Veeky Forums criticism thread

'Ello humans of Veeky Forums
I am writing my first short story in years, when j was young i used to write, mostly edgy stuff.
I have been reading some lovecraft stuff and i decided to borrow its style and mythology for a try.
What tips can you give me to write something outside of fanfiction tier?

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>young thing. blossoming into a young woman
repetition. pick a different word, you also used "girl" far to much. at least subsidize with "her" or something
at the beginning it's unclear who is speaking when between punk and narrator
i really. hate. this. SENTENCE. it's just horrible and painful to read, and while i am no writer that part feels like your preperation for creating this was watching movies or reading comic books instead of consuming literature, your way of instilling emotion in something that is said is typing the text wacky instead of trying to write well.

keep at it champ

just take Hemingway's advice and try to write one true sentence
thanks user, going to kill myself now

i didn't mean to make you feel bad
pointing put flaws is much easier than explaining what is good
didn't see the ending coming so i very much fell for your thing, and i believe that was your main intention with this text
furthermore i get the impression you have practiced before which is a good thing in my mind

as i said, keep at it

These were the days which fell quickly through your life, not making much of an impression and not leaving much of a trace. These days were not like a beach, leaving its salty smell and amber kiss on your skin, these days were like a pebble, and you’d toss it into the ocean and watch it skip a few times to your enjoyment, but pleasure like this lives short, and not even the deep blue remembers the ripples cast by these days - crushed all too callously by the unrelenting waves of bigger days for other people. I hardly noticed that day fly from my hand and couldn’t find enough in myself to stay and watch it skip. It was a day that left peacefully, and would have been greater appreciated were it not for the magnitude of days just like it. Rarely I might have the gleam of consciousness enough to wonder if Lucas had these days. Surely even someone like he couldn’t push meaning into every day of his life. Sometimes I wondered if the days he and I were together were pebble days. I wondered if I really cared about back then, and if the memories I have of them are seldom not out of indifference but inevitability. It seemed to me mute - I would never know.

When I write I try my fucking hardest not to think about it. The more you push your ideas through some mold or some paradigm the more all the good bits get cut off. You'll be a lot happier with your writing - and I think it will be much better - if you write everything that comes naturally first, and make it something else later. But save what comes naturally. That's the only good shit there is.

Here's one of three small passages from whatever the fuck it is I'm writing i'm writing it's supposed to somehow be centered around dog domestication but most of the passages are just about people. This one is an old lady telling a story

PASSAGE ONE "Boast"

"Are we here? Here we are. Are you, one of us? Then what are you?"
"I am. I am within, and without?"
"Ah, and will it not be?, was it not so!?"
".."...
"Hmn, must I tell the story? Ay, I suppose.
"Tell me, do you hear our voices? How they speak highly? Do you?... But around us, do you? You do not. On this we are a hill in a valley, a brightness amongdark, among many stars, see only ours gives off light. Be betters, be lessers, we know our place, Do they know their? Do they, anything?
"So I speak, of aday, farago, a day before the father of ourfather's father, or his father, had taken in neither air nor essence, yet our people were there still. And they, then, were as we now, surrounded about by others. And of them came agroup, up, up they came to these exceptional, and tall, handsome, these strong men! These men our ancestors, forefathers, beloved: violence was taken to them. And it said,
'We've come to take you, and take yours. And leave you, and with yours.'
And we were as we are, us people of peace,. But could this be taken? The idea is like poison, it cannot. And we would not, for these men, they had low brows, due that their skulls were skulls scraped clean, and low was their ground, where they so foolishly planted their feet, in every sense, beneath us. And your,,, and our fathers knew that ahead full of heat struggles to think, So they remarked
(with great hate)
"'Clubs? Rocks? Tools of violence? Have you come to make us in your image?'
"However, those they intended to anger, became only confusion. And wide eyed, our fathers saw opportunity. As those brutes, of runt heads, thunk, and thunk, Our fathers began amoving. And upon them, stuck, trapped, trapped within.
"In those days we used stones, and we took them to theirs. Their threat had, at first, enangered us, and without lesser than men would have been stuck. As our greatness was realized, anger subsided, our grins cracked the earth, sport was found in taking that beneath us. And we smiled, and we thanked them for this opportunity totake. And dogs scraped clean their skulls."

