Critique Thread

The critique thread is dead, long live the critique thread. I'll return the favor to as many people as I can, minimum of ten. Here's a prose poem:

The only west left is the north. Tom Waits For Death By A White Man's Fire Built From The Crossties Of An Abandoned Railroad, He Has A Handle Of Old Crow, Half In His Bag And Half In His Gut, And He Has A Gun, Eighteen Rounds For The Bears, One For The Heartache, And One For The Sky. God if I have to die you have to die.
Well, ants keep slaves and orangutans can paint. And you're lying through your yellow teeth saying you never seen a dog hate. The stars, have you seen the naked stars, have you really seen beyond the white picket graveyards? Go ahead and hang yourself from your calendar and say with the humility of a strip mall's skeleton it makes you better. Go ahead. The cowboys are dead and whores wear their skin, but there's some indians left. They've got the Native American Flu and it has a big sloppy with poison glue stamp "Made In Real America" but they'll be okay, they'll be okay, they never stopped fighting and the cowboys are dead and the borders too will die with time.
The only west left is the north, and the gold is really what the poets said in song, black and corrupting and bubbling up from hell, it pollutes more than men's souls. The miners will rush, and they'll come in chains, they always come in chains, slaves selling themselves for a chance to own slaves, they always come in chains. The aspen will tremble and the snow will melt, ants keep slaves and orangutans can paint, the aspen will tremble and the snow will melt, we're the only apes that kill ourselves. The west was never the west and what an idea to build myth from direction, but the north hasn't been paved yet and wilderness lives in the cracks of eastern asphalt and the stucco palaces of the west will crumble into film and song.
The West Was Never The West And Tom Waits Patiently For Death By The Embers Of A Fire He Watches The Stars Slowly Get Dressed And Tongue Kiss Him Goodbye With A Red Sunrise, You Go Your Way And I'll Go Mine, I've Been Following The Highway West And It's Worked For Me So I'll Go Where It Curves With A Quarter Handle Of Old Crow And A Gun With Nineteen Rounds. The only west left is the north.

Other urls found in this thread:

pastebin.com/beLNgEgN
warosu.org/lit/thread/S6354505#p6359268
docs.google.com/document/d/1DBFvEY263U3K9Y5ICqtGBXkHzL3W7Kfh4O5_AxM3EmY/edit?usp=sharing
docs.google.com/document/d/1pcsemdtqhQkfRkxXW01E5ikgFDIwJxv7XNsCV_Brz-g/edit?usp=sharing
pastebin.com/Tz4YfyMN
pastebin.com/FWuWnR21
pastebin.com/myZgbFdw
twitter.com/AnonBabble

here is my review of bloodmeridian

(final countdown intro plays)

bloodmeme ugh, this book was written by corncob tortillas YeCarthy.
I could blame Veeky Forums for making me read this, but I have no one to blame but myself. I wondered what all the memes were about and gave it a shot.
what I found out was, it's a meme for a reason.
it's a book about riding horses. it's about spitting. maybe occasionally killing some injins and taking their hair. then it's about getting wasted and partying.
3 quartets of the book is just about scenery and riding horses. they rode on and on and on and spat and ate some tortillas and spat and rode on and said ye.
corncob describes a lot of nice Vistas that I can't imagine because I'm not a pleb. so basically I could have skipped to the last 70 pages or so when the unkillable outlaw band somehow gets ambushed and all killed. yay it's not boring anymore. blah blah skip to a few years later. oh yeah the judge. he's some guy that's all smart and bad and stuff. well him and some kid meet up again. this is where corncob tortillas YeCarthy let's you chose the ending. it's like a puck your own adventure. wtf happened. who knows. this is what I think happened. I fucking hope you read this book or this review isn't for you. well some shit goes down with a bear and some girl and I think the kid rapes the girl, fuck I don't even know I wasn't really paying attention. well the judge don't like that to much and he challenges the kid to a game of blackjack. the kid bets all his chips on red and loses. he gets pretty pissed so he flips the chess board and pieces go flying everywhere and one actually hits the judge. well the judge he don't like that to much. he stands up and yells habeeb it and socks the kid right in his keister. the kid yells out twinkiehouse and the judge pulls down the kids pants and sticks his flaccid penor in the kids bum. the judge thinks of Margaret thatcher naked and gets a huge boner. like a 6 foot boner and the kid explodes. that's when some dude walks in and is all like "woah fuck this shit I'm out of here".
then there's some blurb about some other shit on the last page that flew over my head cuz I'm retard.
so yeah if you like riding horses and actually subvocalize and picture shit in your head this book might be for you. I thought it was a right snore fest. fuck you /lit for memeing into reading this. I got tortilla'd and I'm a stupid corncobber fuck

So I've been writing a bit, need some input. Two part post, here's (1/2).

