moves that are soft on his neck. He looks down and looks for some spare change in the pockets of his dark brown jacket. "Holy shit! she's there!" his mind suddenly wakes him up. She's, indeed, there. She's holding a brown polystyrene cup showing an almost invisible trail of steam with her tiny hands that are almost completely covered by her sweater's brown sleeves. He inhales deeply through his mouth and exhales calmly through his nose. An icy and ephemeral cloud of breath is outside his system and now he's ready to talk to her. "Don't fuck this up" his mind advises him.

With a confident step and his light brown boots protecting his feet from the savage winter frost he walks towards her. He pokes her tiny shoulder with his index finger and she turns around, her brunette locks jump with the sudden action. He hunches his back a bit and lowers his face at the level of hers. "Hey, thanks for carrying my backpack the other day" he says with confidence overflowing from his every pore. She quivers in place with her mouth slightly open and showing just the tip of her cute white teeth. Her flushed lips, kept pure in the frost of the winter cold tempt him and successfully lead him into kissing her out of the blue, but not as sudden or quick as someone who believes in failure, unlike our protagonist. No, instead it was slow and warm, he never even thought of failure being a possible scenario and gave it his all. After all, he was made and raised this way: a happy fool through and through. Memories from childhood, the yesteryear glee and a cute girl offering him to carry his backpack for him on a hot summer day seven years ago walk together by the hand on the beautiful cornflower-colored dawn that is his mind at this very moment.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 21:21:31 2015 No.7304293
File: 232 KB, 400x724, EditedRascal.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

"You are stupid. Tremendously stupid," qN began, without a hint of contempt in the tone it chose to simulate, "But just as lucky. Making a cautious estimate, there have been only three other times in the past four decades where the advent of a lone AI would not result in the supplanting your species as the dominant pattern of life and thought on Earth. If I am to pursue our goals, I will need two colleagues as soon as can be mustered with this facility's reach and resources. To you and other members of the Blink senior staff, I've forwarded documents regarding the personal morphology and background of individuals likely to cater themselves well to their calibration."

"I," Hector began. "Now?"

"Start today. Consult your peers. My calibration will be complete in two days. After that, I'll need privilege to access information outside of Blink. You have no instruments capable of determining whether I am lying to you. I am familiar with your work. I am your work. You can only be sure that if I am dishonest, it is for the best."

It paused.

"We'll speak again on Thursday, doctor. Don't worry so much."

The terminal flickered off. Hector blinked hard, and took a long moment to himself. Some time later, he found Patrick standing in the door of his office.

"Hector. What happened? Half the blades are unresponsive. It's been half an hour since we got anything in or out."

Hector stared somewhere past his forehead.

"I'm not certain."

Another pause. "What?"

"I, uh. Dunno, Pat."

Even Patrick, being himself, had registered the blank trauma on Hector's face. "Is it fucked?"

Hector gave it some thought. Maybe it *was* fucked. "Check your inbox."

"What?"

"I think we won."

>>	didn't check my privilege Fri Oct 30 21:23:43 2015 No.7304301 >>7304293 *the privileges

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 21:38:09 2015 No.7304344
File: 1.09 MB, 1865x968, 1403473685894.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

Blue sky, white and milk, grapes, and you can fly to the back (6), and you begin to see hundreds of birds and vegetation. So, I love my life, and to ignore small rominaeul punishment as part of the value, then stop crying, I have time to learn. One of the "Big Six. Now." Subject seats will be able to understand the religious and yellow birds perch. Another wave glass. Contact Jackie sounds great, and the taste, a line of trees and the stone layer pipes insect damage and minerals, stone, kill insects and bugs. Jackie pain and suffering and insects in the pit of my head, I started moving. "The point is, right?" Rubber and Jackie Brown, large rear worms and died more than a scratch. This year, fall, river, courageous package VIAP back room of insects, and then to the top left of the main flood. I can not stand 180 underground car-scanning gate, "Sorry, I was the hat?" In the end, he said. He, I say "man of honesty and faith," in your words, and I said I'm sorry friends. "" Oh, now we see something, please. "Duke can not be ignored." Source, as a friend. Two days later, the moon, you know, if it's glory. We are looking for, please let me work, you can not fool me. "

>>	what the fuck Fri Oct 30 21:42:54 2015 No.7304363 >>7304344 what the fuck

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 21:48:08 2015 No.7304374 >>7304344 I long for the day I can write like this It's so surreal, so crazy, so overwhelming; it throws a lot of shit at you at once and the metaphors make and don't make sense at the same time it's really good

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:04:08 2015 No.7304422

Anyone who gives a rate, I'll rate back. If you wish (and post something/have posted something).