Will return all critiques... all feedback welcomed, thanks for reading

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Thank you, friend, i will try again and the next time i promise to blow you, away

>How. Much. For. The. GIRL??"
Just horrible

I like the description of Mister Sepulveda and the conversation. Is it supposed to be comedic? Personally I think a more neutral approach to the comparison of the church to a sports arena would be funnier (without the "suspiciously') since I don't think the audience needs to told that there's something iffy about that. Is there any point to the description of his hand as "muttony" and her hair as silver? "It's the most important work of Literature of the twentieth century." is not the kind of thing I can imagine anyone saying outside of Veeky Forums. They talk like white trash yet live in a gated community and apparently know who Halcyon is, which seems anachronistic, my family personally had both near white trash and relatively well of parts, and the well of people, though right-wing, went about it noticeably different, though my family only really lived in the midwest and south florida, so I suppose it could be different in the so I suppose it could be different, but I really can't imagine anyone like that not being at least somewhat liberalized. The gated community they lived in was also hardly what I'd call "formidable", but again that's just anecdotal. Highly trained Mexicans is pretty funny good job. This is getting pretty in-congruent so I'm just gonna stop for now.

A story I just started... psuedo-bio, and am trying to be unpretentious, since that's how my writing usually is and I'm trying to grow out of it:
>There’s a past of mine, sepulchered in my mind, and all I have are vignettes.
>I, similar to most people, am unable to recall my birth. I know the year and date, but I have no idea of the day or time. I have fragments here and there after that day, where I was puerile and annoying, as all children are in those young years. Now, there’s a fragment of a day in my tattered memory that’s lurid. But my words shall be less of what lie in my mind…

A good horse he says neigh roughly zero times a day
A broken clock is right a few more times than that they say
and you have said a thousand times there’s nothing left for you in me

An elephant train wreck, the circus rolls into our town
Last minute told I’m the main act, thank God I’ve got it down
I curl up in a ball, begin embracing for the fall

The ringmaster exclaims I have for sure seen better days
He lights the wick, the time it ticks, the crowd counts ecstatic
I’m sent into the sky a kinder altitude up high

No one to laugh and scream in sight, no one prays my demise
But as I come back down I start to hear those bellow sounds
The tent colours arise and you are nowhere left in sight

I like it but you keep repeating days too much.

dem tits tho

Whats the deal with 4 threads about the same topic?

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Unironically asking, how do you think OP's pic is attractive? I think it's mildly off-putting if anything, a parody of human proportions.

thanks for your input mary-anne :)

what's a good book to learn to critique a literary work?

Thanks for the excellent feedback! Yes, this is the beginning a comic novella.

I'm completely ignorant of Texan culture. I picked it as a setting for part of the book because I wanted somewhere conservative, where Christianity is still a big part of the every-day culture. I didn't give Laura and Rachel too much twang, did I? I just wanted a slight accent- but, on second thought, maybe I just got it wrong. I know a few Texans and they don't have any accent.

pastebin.com/CnNexANJ

Is nonfiction okay? I'm writing a series of articles on India's history and would like some general feedback.

In 1923 there were over a thousand Hindus studying in England, presumably an equal number in America, perhaps an equal number elsewhere.

They marveled at the privileges enjoyed by the lowliest citizens of western Europe and America; they studied the French and American Revolutions, and read the literature of reform and revolt; they gloated over the Bill
of Rights, the Declaration of the Rights of Man, the Declaration of Independence, and the American Constitution; they went back to their countries as centers of infection for democratic ideas and the gospel of liberty.

The industrial and scientific advances of the West, and the victory of the Allies in the War, gave to these ideas an irresistible prestige; soon every student was shouting the battlecry of freedom.

In the schools of England and America the Hindus learned to be free.

These Western-educated Orientals had not only taken on political ideals in the course of their education abroad, they had shed religious
ideas; the two processes are usually associated, in biography and in history.