You know, I never got why people question other people’s affection for them. When I was in senior year of high school, I got to know this girl, let’s call her Red for now. So Red was known by everyone as a bit of an airhead, but there was more to her than that, she was intelligent but didn’t really show it. Of all the things I loved about her, beyond the beautiful bust, slender hourglass figure, elegant branch like arms and hands like those fancy ladies who wear the white gloves in 30’s era movies, y’know? Beyond the cute face, of all the things that made her such a babe, her hair was what brought it all together.

She had this beautiful, drop dead gorgeous, soft flowing hair that went to just the top of her butt. It was something in between a brown and reddish color and had volume like cotton candy. Everything was just right about it, and I’d play with it when I sat behind her in class, seeing how I was a dunce who couldn’t figure out she might have had an interest in me. My teacher would get mad and joke about how we can go on a date later, focus on the work for now. You know why I didn’t ask her out? Because I couldn’t fathom why she’d have an interest in me. I was a year younger than the other guys in my class, wasn’t driving and going out, didn’t have the money for it, didn’t have all the friends, I was just a chubby kid who was sort of scholastic for the sake of attention and acceptance. Kind of like those fat people who do nothing but joke around with everyone because they know they’re fat shits that no one likes to be around, they hate themselves for it and overcompensate.

Anyway, it all came to an end at prom night. I asked the DJ to play one last Spanish tango song, I had practiced a lot to dance with a partner. She was there on the dance floor, everyone else leaving, and she was looking back with this desire to dance. She really wanted to just dance to that one song, and I was there, and I knew how. I was finally going to dance with the girl of my dreams, this funny, angry, god-like Bolivian beauty from suburban New Jersey. And you know why I didn’t?

(2/2)

Because she had every reason not to. There was no reason for someone like that to dance with someone like me. I was so afraid of the pain of getting shut down by this girl who I practically worshiped, I was so comfortable in my unknowing and excuses, that I watched her walk away onto the prom bus that shuttled us to the country club that night. Everyone had a good time. Everyone danced. Everyone ate, laughed, joked, it was a night to remember for each and every person. The only difference for me, was that it was a night of learning. In that moment, when it seemed whatever Deity that was floating in the starts above had frozen hell and burned down heaven to make this perfect moment, I knew. I knew the truth of what I had done. And I felt pathetic.

When people say they live their life with no regrets, that’s gotta be an outright lie. I will always regret that. That will always scar me. There’s no rationalization you can make up to say it was a good thing. It was cowardice. It was being content with mediocrity. Then I realized I was no better than the welfare leeches and child pageant show mothers. Here I am, in all my egoism. Here I stand, scared and selfish. I loved that girl. I still do. And the thought of another man laying hands on her still opens old wounds every day. But that’s how I know I’m still alive, because I’m still hurting. I’ve stopped hurting once, and let me tell you, there’s nothing worse than not feeling anything. So if I had to choose between nothing and pain, give me pain. I’ll take it.

That was one of my first but many major life lessons, the truth of how people are. That deep, deep down, everyone knows their true nature, even if they use all the mental gymnastics in the world to run from it. An eight ball isn’t going to change that. A twelve pack won’t either. And wishing the past would change sure as hell ain’t gonna make the future a better place. That’s why people question it when you show them affection, because they know just how shitty they really are, but they’re scared you’ll see it too. They’re scared of having something then losing it again, because no one gets used to pain. No one gets used to being alone. Its human nature. So, if I could tell myself one thing from back then, it would be don’t question the shit that happens. Just live. Just act. Just move.


Just dance.

Well, I disagree but if you're trying to be funny I guess it could be depending on your delivery

what the fuck is prose

just a bump and a quick question. What's your favorite thing you've ever written?

