/crit/ - Writing Critique General

Wait what the fuck is happening in this story? Is it an uprising? Some civil conflict? Invasion??

>I slid down the ramp absent of Lamar

Do you mean "without?" The word absent doesn't go along with the preposition "of."

Yes.

Because I'm a psuedo-intellectual fuckshit this is probably how it starts, with Lamar dying soon after, and the narrative going back to the start of the conflict for sequential order thereafter.
I think my 'real' first chapter doesn't grab people enough, my main test here.

I think it works, I'm not sure though and would appreciate more info to follow. I chose 'absent' to give word variety.

You guys can link your own pieces if you want too.

A STORY THAT I CAN HARDLY REMEMBER:

pastebin.com/raw/RtSmDTu5

What Makes Men Into Monsters? (Chapters 1-3)

pastebin.com/raw/1pzsu3ZK

Thought cannot be controlled. When I attempt to force an idea into existence the unconscious is weighed down with an entirely different, unrealized idea – begging for manifestation. Only when I allow my mind to be blank (and resist the screams of every noumena I’ve experienced, deathly frightened of being forgotten) does the unconscious thought bring itself forth. When I attempt to control the river of thought, even the gentlest of streams can become rapids. A mental state which is most unpleasant, and results in hours of anxiety. But this struggle has a flame that forges the sharpest blade. The idea that emerges from the chaos not only grants tranquility, but is stronger for the battle it had to fight to achieve manifestation.

Ill stick around in this thread and crit other anons

Slightly clichéd at times, but I'd read it

Infestation!
Blame the Arabs
on the planes!
Blame the Polish
on the trains!
Blame the Jews
on the cruise ships!
Cut the power,
Stop the nuisance!

with little cartoon hands and scissors drawn severing an electric cable – a pursuit that would surely get the acting party killed – a noble one? I see myself walking the docks. A metallic roar fills my headspace – friction? The sound of a large machine halting? Old friend, we are lucky to be awake this time of year for it is. Look to the skies! The perfect antithesis to our frosted forest of silent longing, wooden kings of yore eternally chasing sunlight, crowns to be surmised someplace beyond the clouds, like an impression manifests itself, soon to be filled with matter and peeled at the touch of curious generations: Metallic cigars plummet toward the waters, wings broken, winds laughing, howling as they alleviate themselves at their surfaces. A good shake for the dung inside – imagine the smell (ew!) those cracked tins will be shedding in a few hours. Time enough for the quick-witted among our people, with sharp knives approaching. Those still intact, not yet dissolved in the homogeneous brown mass of engine oil, shit and fluid flesh, we must separate. Sun baked, raised on figs and goat cheese, once honest lives on a no-pig-flesh diet, awash in sewage now but scrubbed, shaven, toweled, […] brushed with herbs and oils, blessed by our shaman, still might live up to their promise. Over a fire, that is. Imagine the feast: Strung up bard hanging from tree, sounds of oiled meat on hot iron drowning out festive clamour, consequent fog obscuring eager hands superseding mutual consent, all melting into one blurred silhouette. Becoming tribe, becoming people. Winds, equally frolicsome, play around, nudge and caress scent of roast and wine, sweat and sperm, back and forth and beyond the treeline. Against frozen shafts of the immortal it condensates as distilled pleasure, and all the creatures of the forest smile a knowing smile.