They came to Europe as pious youths, wedded to Krishna, Shiva, Vishnu,
Kali, Rama. Then they touched science, and their ancient faiths were shattered as if by some sudden catalytic shock. Shorn of religious belief,
which is the very spirit of India, the Westernized Hindus returned to their country disillusioned and sad; a thousand gods had dropped dead from the skies. Then, inevitably, Utopia filled the place of Heaven, democracy became a substitute for Nirvana, liberty replaced God. What had gone on in Europe in the second half of the eighteenth century now went on in
the East.

Sorry I formatted it like shit. Copied from my Google Doc and thought I had it right.

>dat literary feel when no gf

>voice is meant to be desperate but first line of dialogue is casual and does not convey desperation
>spews from my throat, live the rest of her life rotting are both awkward and clunky phrases
>brow furrows despite us being told already he was angry
>tone of the punk changes with every line of dialogue he speaks
>gramps asks him to listen to reason then provides no reasons
>ending
>story becomes retroactively nonsensical for the sake of a cheap twist
>why is a ship captain a punk
>selling boat spaces???
>grandpa didn't even try very hard, he just argued with one guy for a few minutes
>plague-saoked
>numb eyes
>So FUCK!

honestly 0/10

I posted this in the other critique thread, there was an user who wrote a story about an ambassador getting shitcanned who wanted to exchange emails, if you read this, I'm down, just post your info and I'll check back in a while.

youtube.com/watch?v=GDXYzUlv0S8

>our quarantined, plague-soaked island.
this annoys me more than anything, that's such a specific thing to include like an obvious issue
>oh you know, one of those western islands we quarantined because of plague

>how much for the girl
about tree fiddy

I lost the piece of paper I had written the other two stories on and just found it so now I can post it. well actually I just forgot I was gonna post these two, but THEN I lost the paper, so I'll just pretend I had an excuse

PASSAGE TWO "Interment"

The task of the pit was accomplished with the use of handful of crude adhoc instruments, sturdy branches, available and conveniently shaped rocks, but the shoulderblade provided for the majority share of work invested. A shallow depth and otherwise dimensions were achieved, but not to say unsatisfactory, but'infact quite happily gave into its purpose, approximately one meter deep left a sturdy foundation to contain and exclude, within and without. 3 and 4 individuals worked the earth over the late morning towards late afternoon, with appropriate ritual, rest, and duty pursued intermittently until their final rest came. Stones were removed only shortly and placed along the edges of the pit, ensured and held grounded by mud and dirt taken from within and without the pit. The gravebottom was overclayed and burnt, to provide and solid flat surface to lay the body to rest.
To aid in his passover buried with him were several possessions of common. He was kept wrapped in his coat of fur, they would not bare the sight of him so cold. So to they covered his feet, and warmed them, and too his head, he was covered headtotoe. A string of canines, which ran from the sharpest to the most ground and molded of the teeth, was placed under his jaw. A partially modified bone, more cutbroken and crude towards its base, was placed in his left hand. Ahandedtool was given'into his rightwardpalm, to'aidin thereafter.
RedOchre was wiped across his temple, and under his eyes, and so too was the earth spread around him, encompassing him.
And that was that.

holy...I want pancakes...

>it's an excerpt from an already published book
???
why did you waste my time with this

The moment I posted it, it was like something de-retarded in me and every "day" stood out like a naked aspie I fucking swear.

Do you have any ideas as to what I should do? There are times where I can cut it out altogether, but otherwise I feel like rhythm is lost if I use synonyms.

>Voluptuous latina jezebel posting

Keep them cumming son

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This.
Also cuddling after sex with a girl you enjoy the appearance and some aspects of her personality at least, is God-tier human relations experience to have.