Headless mannequins, my head reflected where their's should be. The impression of possible future selves scattering across my psyche like shotgun pellets. That old cliché film shot of the lonely, and or desperate person's head floating above a seemingly idyllic storefront tableau. Above me the vaulted ceiling sliced through with skylights beaming sun down onto tile thwacked with shuffling feet and the softly rolling wheels of floor scrubbers. All this background life, noise to the hypnotic cliff of possible futures set before me. The spectacle of the Paris arcades brought to xeroxed suburbia as the mall

Bump

I posted the start of this yesterday and got some great feedback.

Bit more of a short story I started yesterday, would appreciate any comments.

Here's a rough opening I'm thinking about using for my story. It starts with the main character, and this would be a flash forward. The whole book will take place over 30-40 years. Not sure exactly yet.

‘The gods have forsaken us.’ Nebiri could not help as the words whispered chillingly in his ear once he escaped the constricting imprisonment of thick, leafy vines and their army of guardian tree trunks. The words were of his birth mother’s voice, exactly as she had said them several warmings and freezings ago- before he had began his godforsaken pilgrimage of manhood. Nebiri had heard the stories of their people, of the gods, and of Ædin many times and he knew them well. Each passing freeze, a new passage was woven into the story’s fabric. And even those additions, Nebiri remembered all too well. The gods have forsaken us. He could never forget the masked despair peeking through his mother’s soft face as she spoke the words to him for the first, and last, time. For those words were the only new addition this rebirthing. Nothing else.

The prodding tremors and piercing glare carrying across the sky and his vision woke him back to the present. Behind the stream of fire hanging among the white clouds, a scarred sky is torn to the ground by dark plumes of black and grey. Several flocks of birds flee from the forest trees Nebiri had traversed. The screaming thunder radiated by the fireball likely made much nearby life scurry for protection. A demon. Nebiri falls to his knees, the drying grass lightly scraping his black skin, and he weeps. He weeps for his mother. At the shaman’s accuracy. He weeps for his people. And for the dry dirt beneath, the stained waters at home, and for the smoldering ruins along the horizon his sight, shadowed by the crimson sky and setting sun.

This had began as a trial to prove the gods had not yet abandoned Nebiri and his people. Two long years traversing the hellish woods and three lost brothers claimed by its timeless discipline in attempt to prove this. Pain and blood and heartache all endured in hopes of hope, by Nebiri. But now, none remained of his people other than him, and hope seems lost. He's become a hollow shadow carrying the spirits of those who sacrificed to endure and to be spared of suffering brought upon Ædin by the clamoring gods.

— Yeah, I just gotta wonder how my cousin’s doing. It’s his first time in the city, you know, you realize, you feel? You know how these things go.

— It’s not like I’ve ever not been from New York, yo.

— you got a cousin?

*

— Hey, you think you might be... in the wrong place?

Sven shrugs, puts on a great big grin, checks his lapel. A great pink-purple light shines overhead. From the nearest corner:

— I- is it because I say uh-oh-spaghetti-o whenever something goes wrong?

— No, honey, it’s... Yes...

— uh-oh-spaghetti-o...

Sven lifts his chin, assesses the situation, and decides that he must reconcile this most unfortunate conflict between two wonderful ladies. What a waste it would be to have them both go to bed angry!

Sven tightens his suspenders, loosens his collar, raises his pencil-thin tie. Sven approaches.

— Hallo, bövfh auf yü vfundervful vfimmen—

Silence.

Sven tries his hardest to relax his jaw. He really does try. He thinks himself excellent at it. His pronunciation is spot-on. He will get the best grades when he returns home. Now again:

— Hhhhaello, bofh auv yü hwündervfüll hwimmen—

The taller, black-haired one widens her eyes, hangs her jaw down for a moment, then turns and walks away. And good, never-discouraged Sven nods, flashes a wide smile, and says:

— Yyes. I ahm getting hyypph.

The nice, short lady, still here, tears pouring through her eyeliner, biting down on her index finger, barely acknowledges him at first. Then, almost explosively:

— What the fuck are you doing here? What the fuck? Who got you in here?

A tall tattooed woman in a tank top approaches, arms crossed, and begins to ask what the fuck’s the problem until she sees Sven. Then it’s just

— Oi! Whaddyadoinhere? Who told you you could be here? Huh? Who said this okay? Your momma never warned you about us? Oi—

And another spectator sees what’s going on and joins in, and another, and another. And just like that, good Sven is surrounded. He stretches his smile further and further until he can stretch it no more, at which point he eases into a frown. He leaves with a few stains and tears in his perfect jacket—oh, he must see a good tailor one of these days!