(continued from )

Drawn-out groans penetrate the fringes of my botanic retreat from aeons removed. The man in the neighbouring stall as well has reverted to some savage state, and judging from his howls, his winds too are frolicsome. My own delivery shows no sign of progress, immobile, impenetrable, not painful yet commanding attention – a totalitarian experience. Brown marble that sits in my underbelly like a second heart, beautiful until birthed into the world of shared experience, even then a presence to behold, soon to burst from my bowels like an egg tooth, in this moment you are my world. Leave no room for conscious reflection, thoughts and wishes, identity or ideology. All are banished, expelled from this body as age and dross. For a moment I am vessel and I am fulfilled, in no hurry to return to my seat, friends or beer. My lone companion mewls, admitting defeat at the hands of his colon, although unintelligibly. Few decimeters from my left boot, herald of things to come, a tear hits the ground. From beyond the castle walls a distant thought reverberates in my throne room: „Every man for himself“, and I redirect my attention at the door: Layers and layers of glossy hieroglyphics preserve varnish and presswood, as evidenced by yellowish-brown splatter all over. Adverts, jokes and provocations provide reading for generations. In places, sculptors have a taken a blade to the collage, entrenching runes and crude innuendos, partially exposing stickers from long-forlorn times in strange dialects and typefaces. Poets and painters, armed with pens, crayons, coal, brushes, greased fingers and whatever paraphernalia a toilet stall grants the inspired, have created an enormous palimpsest – a complex, ever-changing Gestalt with a rich history of addition and subtraction. No single creator, no clear intent, no end and no beginning. For all intents and purposes, a life unto itself.

I like the details you get into, like the plywood window replacement. You're good at painting a picture of your world like that. Normally, I would critisize how often you use "I" but in this case it makes sense, since it's a story of war and survival is at stake. I do think that at times your wording is overly technical, other times unnecessarily complicated and as such in contrast with the feverish, hectic nature of the situation.

Hey, you incorporated my advice from last thread! Excellent. Your narration does seem much more personal now. I do find it a little wordy in places. Boil it down a bit, think of shorter ways of writing what you wrote without sacrificing detail and affection, and you'll be good. Think about the way you yourself think. Anyway, you're approaching realistic noir-ish inner monologue.

I'd buy it, as I am a sucker for mystical nature stories. Overall consistent style, well worded, lacking detail only where it is not needed. Are you going to turn this into a larger collection of short stories from the perspective of this nameless scholar? I'd like that.

Same as above. I'm a sucker for this kind of story. Overall consistent and well worded. I like the transformation the monster undergoes in the demon's presence, very believable.
You two are not perhaps the same author, are you?

Yes, this is true. Water and fire are good traditional metaphors for imagination and will. Keep at it, I'd like to read where this goes.

Is shit like this inaccessibly esoteric and rambling? It's just the first draft so I'm not worried about the prose just whether these kind of paragraphs are a pointless waste of time, I really like writing them. Molly is the protagonist.

>
>
>

Someone had commented on one of her posts, a video of the song ‘Those Days are Gone and my Heart is Breaking’. It was someone she followed. “You like Welcome to Night Vale?!?!?”

There is an episode of ‘Gayle’ where the titular Gayle has to go to Trader Joes to buy Terry some stuff because Terry caught Gayle washing her hair with a canine shampoo. When Molly was feeling homesick sometimes she’d google quotes from The Mighty Boosh to see where other people had used them. It turned out the song ‘Quit Lezzin’ Around’ actually had a retail version and that you could listen to it on youtube. Back in the days of MySpace Molly had become a big fan of Sage Francis and then Cecil Otter and then Dessa. Molly clicked on Ciaomunch’s channel, there was a whole Beef Hutchins album. And there was a song by Doom Tree. Then youtube played the Barton Carroll one.

Critique others first.

I did critique the others.

Not him and didn't read the context but absent of makes sense.

We can't really tell if this kind of paragraph is distracting if you present it out of context.

Sure I can understand it but it's awkward as fuck. It's like saying "We to the store went, present with Joshua." Like just write clearly, you know?

Too confusing for me. I'd say you need to try to meet your reader halfway, at least at the start. Then you can lead them by the hand to wherever you're going.

Too abstract for me. These ideas are so complex and separate from life that you can't afford to use such complicated diction and sentence structure. What are you trying to say, anyway?

I did, in my case there was only one story posted before mine, and there was a big honkin' error in the first sentence.

It's intelligible, but it's not that interesting.