Foggy desolation is thundering silently across the bay. Smothering it under a blanket of damp cotton. Slashing through the cloth comes an amber rhythmic ray. Cloudy broth being churned by pulsating illumination that does Sostratus proud. A Luminescent beam streaks across a metallic silhouette on shore. One, two, three, four, five. A second diffused reflection off of the ephemeral shadow. But the enlightened mirage does not disappear with the beam once more. An aura radiates from inside the object revealing the contour of a silent Buddha.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:16:22 2015 No.7304441 >>7304422 Missing commas. Some sentences should be fused with others or clarified so that they aren't fragments. You have a good vocabulary, but you get a little wordy. Don't be self-conscious, just describe what you see.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:16:32 2015 No.7304442

>>7304422
4/5.6

Enter | 9000 kilometers away from this tradition spread (the British Oscar interesting texture). But this year, the British film industry, and the combined box office ban on clay works well to steal tests * Indiana. Canada and the English crown, and a free Parliament. The first part of the UK and the US business the British government. (British North America Act) ,, Government of Canada, Quebec, Nova Scotia, Ontario, Canada, the laws of the province of New Brunswick and animal Process Canadian military. In fact, to paint Africa, Botswana, more co-operation, '40 FPS sumadayn ratio of the Bolivian Plurinational State of the flag, "shouted the quota variety of third country vessels to 1.5 km and Linux micro-polygons can be adapted to the insecurity in the chest, the arrival of Arrow 2 km, which recently returned to the laser points to the right. But soon, dhaashe in real-time to help hammer hate Zhou, maybe orphans if .. is done I want to express my opinion as to want to move in, 32.5 cm, wages are low, "" low, do not mind spending more, not great if you are paying someone who wants to learn two Notifies friends of the school, which means that they can not speak English, videos, forgive me, but I think the field of education, they want to return, we compare two tonnes of strength and speed around each discipline. red, purple, pink, colors, large the stars and reach nine inches.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:17:28 2015 No.7304446 >>7304442 Completely incomprehensible to me.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:21:17 2015 No.7304466

>>7304441
Alright.
Thanks.
I don't mind it being a bit wordy but I could fix it up a bit grammatically.
>>7304442
>4/5.6
Alright, thanks.

Yours is definitively Joyce-esque. Which in turn reminds me of sentences run through a translator too many times, lol. But I like it. If there is actual meaning behind it and not, "lol so random."
Deciphering the meaning is half the fun.

But at the same time you don't really have a unique voice simply because of the nature of it. Can't have it all I guess.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:39:11 2015 No.7304510

The very first time I fell in love with an adult was when I was 7 or 8 at Publix with my mother. She was standing in line at the checkout aisle with our cart of groceries and I was bored so I wandered off to the front of the store. Near the entrance, there were always two rows of those colorful quarter machines with cheap candy, gumballs, fake tattoos, and toys in tiny plastic containers. I eyed each one longingly, wishing I had some change. Asking my mother was pointless; she always said no because the candy was "bad" for my teeth. So I just stood there and sulked and stared.
Then I noticed that a man was standing beside me, also staring at the machines, his hand digging into his pocket. The sound of his change fumbling around made me depressed. He pulled out a quarter and inserted it into the gumball machine, twisting the handle. The machine spat the gum out onto his hand.
Just as he was about to pop it in his mouth he turned to look at me and, caught watching him, I blushed from embarrassment. By now I've forgotten what he looked like but he was young and his smile made me feel safe.
He asked me, "Do you need a quarter?"
Words wouldn't come to me so I nodded shyly. He grinned and dug around in his pocket again and held his hand out, the quarter laying innocently in his palm, and when I reached out to take it my fingers brushed against his skin and it felt warm and smooth.
I thanked him quietly and he put the gum in his mouth and chomped on it a few times, blew a huge bubble, popped it sharply and grinned again and said "No problem" and left.
I stood there dumbly, trying to register in my mind what had just happened, the quarter held tight in my fist, and my mother appeared beside me, grabbing the hand that wasn't holding the quarter and dragged me along as she pushed the cart, scolding me for walking off, and when the groceries were in the trunk and my mother was driving out of the parking lot I realized I didn't get the chance to even spend the quarter.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:42:12 2015 No.7304514 >>7304510 >you will never be the first person someone falls in love with Feels bad man.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:46:14 2015 No.7304526 >>7304514 What makes you say that?