It was an old story. During the early days of the world, long before the Valkan Empire existed and the invading hordes were driven out, war was constant. Blood tinged the rivers, while nightmarish creatures killed everything in their path. Many mages tried to conquer the chaos, but all failed.
Without alternative, the races of the world prayed to the Void – The ocean of possibility that lies beyond the mortal realm. They prayed and prayed, but the Gods were long silent. Destruction was a fate that seemed inescapable for all. Yet, before the greatest battle of that age, three voices echoed a reply heard across all the lands.
“Do you wish to claim this world? We will give it to you.”
“We ask for a very simple thing.”
“Let us make a contract. For this world, you must give us an apprentice for the path of Godhood.”
The world accepted, and offered their greatest general to the voices – Ozir Valkan. At that moment, everything changed forever.

I heard a familiar voice behind me and turned and there she was. She gave me a hug and we talked for a minute, seconds really. Then we said goodbye, fading back into obscurity in each other's minds.

And isn't it kind of like a death? Don't you go through all of the same stages? When you realize that a friendship has died. You deny it at first. Try to hang on. Make phone calls at three in the morning just because you cannot accept that it's over, that this connection you had you will never have again. You try to cling to any fabric of the relationship that may still be alive.

And after you realize that it's gone and not coming back, don't you mourn it? Dont you get the same sinking feeling in your stomach that eats at you when you think about it. A different place in time when things were simpler, wouldn't you give anything to have it back?

And after you've mourned dont you accept it. Do you see it for what it was and look back and enjoy those memories, even if some of them were too painful to put into words? Isn't that what happens when someone dies? We think at the onset that it's the worst thing we will ever deal with, and then years later have a hard time even remembering the details of that persons laugh or smile?

It is such a curious thing for me, to sit here talking to you today, almost two decades removed from the last chapter in this story. I look back at it and I know that at the time this story seemed so important. This person was such a significant part of shaping my life. But today I can barely remember any of the words we spoke to one another. How does life change like that? and seemingly over night.

If you were to talk to fifteen year old me, and told him this story what would he say? Would he believe you? Would he try to change it? Would that event throw my life in a different trajectory if he did try to change it?

You never really think about it at the time. Will this be the last time I have a meaningful conversation with this person who I have known half of my life? If you did know, what would you say? And why does it happen anyway? Is it time, dates, appointments, schedules. Is it part of growing up, or the shift from one era of your life to the next that you can't recognize until you are removed from it and looking at it with a different set of eyes?

This thing, it happens to us all. Our lives completely change before our eyes but we can't see it happening. What ever innocence I had was slowly dying and the harsh realities of the world were starting to close in on me. 9/11 put the last nail in the coffin and none of us knew it at the time but the world that this story took place in was gone, and a new one was born. Maybe that's why this story is so special to me. It's the last reminisce I have of a world gone by. It's the last connection that I have to an age where things were simpler where I was simpler.

A world where you couldn't connect with anyone in the world instantly. A world where you actually had to have conversations with people to get to know them, instead of just looking at a facebook profile and commenting on their statuses. A world where if you picked up the phone you were committed, committed to having something to talk about. Where you couldn't just send a one sentence text to your friend to keep in touch. A world where you remembered phone numbers in your head and didnt just having them stored on your phone.

Maybe it's all these things put together that made us care about each other more than we do today. Whatever it is, in this shift of eras we've all lost something. And just like my friendship with this girl, that something we lost is never coming back. We can deny it, we can mourn it but in the end we have to learn to accept it, and just like how we deal with the loss of a friend either through death or the passage of time we have to be able to look back at it and be thankful that we were able to live it.

Please tell this is copypasted bait, I don't want to believe someone somehow managed to be on Veeky Forums and write this without a hint of irony.

I wrote that like 2 years ago

It's the last page or so of my coming of age love affair with a troubled girl in a different era story.

The whole story seems to be telling you the story of the girl and guy but really this is a metaphor for our youth and how it passes us by with out us even knowing that it has

So everything you decided to base your book on are normie "deep thoughts XD"? None of these things are insightful.

I expect that you are a millennial and never knew the joy that was the 90's. I pitty you

I the 90s were garbage, it was just plastered that vomit inducing orange and horrible 3d, the fact that you're also a walking r/90sKids meme makes it significantly less surprising that you based your book on "wisdom" boomers give to their kids or grandkids who are in grade school.