...

The innanet rotted your young mind

How do I write "difficult" prose?

“Is that really all you have to report to me? You came here absolutely starstruck with the fear of god in your heart to tell me something self-evident?” she said chiding him for the incompetence she saw. Stifling a laugh and leaning over her desk with her hand on her cheek, like a teacher amused with a child, she looked at him bemused. If there was anything busier for the major to do, it would be more of an angry expression, but today, as it was for the past few weeks, her contempt was compounded as if dealing with a toy dog which was mildly snappier than usual.
“I came because you are the officer in charge of locating a major terrorist and this information has greater implications than we’ve seen before about both logistical operations in our region and his location.”
“Oh, is this going to come in the form of a nursery rhyme? The way even your most forceful response is a .”
“This is serious.” he said, leaving the air hanging in suspense. Ms. Konigs’s eyes lit up waiting for this courier lieutenant’s, a chilling sight to behold for her skin and features were near white, almost opaque and were only matched by the arrogance of these features. Her eyes lit up even more when this whisperer was strong-headed enough to tell her what was relevant to her case to track her suspect.

rate my DFW fan fic

Tried writing something that could fit into The Road:

Some time ago a freighttrain that ran through the mountains had come derailed and all its wagons lay overturned in the snow. Dozens of carts sprawled wildly across the terrain still connected by their couplings. If there were still birds to fly across this earth they would look upon the mountain range and see its tallest peak with a necklace of steel about it. In the wagons were goods of all kinds but mostly coal. Each wagon had drawn a small snowbank against its west side and the boy had climbed one while the man made camp and now sat with his legs dangling and his head craned back, staring up at the starry sky. They’re brighter tonight, he had said, eyes wide and gleaming.
After an hour the man said it was time to sleep and to come on down now.
A while longer, Papa.
No. You’ll catch cold.
They’re brighter tonight, aren’t they?
They’ll be there tomorrow.
Not like this.
Never know. Come on down now. Sleep.
A while longer.
No. Come on.
Okay.

No.

I just published this conceptual poetry but can't get decent critique since most people aren't familiar with Flarf

books.google.com/books?id=Li0yDwAAQBAJ&printsec=frontcover&dq=forum x&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwin0KTHoMTWAhVO7WMKHX3XAMEQ6AEIKDAA#v=onepage&q=forum x&f=false

>3 reviews
>every single one moaning about the difficulty of the piece

Don't, nobody enjoys reading it

Pretty good imitation. Idk if kids REALLY say papa though lol

Excerpt that's free online is pretty enjoyable. Would be interested to see what you wrote for /v/, Veeky Forums, and /tv/

I do

You can buy it at xenopla.net/, but if you want to message me your information through there, I'll send you the Google Doc so you can read it free

We must mean two different things by the term. What kind of writers, in your view, write "difficult" prose?

The prose flows very nicely. The verbs are very descriptive, and other than polishing it up some, there's not much I can offer without knowing the narrative.

I've never read The Road only the film, but it certainly seems like it could fit.
Sorry I can't offer more without a bit longer piece.

Mine:
pastebin.com/pgH3cReJ

Not an argument

Shut up, pleb.

>the prose flows very nicely
Did we even read the same user's post?

The beginning of my short story; it's the first draft and it was discovery written.