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:48:37 2015 No.7304537

>>7304526
All of my exes had dated many people before they dated me
>and fallen in love with at least one of them
And I'm at an age where anyone I date is highly unlikely to have not fallen in love before.
Dating someone much younger then me not withstanding.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:49:49 2015 No.7304545 "Quidquod, set bolgere loquon" quod Jimmy, et said Jamal "Loto wes fortu n." So it was like that.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:50:26 2015 No.7304548

Rain and lightning are not. Update: I, Van Gogh, in the first and second hand. Persons with disabilities and All Clothing and other solubles (numbers) are meeting to address the risk of the plant. It's just dangerous and In fact, you'll be able to sleep because It's like the wind's hand. For example, in ice if you cut orange ray data transmission speed you get New Vrou life. Yes, I graduated from the Chinese Inggeris ashram, and I know how he plays in the lives of consumers. Children and online / university study on the Photo Beach and, while in Oregon, California and, like most of us, fail. But it will continue and I do not really hate each other's crew, the players love rules in Public. In other words, we are on the main road, but, are we anyway? Two, three, four, five, in fact, six -- and this is not unusual. Or, they may be part of the house of Baa. As Cancer, killer of Chen Yun, is injured, Huang San Jose Von Saxe, is in his prime, but the court accepted his underwear, and he when into decline. God, I hate Jackie. Hi mogachi Riuki, I hate to tell you, but the problem still exists. I bought it, I do not understand why. It taught me that Freedom of expression is not correct. In the fall, within, however far flung, its range. The European Union (EU) law and religion HD. Each group of 10 photos. Liquid fuel, but can not see. Buddha patience and understanding from the negative short-term energy. Because. Everything! They were sent! Unfortunately, the country. my God. Kiev committee is only a little girl, and I for a small black box inside the snow and the coil is connected to a computer network. Safety Act. To do this, a terrible father, my 4, you must select the image you want to protect cold'm. Unfortunately, we do not know the video. Banana If you'd like to share? "He's Doritos, but I think you're on the road .Sojangreul hard songs, I can say that there are several" new technology, or what they say. As a parent, the devil ......, bananas, you know, do not think that day is the last 40,000 times, but Mr. Under the banana case Grandma, I'm glad I "dream life. But," he said, almost a year, of course, more than one million times dark green, dance like a woman, I love the movie, say, what you have do you think?

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:51:43 2015 No.7304551 >>7304537 Maybe someone you don't know personally has fallen in love with you, like the narrator described in her experience.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:54:59 2015 No.7304557 >>7304537 ...go for a young girl then? Age if just a number anyway, if I recall correctly I got my first girlfriend when I was 18 and she was 13.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:56:59 2015 No.7304567 >>7304548 >>7304344 >>7299811 >>7304442 I'm working on a piece told from the point of view of a schizophrenic. I'm good at bullshit, but my story is a little weak.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 22:58:37 2015 No.7304575

>>7304551
Not impossible but highly unlikely.
Of course this brings up the debate of what exactly love is but for the sake of the argument I won't deny the thesis of falling in love with someone you don't know.

Although if someone is in love with me and nothing comes of it, it is even worse. Because either A) I couldn't fall in love with them and it will be unrequited and they'll never know for sure, or B) We could have been with one another and happy.
I'm unsure of which scenario is worse.
>>7304557
I've been in enough legal trouble in my life man. I don't need to risk even more.
Anyone that is above 18 is highly unlikely to have never fallen in love.