Sounds like some nerd shit. Ain't with it.

The tone, the style, the subject matter all scream "adolescent." You're not deep, you're borderline insufferable. At least you don't have any blatant mistakes.
Read more, and read past that Russian golden age that you bow down to so much. Vary your reading. Think outside the angst. It'll be good for you.

One easy stylistic error to correct, at least: don't go crazy on the descriptive terms. They sound like filler at best, purple prose at worse.

I don't get too possessive-like with my writing, but I've gotten a lot of positive feedback on this vignette:

pastebin.com/beLNgEgN

It's supposed to be part of a larger thing, but it stands on its own well enough. I dunno, yo. It may be a bit too self-contained.

Nothing imminently wrong other than some stumbly prose, some needless clauses and would-be-parenthetical-if-your-teachers-hadn't-told-you-never-to-use-parentheses insertions. Technically better than the rest of the thread, just a little faceless. Might work better in context.

Sort of a sensory overload, to the point where it becomes incoherent. Are you actually saying anything?

You can obviously write well, but you don't need to shove it down our throats like this. Emphasis on stream of consciousness, not gushing river.

You should vary the intensity of your sentences a bit more. Get a little more rhythm going here. You're clearly competent, but it feels a little asphyxiating -- like reading Jaden Smith tweets.

Agree with this guy.

Rough/unedited

He lurches to the toilet door, laiden, and even his shit smells like ash. This one could’ve ripped galaxies, must’ve been the vienna’s, they’ve definitely been downgraded to dog food now, not for human consumption. WHO are to blame(?). With the fire in his mind, he sees an animation of Vienna sausages dancing on a backdrop of resplendent fireworks (if they can be anything but) to something obvious, something plebian, like Beethoven’s 5th or the Overture with cannons.There was no bread tonight, so there was no metamorphosis, but it was not a night for Beaujoulais. No body or blood, only shit, fokken shit. His head tilted, and eyes try to pivot to a horizontal axis, damn near ripped the retinal vein, bounced back to the unlit cabin bathroom. He’d almost fallen asleep. Saxon snores and runs on parks past the beyond, tongue asail and banding.

This smoked night will be short.The bed will be the oblivion for a shattered body, and the host to dreams of dew and petrichor; phatasma take him to the virgin trees of Meghalaya, so it may be wet for him, away from the Black Country’s vivid, but misplaced carnality that only ever wore him down, the son of a thousand wetlanders with no turgor.

5 o’clock and time couldn’t be faster, SNOOZE seems to turn back on a moment after it’s pressed. No milk; cereal is better dry than with water. Coffee isn’t. Saxon avid. The morning’s sky has exhaled a tawny atmosphere off a cheap fag backend, found it in the vineyards, dropped by a worker, you can taste the newspaper in the air. Was that sports section or properties? Turn it round and let me give you blow-back, copper in your teeth, algae flames, take your smog and filth back into the dustbin of space. Oscar’s cigarette leaves him shaking, it was too early, leaves him fragile, but he doesn’t feel rested, like the caucus of the night merely took an interim, passing out in the ditch, with the world spinning.

The ground is tough, baked clay and the trees at the bottom of the hill don’t quiver, but wait, sentinel and stern, ancient genomes far less polluted than the ‘higher’ forms. Fruit will be bountiful next year, if the tree still stands here at day’s end, something hormonal - a signal - has been issued and soon the air will be filled with pollen, a preemptive (not premature) ejactualtion into our ether, this one will be the new climax, because danger is here and this never ending chemical reaction will not be brought back to entropy.

I don't know what you're going for. Stylistically, it's more self-assured than the rest of the thread, the frequent comma-conjoined run on sentences aside. The biggest issue is just that there isn't much going on. It's tempting to dodge subject matter because it's too restrictive or cliched or whatever, but it isn't much fun to read afterwards.

Like come on.
>The bed will be the oblivion for a shattered body, and the host to dreams of dew and petrichor; phatasma take him to the virgin trees of Meghalaya, so it may be wet for him, away from the Black Country’s vivid, but misplaced carnality that only ever wore him down, the son of a thousand wetlanders with no turgor.
It's clear that you know better, so why do you write sentences like this? Drop a fucking period here and there.

i just want to see if the prose isn't running away with itself. not saying anything profound. thanks for the advice

It isn't quite running away but it's on the edge. Practice being succinct for awhile, especially if you don't like it, and strike a happy medium.