scottish school kids at lunch 1/2

We all sat in the dining hall, Freddo wrappers littering the table in front of us as Kenan chomped through his fifth one. David had bought M&Ms and was arranging them by color into warring factions. I sat slouched in my chair with another a few feet in front of me to rest my legs on as Kyle and Wee Patty chatted back and forth.
“Look at them…” Kyle said pointing to the learning support kids who sat up near the canteen serving area, so there wasn’t too much distance for them to walk with their hot plates. I waited for Kyle to continue, praying that the conversation wasn’t going to go down the gutter.
“They’ve been here since the beginning eh? No’ worried about being up town or the troubles of the land and gentry. Solid lads.”
Wee Patty chuckled but he wasn’t really paying attention, he pulled apart the first of his three cafeteria cheeseburgers like a surgeon setting about his first patient of the day, excited yet nervous as a life hung in the balance: his own. Would he survive the cafeteria cooking for another day? Only time would tell. As he squirted the ketchup all over the burger and reassembled it Kyle continued talking.
“They’re the guardians of the cafe, the three wise men of the lunch hall. Coming to eat under the vision of baby Jesus in the stained glass.” Kyle motioned towards the window on the left hand side of the hall stained with religious iconography, I burst out laughing almost drowning on the Coke I was sipping at.
“What are you talking about Kyle? The three wise men? It’s just wee Stuart, Patch and their mate eating lunch.”
“That’s Balthazar - Paul. He went to my primary school.” Kyle replied quickly. “He used to wear this head protector that looked like a crown. He likes a high five does auld Balthazar.”
I stared at Kyle in disbelief. Looking around the table I wanted to see if anyone else was hearing this or if I was in some abstract fantasy inside Kyle’s head.
David was down to the Red and Green M&Ms though he had been distracted by Kenan who had got up and started to ‘Boax’ him. Wee Patty was now three cheeseburgers deep. I was alone, awash in the sea of Kyle’s insanity.
“Y’know Mike, it’s no’ a bad wee life they’ve got. Peace and quiet to study, company without the social awkwardness of making friends. Other than us a whole lunch hall to themselves. Bar the disability, it must be an alright existence. This is their holy land, their Babylon!”
Before I could reply, Kyle was up off his seat and marching towards the learning support table. I looked on curiously, wondering what had possessed him. After a few seconds the blonde haired boy, the one Kyle had nicknamed Balthazar was on his feet giving Kyle a high five. Christ, what had he said?

school kids at lunch 2/2

I gathered the boys around and explained what was going on, no one had a clue why Kyle was so interested in the learning support table. It was odd. Almost as quickly as he was gone he was back. David grabbed the Green M&Ms and threw them into his mouth.
“Kyle, what was that about?” David chuckled softly, a smirk creeping across his face. “Making some new pals? We not good enough eh?” Babid raised his eyebrows mockingly. Using his face to express like a vaudevillian actor - nothing more than his movements at his disposal.
“Aye, feel more at home down there eh?” Wee Patty jibed in before making his usual alien noises and clicking his tongue.
“Fuck off Patty! It’s paying respects! This isn’t our place. It’s theirs. The Magi of the munch, the cafe kings.” Kyle laughed, finding himself hysterically funny.
“I know, plus you’re the one making the Abe noises Richard. Maybe you should go introduce yourself.” David quipped.
We all roared in laughter, David wasn’t frequent with his retorts, but this one was on point. Wee Patty’s eyebrows lowered. For fuck’s sake - was David really about to get the evil eyebrows for that? It was barely anything, and yet Wee Patty looked just about ready to ex-communicate him. Kenan rolled up his jacket and checked his watch.
“Nae time for shenanigans boys, time to get back to school.”
Kenan hopped up from the table and left his pile of Freddo wrappers lying in his wake. Wee Patty threw his bag over his shoulder, his lunch rubbish on top of Kenan’s, and made for the door. He and Kenan were out of sight before I had the time to tell them to clean up their mess. David looked at the Red M&Ms left on the table, the survivors of his mental war, and then at the pile of rubbish, before his eyes made their way over to the learning support table.
“Suppose I better clear this up. No-one else is going to do it.” he muttered, his face dropping into a sulk. He always got like this as lunch finished. It was the end of the heady rush of freedom and now time to head back to the classroom. He gathered up the rubbish and took it to the bin, Kyle and I followed behind.
“Bye boys!” Balthazar yelled as we made for the door. I turned around and smiled, and then it was back out into the grey.