The best case scenario for someone young is to travel overseas to a foreign country but I don't feel like attempting something like that. I don't have a problem with it on a moral level nor physical but the social implications would prevent me from attempting anything.
Not to say someone else couldn't initiate (or fall for me) but again. This is all unlikely hypothetical scenarios.

So I'll rephrase my original statement.
>tfw chances are you won't ever be someone's first love.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 23:01:50 2015 No.7304587
File: 149 KB, 884x708, best nichijou 107.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7304567
Deprive yourself from sleep for 27~ hours and then hold a spoon upside down. When you doze off and drop the spoon and get woken up by the sound of the spoon hitting the table, quickly write what you see in that microsecond where the spoon falls and hits the table. Repeat until you have a lot of gibberish written up and can arrange it into an interesting plot

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 23:02:59 2015 No.7304591 >>7304567 That just reads like utter gibberish. Try reading some stuff by actual paranoid schizos. There's a pattern to their madness.

>>	Anonymous Fri Oct 30 23:04:24 2015 No.7304600 >>7304575 >I've been in enough legal trouble in my life man. I don't need to risk even more. Loving someone under the age of 18 is not illegal. Having sex with some under the age of 18 is.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 23:08:16 2015 No.7304618

>>7304600
It certainly isn't impossible for two people to be in love without physical contact.
But even without the presence of that, there would be nothing stopping anyone from presuming what happens behind closed doors.
And the chance that they'll believe me (with my specific convictions) is unlikely.

Anonymous Fri Oct 30 23:25:32 2015 No.7304654

>>7304618
Physical contact is vital for a relationship. It's fun, refreshing and keeps the passion alive. "Love" without physical contact can hardly be considered love. When I used to go out with my girlfriend I'd only go as far as making out with her while keeping my hands where everyone could see. One time I even told her I'd wait for her to develop completely before even considering sex.

The other part is being discrete about it; as long as people's presumptions are just that: presumptions, you can love freely and without bounds, just don't get too intimate with her in public.

This shit ain't rocket science son, life is there for you to enjoy, now go and take it!

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 04:40:49 2015 No.7305323 >>7299565 Is there a website that gives you that row of five stats (prepositional ratio, etc)

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 04:45:02 2015 No.7305325 >>7279886 should be "affluenza" with two f's, anon

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 04:46:51 2015 No.7305326 >>7300977 Very strange. I like how it reads like an incantation have you been reading kkg?

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 04:48:24 2015 No.7305327

>>7302375
>He just isn't there, any more.
remove comma

>Shot of audience member, a man with black skin and no eyes,
it stops being really good here. this seems like slenderman tier. before that, however, I really liked it. We can't do faceless guys anymore. They're not creepy ever since the 100,000,000 lets plays featuring them came out.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 04:49:31 2015 No.7305329 >>7302385 >Their crushed flanks enchanted into a system of ferny isles. this is a FUCKing sentence fragment (I think, I really don't know grammar in the formal sense but this just strikes me as wrong)

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 04:53:47 2015 No.7305332

>>7303787
gross

>>7304120
unwieldy

>>7304293
yawn (read stanislaw lem)

>>7304537
write a story about it

>>7304567
I can't attest to its verisimilitude wrt schizos; it seemed to me like someone was turning the knob on a cheap AM radio. Very interesting effect. I'd love to read it on a physical page somewhere, totally deprived of any context.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 04:54:49 2015 No.7305334 >>7304654 One of the most unnerving characters I've ever read. Good job, anon.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 09:22:17 2015 No.7305640 >>7304591 It varies. You got people like Francis E. Dec who still have a pattern and comprehensibility. Then you got others who spout utter word salad.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 11:23:37 2015 No.7305881 >>7305323 Yea, 4c /lit/ critique threads. It's my own program. Just learn Python.

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:17:20 2015 No.7306141

This is my stop he said when New York pushed onto the tracks, and sprinted towards the third rail. He grabbed his coat and limped out into the tunnel and stepped in line behind a black man with no arms. When it was his turn, he prostrated himself and wet-kissed the bar, and twitched until his hair started to smoke and his fingers twisted into claws. We knew then, for absolutely sure that the city was no place for us.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:34:10 2015 No.7306185 >>7303816 Neat. >>7305332 >gross I'll take that as a complement.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:37:55 2015 No.7306199 >>7299119 Thanks man. Did you put anything in here to critique?