Sincerely, I pity you

Says the person who can't even be honest anonymously

You will never know the joy of going over to a friends house and hearing offspring or weezer for the first time and having never heard anything like it b4. You don't get to have that and it's sad.
You'll never know about taking a girl to a mom and pop vidya store and Walking the aisles and getting candy and finger banging her on your couch you'll never know what it feels like to talk to someone on the phone for hours at a time about nothing. You'll never know about skipping school to go to lunch at the bar by your school and knowing the owner so he lets you drink, or tripping balls on mushrooms and doing doughnuts on the baseball feilds. You didn't get to beta test chat rooms. You didn't get to be the first generation of kids to fuck random girls from 2 towns away that you met in one and could never imagine that happening just a year before. You'll never be able to pull papers off the internet and turn them in in college b4 they were able to scan them. You missed out guy. Get over it.

Honest about what exactly?

You will never know what it's like to have a triple digit IQ
Anything, I certainly wouldn't describe justgirlthings tier philosophy "honest"

I made my way to a hedge which stood on a small hill above a lake. The clicking noise was coming from beneath it. I stood behind the hedge and looked over in the direction of the noise. There was a girl in a bright yellow dress with black pigtails stapling the body of a small man to a tree. The man was naked and had great antlers protruding from his forehead like a stag. The girl would stretch his skin and press a staple gun against the flesh. She would then press the trigger and the clicking noise would commence. Though I was unable to hear it from afar, the man let out a yell that sounded like a groaning bull as he was stapled to the bark. He was stretched out like a deflated balloon against the tree, but there was no blood. I stood in terror watching the girl. I knew it was Sammy.

One day you will wake up and be fourty and you will remember this conversation. And you will realize the things that you give value to today are now meaningless to you. You will think of past relationships, deaths, you will remember friends that were your whole world in your youth and you won't remember why. You won't remember why you don't talk to them anymore, you won't even remember any of the thousands of words that you said to them. You will realize that even if you did try to talk to them again or rekindle an old flame they would not be the same person and neither will you. You will notice that little things that you enjoyed in your youth are completely gone and you will realize that you did not appreciate them as much as you should have. And it will make you sad and you will miss it. And you will look for something that someone wrote about these feelings and you will find it and you will read it and it will make you happy

>you will remember friends that were your whole world in your youth and you won't remember why.
No I won't because I don't have any friends and very few if any acquaintances have been very important. Do you really think this is profound? You're basically just saying "dude yolo" but covered in utterly terrible prose. You're basically just regurgitating what everyone's grandpa tells them except instead of it being a genuine and meaningful interaction with insight into actually interesting or thought provoking experiences you are just evoking your McMemories™ and making McAllusions™ to McMoments™ like Mc9/11™.

The story is saying the exact fucking opposite of yolo. Yolo implies to live life to the fullest, live young die fast. The story is saying it doesn't matter it's saying that even if you do yolo when you were young when you're old it's not the yolo experiences that you are going to look back on with fondness. Bc you change and your sensibilities change. It's saying it's the insignificant things that the young yolo you would never give a flying fuck about. But if you did embrace those things the old you probably wouldn't think of them as fondly and would have seen it as a waste of time. It's saying it doesn't matter, that there are things that you will miss and more than likely you aren't going to know what those things will be bc if twenty year old you and fourth year old you were in a room together you probably wouldn't even like each other.

To your 9/11 point things were already starting to change b4 9/11. But the towers going down were the end, the slamming of a door, and no one realized it. It's like we went to sleep in one world and woke up in another the next day. Like an alternate timeline. We didn't realize it right away but slowly started noticing changes until one day 15 years later we are like holy fuck this isn't even the same timeline when did that happen. For me and others around my age that's what happened to us. I understand that you don't get it. You never really lived in the other timeline, but it existed and I am here to tell you about it.

That chick looks like she would nothing more than to dive into the jaws of a shark. Dead eyes.

At the gates of Hell I meet the man I could have been

He shakes my hand with a perfect grin

“Look at you so meek, so low

Couldn’t even strike a blow

You raged against your prison walls

Lamented all your faults and flaws

Stumbled your way to cremation

Never realized they were your own creation.”