Just an idea I had this morning, how could my writing being improved?

missed out a word after crimson, should be 'smeared onto'

Bump?

Any good books on metric? I saw a few the other day but can't find them.

the other reply is wrong about the lack of errors - the mistakes really trip it up. For example, the second sentence needs a hyphen instead of a comma, and "a bit too late" in second to last should either be in quotations, italicized, etc. Aim for more neatness.

I tell you what boys, now you brought me in I'm welling up. What you got to realise, we're five points clear, I've been a season ticket holder for near enough 20 years, I moved to Wales, and I've seen Robbie, I've seen Muzzy, and I've seen Lennon, right? This is the first time, the first time that I've ever seen anything like what I've seen this season. This season is just unbelievable pal, and I mean that Robbie. With all due respect Robbie, loved you to bits, loved you to bits, but I tell you something: Kante, Drinky, and all the boys, are putting it on the next level, and it shows in the league table. We're now five.. hang on a minute.. we're now five clear, five points clear.

I went to Atletico Madrid, I went to Red Star. I have brung my son up, when he was in school, "oh Manchester United, Manchester United, Arsenal, Liverpool, Manchester United, Arsenal, Liverpool" and I.. I stuck by my guns, I said "listen sunshine, wear the fox, wear the blue.. wear the fox, wear the blue, we will come through." And all of a sudden my son's turned round and said to me and looked me in the eye today - looked me in the eye - and turned round and said to me "Dad, Dad.." Amazing. Absolutely amazing. He's seen players, he's seen class players, like Robbie, l-like.. oh, honest to God..

Now, tell me.. you cannot, you cannot, you cannot tell me we have not got a chance of winning the league Robbie. And listen, th-this is.. I grew up with you Robbie. You cannot tell me, you cannot believe we cannot win the league, please.."

I'm thinking about sending this into a short story contest. THoughts?

...

Pretty cool stuff, might want to turn it down with the swearing though, but that's just my opinion.

Title: In Honour of Hillary Rodham Clinton, My First and Only Girlfriend.

I.
You wont read this,
I didn't even post feedback
To anyone else.

II.
Fuck fuck
Fuck the cuck.
If Donald Trump wins the US Election
I don't know what I'll do
(I truly don't - I don't think that far into the future)
Ever.

I live in the moment.
Like at the moment,
I'd fuck the living shit out Hillary
Just to say I'd done it.

Does anyone else think Rodham
Was kinda hot in her twenties?
Like not hot hot, weird hot
The kinda girl you fuck
Because truthfully you're desperate
And you can't pull anyone hotter hot
But justify to yourself by saying
Maybe she'll be President one day hot?

III.
I forgot to rhyme in this poem
But fuck that, T.S. Eliot doesn't do that shit

All those Modernist poets
Were super creeps.
Not like me.

IV.
[Redacted]

V.
Last night
I dreamt of kissing the girl
Who sits next to me in my Anthropology tute

I dreamt we went to the park near uni
And drunk vodka out of a water bottle

We got drunk so quickly
And started making out
And as she lay on top of me
I could feel
My arm reaching around her waist
And it was tiny and delicate.

Her lips felt so real,
And kissing her felt just like kissing a girl in real life.

When I woke up, I thought:
"My memory of this dream feels just as 'real' as any memory I have of a real life event,
So in a way, my dream is no less real than actual reality."

And then,
"So that means that everything that happened in that dream
Really did happen
If I convince myself enough"

And I thought,
"This is the saddest thought I think I've ever had."

Sorry, missed part 3 and 4

...

You can't. Want to know why? Because I just sent this myself and claimed it was mine and there's nothing you can do about it. Thank you for your work, by the way

I'm proud of you...


...son.

Spot on mate. It reminds me a bit of Irvine Welsh. I think if you used less commas it would read faster and fit the bloke better

Oh also, the title is accordion. Its the name of the ship.

plz respond

I don't even why you'd quote the post just to say 'sounds like nerd shit'.

I liked the first half, didn't care much for it after he died.

Found this today from several months ago and decided to fix it up. pls no bully

Very enjoyable m80. After few paragraphs I even muttered to myself "the edge!" but I love characters like that.

Hard to judge from such a small sample m8. Is it fallout fanfic?

Thanks for your input thouh!

It's not a fallout fanfic though I was cautious in my use of "ghoulish". I'll try fixing up the rest at some point.

gonna try to extend this to 5 pages in order to make it make sense
any suggestions?