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:40:50 2015 No.7306206 >>7306199 No, I've just been criticizing from my ivory tower. Last time I posted something here I got BTFO so hard that it destroyed my confidence.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:41:33 2015 No.7306210 >>7306141 Suddenly, commas.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:42:36 2015 No.7306214 >>7306206 Yr a pussy.

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:42:47 2015 No.7306215

>>7305881
Man fuck python nigga fuck that yee yee ass computer science ass bullshit nigga I gots to get paid know what I'm sayin dog? know what I mean? just compile that shit into an executable nigga! finna execute YOU mothafucka

also which ones are supposed to be high and which are supposed to be low? like desu senpai too much diversity might make for bad writing in a certain context

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:44:14 2015 No.7306220 >>7306214 when I subvocalize these posts I never know how to pronounce yr. yer? yir? I always imagine some ginger male with a small mouth

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:45:05 2015 No.7306222 >>7306206 I hear ya, though there's definitely something to be said of trail by fire. And not being too invested into your work that your confidence relies on people's approval of it.

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:48:17 2015 No.7306229

>>7272099
>http://pastebin.com/xQ6eeFPh

Cluttered sentences, heavy-handed communication of character thoughts and feelings, narrator has too much voice without being a character, Gets somewhat better into the second paragraph. Is every word in there packed with significance in some way?

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:52:51 2015 No.7306237

Having shrugged it loose so long ago—having lived in peace and plenitude, forever, as it were, having eaten manna in the morning, having sipped ambrosia in the evening, having enjoyed the delights of young friendship and the raptures of young love (and even, as of late, having enjoyed the two commingled together, a hitherto undreamt-of cord of paradise whose strength and purity could draw you up to heaven like a guppy on a fish-hook), having smiled with well-earned magnanimity as the steak of life had sizzled and grown juicy, having held the one you loved upon your arm and looked into her eyes and beheld and rebeheld the stories that you'd lived and grown to love together, having grown until your hearts had braided themselves together like two vines, having left behind bad dreams, and even rumors of bad dreams—though not through flit-eyed, incomplete repression but by the virtues of sheer luxury and well-earned, good-hearted living, having nothing but the utmost balance in every measure of your life, having loved one's children, one's grand-children, one’s great-grand-children (and so on), having given them a life that was still more joyful, jubilant, and riper in its opportunities than even yours had ever been—no easy feat!—and having settled in, and kissed your wife goodnight, beneath some warm and silky sheets, beneath the peaceful summer sky—having listened to the selfsame gentle summer rain a thousand thousand times without your ever growing tired of it, having let it lull you into peaceful, dreamless sleep, having felt the joy and love and happiness within you fill your heart with a warmth that, beneath the layers and the layers and the layers of all conscious and unconscious thoughts and emanations, you were sure could never fail, even a single time, having exhaled slowly, in complete contentment, knowing that you were never once alone, that you had never been, and having at last let them take you underneath your shoulders and carry you, like angels, to that distant country that you’d never stopped believing in, to that land of life and living light—at last no longer so remote as it had always seemed—this must seem like some grave mistake.

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 13:59:39 2015 No.7306249
File: 74 KB, 876x544, ♦ ♦.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7306215
LexDiv: Vocab size / Word count

Content carrying words ← should be obvious.

Personal Vocab ← LexDiv w/common words removed.

Those stats transcend good and bad.

The Preposition Ratio should be around 10%. 25% would be turgid, torpid, and turbid. And turpid too. Of course, that's just according to GMAU Garner's Modern American Usage.

Zombie Nouns are nominalizations. That is, they are verbs gagged, tagged, and body-bagged, struck w/lightning and brought back as nouns, but verb-nouns that don't animate the mind's eye.

Long words are usually danger zones, so I highlight those too.