BLACK TULIP

The world is grey and cold and wind blows across the Earth. The sky is bleeding; rain pours from the heavens. It’s bounces off the concrete path in a quick succession of thuds. People are wounded, they walk slower the more they are hit until they fall into the bus or their ride home from university. The concrete is a ghastly contrast to the greenery of the university. Trees are dotted around but the main source of nature is a patch of grass that hugs a lake. Rain disappears into it. The sound of the rain would be loud, deafening if it weren’t for the people running. The sound of the clip clop of the heels, the squelch of the feet against the forming mud, the expansion of the Earth against the cool grey concrete … she walks through the rain. There’s a skip in her step and she is smiling, laughing at the drops that hit her skin and they roll gently off her, onto the ground to be burned away in the coming dawn.

Matthew watches her as she passes by a tree whose branches dip into the water. Her mouth is wide, open, and she is gazing into the sky and he watches her and his heart fills. Her eyes fall from the sky to him and she looks at him and she closes her mouth. She stops in her track and looks at the leaves that sway in the wind. Her skin burns. Her eyes meet his again and she shakes her head and leaves him. Matthew looks up into the sky and his eyes burn with anguish and regret.

Remember to critique the others.

I really enjoyed the religious elements to this. It made wherever these kids are (I'm assuming it's a religious area in general) more believable. I thought saying "Christ, what had he said?" to be clever so far as to show more religious elements and to emphasize the situation.

The dialogue between them is great. It reads like an actual conversation is taking place. I can't really comment on your prose too much but it was never tedious to read.

I would like to know if this is a snippet of something more or just a one off thing.

Duly noted, though I can't into critique other than 'it's good'

It's a snippet of something more, but a lot of it isn't rounded out so well

Bump

Egg Customers Are Being Paid Back Thousands. Ever Banked With Lloyds? You Could Be Due A Refund. Drunk Hot Girls In Shameless Position. Hottest Mirror Selfies Ever. 23 Dirty Photos That Will Make You Blush. Unexpectedly Capture Female Sports Moments. Embarassing Images Caught Inside Of A Walmart Glasgow Camera. Private Photos of Her Wedding night Shared By Hubby. 20 Hot Moms You Can't Unsee. Remember Her? Try Not To Gasp When You See How She Looks Now. Cameraman Captured More Than Expected. Celeb No-Bra Day Caught On Camera. Perfectly Taken Dirty Pictures That Will Make Your Day. Lloyds Customers Are Being Refunded Thousands.

You could turn this into a great novel, how I will leave for you to decide.

>Post your shit here and other anons will give feedback.
WILL THEY?

If you give feedback first maybe yeah

Perhaps I did, wouldn't that be ironic?

I did here too , link me to yours and I'll review it.

Here.

Bump

Why not bump with critique, friend?

Wrong use of a hypen right away, between "below" and "it".

Definition for Hyphen:
the sign -, used to join words to indicate that they have a combined meaning or that they are linked in the grammar of a sentence (as in a pick-me-up, rock-forming minerals ), to indicate the division of a word at the end of a line, or to indicate a missing element (as in short- and long-term ).

Also some of the supposed "fast-paced action" in the beginning feels like describing something instead of living it. I dunno, perhaps it's the amount of words; needs shortening, thightening.

For example, instead of:
>My breathing forced to slow as I felt the warm embrace of unconsciousness approaching, I fought to get to my knees and elbows.

Try:
>My breathing slowed, the unconscious approaching. Knees and elbows like jelly to get up.
Also here's mine.
WARNING: Fantasy, trite possible.
Page 1 of 4.

A while back someone in another thread mentioned they actually made some money writing short (5k to 25k words) romance stories and self publishing them on the kindle store on Amazon. I have decided to try my hand at this. I never read a romance book or any of those 50-80 page erotica stories on the kindle store. I took a look at the samples and they were all written in first person and they all had virtually no descriptions of any of the characters.

Any advice on writing this shit and having it be successful?