It didn't quite capture me and I couldn't figure out what you were trying to convey. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the word choice and the pleasant tone.

These are super short plays that I had to write for a class. The second one probably works better on screen than on stage. I had a character I used (I guess using, since I'm still rewriting) in a novel and I wanted to write about him some more, so I did a couple little stories about him in high school. The warosu link is an excerpt (as of now it's the opening paragraph) from the novel where I introduce the character.

warosu.org/lit/thread/S6354505#p6359268

docs.google.com/document/d/1DBFvEY263U3K9Y5ICqtGBXkHzL3W7Kfh4O5_AxM3EmY/edit?usp=sharing

docs.google.com/document/d/1pcsemdtqhQkfRkxXW01E5ikgFDIwJxv7XNsCV_Brz-g/edit?usp=sharing

by editing

This is decent. When I realized this was a heightened, "poetic" poem I was ready to zone out but it wasn't as tacky as most poems like this can be. You should delete the last two lines, or at least reword them. That penultimate line is extra clunky. The shift to past tense for stanzas 5 and 6 doesn't add much to the poem. Here's a sample rewrite of stanza 5.

>Light and shadow whirl
>as I squeeze my arms, hard,
>crying for your voice over the hill

My rewrite is still pretty shit. Worse than yours, I think. Poems like these are hard to do.

So, as a context for this, I have a gay friend who recently got expelled from my college for a second rape accusation from two people, the more recent one being a baseball player, and this is to be sung to the tune of "Devil went down to Georgia"

Randy went up to Winston, he was looking for a hole to steal.
He was on a find for a good behind, and he was willing to force a squeal.

Came across this young man, looking for a diddle and feeling hot,
Randy jumped on the first good chump, said, "Boy, I'd get in his cot."
Said "Bet you didn't know it, but I'm a baseball player too,
And if you care to make it fair, I'll take a nut from you.
You pitch pretty good ball, boy, but try my pitching too,
I'll let my diddle unfold inside your hole, because I bet it'll pleasure you.

The guy said, "My man's Jesus, and he said it's a sin,
I won't take your nut inside my butt,
No chance I'll let you in."

Randy do a bit of blow and prepare to diddle hard,
'Cause hell's broke loose inside your head and the young man's shown his guard.
And if you win you'll put your happy diddle in his hole,
But if you lose, you'll be disenrolled!

The young man opened up a case and said "let's get drunk bro,"
Pong balls flew from his fingertips as Randy was aglow,
And Randy put a hand upon his ding and tried to lay a kiss,
And his gland of semen started up and it went something like this.

When Randy started, the man said, "now why's your zipper so undone?"
"Lay down on that bed right there and I'll show you some good fun."

Mire on his mountain, run, boy, run!
Randy's gonna dowse and have his fun,
Dickin' poor man and lickin' his toes,
"Randy it's too tight," He smiled, "No."

Randy hid his head because he'd knew that he'd been seen,
And he knew he had to hold his diddle if he's to get out clean,
The court said, "Randy, you ain't coming back, and do no more cocaine,
We done told you once, then another snitched, we find you in disdain."

Mire on his mountain, run, boy, run!
Randy's gonna dowse and have his fun,
Dickin' poor man and lickin' his toes,
"Randy it's too tight," He smiled, "No."

Going to submit this to a magazine I think. Do you think I've got what it takes?

pastebin.com/Tz4YfyMN

pastebin.com/FWuWnR21

So this is relatively long and I don't expect anybody to read even half of it, but I've been editing this shit in and out for a month now and can no longer tell if it's any good or not. Would like to hear what people think.

i really like this. very brisk, and minimalist, compared to most styles i read and compared to how i write. i think this does a good job of showing not telling, but also not wasting time. i can learn a decent amount about the world and characters from what little is here. its cool m8.

This was hard to finish. I don't think four more pages would improve anything. Sorry.

no problem! any particular reasons you found it that way? I'm always curious about different perspectives.

thanks, I hope that by extending it (and then probably contracting it again) i can figure out exactly what i'm trying to say.