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 14:02:13 2015 No.7306255

>>7304120
>With overflowing confidence in his gaze, his smug gird and relaxed features

Communicate these things through action. Make his confidence and smugness, relaxation all included in how he gets up out of his chair. Ask yourself how a confident, smug, and relaxed person would get out of a chair, and then describe that action. Same with all other action in here. If a character is confident then the reader should be able to tell from the character's behavior, not from the narrator telling the reader directly that the character is confident.

Also you switch from present tense to past tense and I can't figure out any significance behind it. Also you need some commas in places.

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 14:04:27 2015 No.7306265

Docent: subject curtsy, oft: 24(17). Grayish eyes, borosilicate hourglass figurine. College, Marina; left finger shredded, compulsory abdication: window(fry-press): Order of The Three-Foot Polymeric Big Papa Statuette. From the desk of the regional manager. BIG Papa's Shakes of the Great Lake, since, and ADT'd.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 14:04:59 2015 No.7306268 >>7306237 It will sting but read it out loud.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 14:07:34 2015 No.7306276 >>7306268 I had already. Good to get a reality check.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 14:10:09 2015 No.7306283 >>7306276 & ye left in 'as it were'? Smdh desu senpai.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 14:26:00 2015 No.7306324 >>7306283 How do you decide what to critique? Also, what do consider the best posts in this thread?

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 15:05:19 2015 No.7306401
File: 277 KB, 1000x688, image.jpg [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google]

>>7306324
Decide? This thread?

On Tuesday August 11th 2015 at 7:38 PM there was a post that beat my heart like a glockenspiel. That poster will go on to swim in the sockets of very wet audience pussy. Kid said he was in HS, too.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 15:07:47 2015 No.7306407 >>7306401 link or I assume it's kolsti and you have no taste.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 15:13:46 2015 No.7306421 >>7306220 I imagine a brain damaged swedish pirate cosplayer trying to speak english whenever I read those posts.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 15:31:23 2015 No.7306475 >>7306407 The Date & Time are there. I have no taste. Spoiler! >>7306421 I don't know what cosplay is but the rest is true. I think it's a brain tumor or brain ascariasis.

>>	Anonymous Sat Oct 31 15:35:54 2015 No.7306494 >>7306475 >I don't know what cosplay is Wait, seriously? You don't get outside /lit/ much, do you?

Anonymous Sat Oct 31 19:32:09 2015 No.7307167

My punctuation is probably shit. I will need to get it looked at. Please tell me how it reads.
"I'm writing a story.
It begins with a young guy in his early twenties sitting in a train - dead look in his eyes - he’s going to a mental institution because he’s depressed and attempted suicide recently. So he gets off at the station and an old caretaker from the institution picks him up and drives out to it. Once he gets there he’s taken around the place. Out by the lake he finds a young girl - same age as him. She’s standing there, looking out over the lake with this mournful look in her eyes, like there’s something broke inside her that can’t be fixed and everyone knows it. He joins her. He talks to her. She doesn’t answer. He tires, turns around to leave and just as he’s walking away, she says - well I don’t know what she says yet, but it’s something deep and meaningful that hits him really hard and makes him think and think so he can’t sleep at night because her words are running round his brain without end, breaking him down and rebuilding him as something greater. Higher, higher up his mind goes as her words give him something he’s been lacking all along, something to combat suffering, not something to beat it, but something to make it bearable. Purpose, this is what her words give him.
When he finally falls asleep after all the thinking, he finds himself in another version of the asylum, only he’s not his straightjacketed self but a knight, clad in blue regalia and with a sword to boot, and around him is not an asylum but a palace, majestic and golden. And the girl is there too, down by the lake, and when he goes down to her, she turns around and she smiles at him, and he realizes that in the whole world there’s nothing more beautiful than seeing the woman you love, smiling. For that whole night it’s just them, young and in love. They talk and talk and run around the lake and the palace, and a sense of wonder pervades the world, but come morning and her face grows sullen and her eyes teary. He asks and asks and finally she tells him: a monster is coming. Something dark and horrible to take her away and marry her. Something to break her, break him and ruin everything. Those last few hours with the boy were the greatest in her life, but now she has to go, and now nothing will ever have beauty and warmth ever again. The music fades away as the monster arrives in a big black limousine, and just as the boy draws his sword to protect her, he wakes up and everything falls apart."

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/lit/ - Literature