Continuation for this.

Comma already not necessary, the very first sentence can't really stand on it's own I don't think. Pace slowed down already. Not a good start, senpai.

Fortunately for you The rest down is pretty good, noir stuff so far, at least, that's what I got from the vibe. Good job. Then I hit the two "times" on the start of the third paragraph after the line of conversation.
Here's some other words you can use for in place of time: term, spell, span, epoch, era.
It's distracting stuff, diversify your words on a range that close to each other.

Also the comma between "destination" and "I had" was again not necessary, see first complaint above, similar problem.
Also she has a backpack AND a purse? What? Busy woman, I suppose.
Last sentence also had the comma problem; between "foot" and "I shook."

Overall, bretty good, user. Rough start, good execution I think. Noir setting: established.

Also cute grrl, would place in kitchen/10

standing there against the muddy green wall spattered with drops of old dried cum and mouldy strokes of coffee he realized that he had a major problem. on the bed next him lay the woman slowly leaning her body back and forward making the spring in the bed squeak with a sound of premonition the grinding sound making him uneasy even more distracted by it then worrying about how he would break the news to the whore bright red lipstick covering her worn lips the the creaks was a timer getting louder and louder the tick of the clock ticking down to his confession of his deepest desire now it was time to speak up, he spoke. i need to get off, he said. that’s why you are here, i have a wife. lovely wife. but she can’t satisfy my need, i need to explode. and there’s only one thing that does that for me. he opened his old sport bag and took out his secret that which he shared with no one suppressing to even himself going through the day not thinking about it too hard because he saw himself as a respectable person and this object did not fit that view. in his two hands he held with strength and conviction a toilet bowl with a precise crafted hole and he said with the voice of a man leaving his farm and family and life and going to war, i need you to put this on your head. I need you to be my human waste disposal. i am sorry but this is the only way. i want my legs to shake with the deliverance of an iron load weighing my daily routine down in the ether.

back in time, the epic tale of a man and the formation of the fetish that would rule the rest of his life the hand guiding the continuation of his existence always searching for a harder way to discharge. he was young he lived in a big house he had a good family they were always at home he didn’t have a lock on his door he had a exquisite bathroom he went in there late at night touching himself furiously against the wall against the floor in the sink he would rub himself everywhere the smell sticking in the walls he lived in fear of someone catching his essence and throwing him out of home for being a disgusting subhuman the sanitation squad coming there to kill all residue of his degeneracy so he started shooting his pleasure down into the toilet it was a fancy toilet could be victorian era he would shoot it down and stare at it and then flush it down while keeping his sight one point on the miniature smothering sea everyday this process would repeat though now he didn’t get any pleasure from the women that had grasped his imaginative landscape of wet meat with a healthy orange tinge beforehand no, now in fact his ecstasy came from the toilet itself, the shine of it and fragrance of the soiled material within making his swampy flesh rod expand in the search for a shakedown.

he had superimposed his natural urges on the toilet. in his head pleasure and toilets had made a dangerous connection he was young and impressionable and now forever warped a good thing turned into something abhorrent he understood all this but he couldn’t stop soon even the sight of other toilets than his own got him going, the sound of flushing made him sweat with anticipation worst or best of all were the ads on tv for him it was porn they the equivalent to pornstars all of the toilets polished to perfection displayed and rotating showing all their sides just for him he thought about licking them sticking his tongue deep down into the bottomless pit of defecation, now, his desire grew more gripping over his sense of himself year after year he would spend his time browsing toilet models on the internet imagining him using them all for his benefit imagine him having his own house and filling every room with toilets of all models and times dirty ones clean ones futurism toilets dark grey dark brown bright pink with blue roses on the side during this trying time on his psyche his quest for the best deciding his life he meet a woman at the work where he worked to afford the costly price of his dream toilets they became close, he saw the shine he had seen inside the inner rim in his youth in her rapidly blinking eyes now a dangerous image started creeping like an invalid without his wheelchair inside his head, dragging it’s nails in the soft fleshy ground and screaming loudly without coherent words or phrases that had context. what if....she and a toilet became one, a synchronicity between man and object. a living, breathing, porcelain palace, the perfect metamorphosis. he was disgusted by himself. he couldn’t use her like an utility tool. so he came up with an alternate way of doing business, his business. end of the epic tale of discovery and heavy interpersonal drama between desire and responsibility.

now you see. i want you to be my toilet woman, i want you to make a flushing sound, love me like a good stationary does. i hope god forgives me for the shit i am about to commit. he took of his striped flashy tie and tied it around a desecrated 3 legged chair next to him while he started imagining the hours of limitless visceral full body like power experience ahead of him. he would savor this for months.

Page 3 of 4 for this.

Personal opinion here but I think perhaps your starting sentence could be a little stronger. Seems kinda brief, dull, but hey -- it's informative I'll give you that.

Start is a little preachy. The best kind of evangelization is speaking of the beauty of your method first before anything else, especially finger-wagging.

Caps on " Very Powerful" was not necessary. I actually checked later down that this was kind of a program or something being sold. Didn't seem hinted enough at first though, I thought, looked more like a Caps error.

Caps on "See" not necessary.

Cap on "Slag" not necessary. "i'm" does though, no worry, probably a little mistake for that one.

Does "The Man On the Stage" need a TM? If not, calm it with those Caps, friend. If it's a tittle don't caps the "The" at the begginning nor the "On" of the middle, leave it to the nouns for this one.

Saw this in a novel once, but when naming pop culture tittle refences (like Cock Tail), you use italics. Could be wrong on this one though.

Caps on "Cunt" unecessary (unless of course you were trying some humor here about the female gender, in which I say fair play of words, sir.)

"fuck em" and "chuck em" should have speech marks between the word and the "em", but I could be wrong in this. Also missing a comma or full stop between "chuck em'" and "only," otherwise a run-on here.

Caps on "He" not necessary.

Comma between "he says" and "that" please. Or perhaps a full stop on the "easy."

There are key sentences and words here that I can only assume are exclusive to "The Very Powerful System" as a means to emphasize them, I'm sorry for the autism if I startled you.

Then I saw the next act...

So - are the words like triggers for this (spoilers) Assassin guy? (spoilers). If so, that is pretty darn creative.

Love it, good work user. Real talent here I think. For the most part a lot of the words and prose mix and taste like good cocktail - surprising, fluid, goes easy on the throat. Some of the description of the first paragraph in Act 2 could use some thightening; shortening, but overall pretty good stuff.

My user left me.

Last post for this until I get more pieces updated, probably will I hope.

Brainlet here, already lost me on the jumble of words that is your second sentence, pls help.

Read through the rest and now I might need a college degree in Psychology, preferebly a Master's.

Or you could just say:
> I have a very hard time thinking, schizophrenia is hard, guys, like woah.

Kind of pretentious. Don't need to be complex for the sake of being complex if that is what you were trying to do. Just let it all hang loose, friend. Let it all hang loose. Chill.

Thanks for your critique. I don't agree with your advice on commas, though.

The chapter name is hackneyed. The first sentence contains two clichés: a dark lord and circling 'like vultures'. There's another cliché in 'the whole world stood still'. I got bored after that point.

...

I actually really like this. Poem, short story, or even novel material if you work at it enough

This morning, after throwing my instant organic oatmeal cup into the compost, I got into my Prius and headed off for another day of work at my social network start-up. The “inspiration-space” that I share with four anti-procreation friends from college is a dog-friendly “fun-vironment” where the world’s most cutting-edge innovations can sprout naturally in any one of the ergonomic yoga womb-balls that we keep scattered around our cubicle-free work/share space. Digital integration is huge part of what we do. Since the free exchange of ideas and access to a wide diversity of worldviews is integral to the healthy function of a humane, though industrialized, democracy, we here at Trimble believe that we can provide 21st-century solutions to our shrinking world. Our direct involvement in supplying alkaline water to non-profits building recycling zones for the Arab Spring led to OH MY GOD, WHAT IT THAT? IT’S A FUCKING METEOR NO NO NO NO FUCK ME OH GOD NO!!!

+1

I know!
With my dick!

kek

would be better if undecipherable desu

I hate cursive

would read if not too long and verbose
needs more cuckholding tho
and drugs
and violence maybe

palimpsest is the way to go

That's neat

glad to be of service, user

Without a common tongue, nation, or religion, we stood face to face. His arms outstretched holding a bag of essentials, we locked eyes. I feebly grasped his hands, taking the bag as I shook them. Although he’d never know my name, he gladly gave. He laid his hands upon my shoulders, and said something unintelligible. Although I didn’t understand his words, I knew what he had said. I bowed my eyes, then hugged him. We parted ways, never to see one another again; yet he’ll always be a part of me. I know now what he said. “I love you.”

pastebin.com/QrKifFjq

I wrote this for an English class. The point was to capture style, mood, etc. of a text we were reading, Untouchable by Mulk Raj Anand. The reason I'm posting this is to corroborate/refute my teacher's comment. She apparently really liked my writing, said it could've been something "lifted from the novel" and claimed I have "immense talent". I do not believe her claims. Just want to know what people think I guess.

then what?

This seems ok. Reads like a pulp novel or James Bond. My first critique is about the cab driver knowing the narrator's name. Now, I'm not from a big city where taxis are used often, but I didn't think it was customary to introduce yourself to them. But again I've never been in a cab/taxi. My other problem was with this line "By the time...pulled away the edges of the plaster on the back of my hand". This description comes out of the blue. Why is there plaster on her hand? Perhaps this will be explained later. But this description doesn't make sense to me as it serves no purpose...at least yet.

???
I do not understand

why do you want to corroborate/refute your teacher's comment?
you either want to write or you don't
fuck yourself with your spineless false modesty i guess

First sentence is a comma splice.

Just guessing, but if I wrote a love story I’d base it on my own fantasies.

pastebin.com/5yTRbV2L

Posted here a few weeks ago saying I was new to writing. Got told my story was all purple prose and garbage. Started this recently, want to know if it's any improvement/would it hold your attention

critique others

pastebin.com/bGA0qPca it's like 300 pages or something. I don't necessarily want critique, i want people to read my writings and maybe enjoy it, or get rich, or both

it's on fastpencil

i just wanted to post my book somewhere in the literature section, i didn't want to critique or be critiqued D:

>pastebin.com/QrKifFjq
I agree with what 10090885 said, however I did read what you posted, and:

Way too unnecessarily/childishly grotesque at some points. Alot of it read like a weird greentext post or fanfiction sort of thing.

It was also excessively wordy at a lot of points, for no reason other than to flex your thesaurus.

However, the story had a decently cohesive narrative and the pacing was good.

user mind explaining exactly what this is? you're quoting the bible all over the place, and talking about how you're great at programming and esports in others.

>That Title
>That Cover
>That table of contents
>that opening paragraph

yeah... no thanks

it's a collection of all types of writing in the form of text,
in the course of many years.

so... some of it is incorporating scripture as like part of the book as a story, kind of like a undertone or overtone, kind of like how films have other films or literature in their movies or quotes or whatever.

there are poems, prose, monologues,

something in the lines of like a discussion/discourse i called 'freedoms & burdens' on the topic of dating while being a missionary, and how the discussion branches out into more broad concepts and lifestyle.

and then there are texts that are tumbler/twitter/facebook/ type posts.

and then some random bull crap that is like stuff that pops up in my head, kind of like a diary,

and then there is a little short story 'tatiana & daniel' so it's a book, but it's also technically a compilation or collection of a bunch of various writings.