The characters and the situations are neato, but the writing is clunky throughout. Get someone smart to mark this up. I don't feel like going line by line since it's pretty long but just some examples

>Earth's glow used to be mesmerizing
How about "Earth's glow once mesmerized" or something?
>towards the airlock
minorly triggering and most people won't care but I prefer toward instead of towards
>Ivan unlocked the heavy door, and then hit the opening switch.
How about "Ivan opened the door after unlocking it" or something. Mine isn't much better but it's definitely clunky as you have it.
>a loud clanking noise
Clanks are loud noises. Just say "a clank" or something.

Syntax doesn't really match the tone. Get rid of all your commas and half your periods.

Whoaaaa, this motherfucker coming straight out the gate with a simile that doesn't even make sense and then he keeps doing it three times after that!

Then he just won't get to the point, IT'S POETIC, GET IT, WORLD WAR 2 WAS HELL DIDN'T YOU KNOW THAT?

DEX WAS 20, AND HE DRANK, WAR WAS HELL MAN.

Then there's this guy who gets good cards in poker and he's got a lot to say about it, wanna know why? Cause War is hell and this man is jaded nigger, war jades people if you didn't know that.

BING BANG PEW CACHOO, but I make fun of myself during so it's not bad to write it this way.

===

But honestly if you were going towards a Tom Clancy market I do think you could have quite the success.

If you want the story to be better I'd suggest just toning it down, the whole thing is overwrought as fuck start with just saying what you mean every now and again.

I just can't get on board with your figurative language. It all feels so stilted and cliche. What would this look like if Hemingway wrote it? Not saying minimalism is always better than purple prose, but pretty much every simile or metaphor in here gives me diarrhea.

Too TriHard, then I think. Can't even disagree with you guys. I just need to do some surgery and cut chunks out. It is really overloaded. At one point it wasn't such a piece of shit. Back to the drawing board, I suppose. Thanks for the honest feedback

I'd probably think this was clever if I did it but if the whole point of your poem is to be clever it should be more clever. That's too obvious to be useful critique. Shit. Everything before part 5 is shit. If you were just smarter with your wording and the jokes landed it would be okay. Like I see what the joke is supposed to be in all of them but they just fall flat.

To be totally honest friend although the prose was purple it wasn't fucking nauseating, I think it's pretty clear you've got talent you're just getting caught up in the whole thing being perfect or impressive.

Too try hard you are right. Just be a chill cunt, let it flow and let whatever talent you actively apply take a more passive role. Think about efficiency rather than impressiveness.

I'm not getting any critique and it's probably cuz I didn't post crit. To be clear, these critiques are me

(if that's not at all the reason why I'm not getting crit I understand. It was probs dumb of me to put 3 links in one post)

This is almost good but it isn't. I think you will get there. The "my head reflected where Thiers should be" is really clumsy. Think about it, my arm reflected where the amputee's arm should have been: the syntax is extremely inelegant. Don't give up, it takes a love of language to have written what you have, and that love can be turned into a mastery.

1

2

forgot to attach image

last one

Not a problem m8, what do you think?

Best thing I've seen here in a long time. Just keep writing and developing your voice.

Yeah I enjoyed it, pretty #relatable 2bh.

No it's very bad. You are silly.

okay. this is good advice, thank you, i think it's just going to take time for my prose to move from insufferable and pretentious to decent. at least i have no delusions about how bad it is

Thank you for the very helpful critique with my poem ("Plz respond"). It is of *rare* quality for this board.

The Warosu paragraph is Hypersphere/TLoTiaT tier. I really hate this kind of writing, I always feel like writing should help us get out of the meme space, but a lot of folks want to capture or say something about the meme space it seems.

You can probably guess how I feel about Kolsti Nguyen from that. It looks like a play, I don't think it's actually a play though.

This is from the second chapter of a novel I'm making slow progress on.

Thoughts?

>envision, conceive

Don't do this. Make me see it, don't fucking tell me to.

Thanks for the response, m8. My first in the thread. Just wondering what you thought about the plays. The warosu paragraph has been posted here so much (mostly not by me) that I wasn't even looking for critique of that and it was a mistake to post it. What did you think of the plays? My name's on it because it's a class assignment but what would you think of them if le parentheses meme teen didn't write them? That's probably a stupid question since authors are inextricable from their texts and the plays a play about a guy with a name like Phuc Stevenson probably makes more since when it comes from a guy with a name like Kolsti Nguyen, but work with me here.

which play do you think is better? I'll give a good read to either of them.

You seem pretty meme-averse (nothing wrong with that but that doesn't mean I can't aspire to write good lit that's vaguely memey) so you should go for the last link because it's pretty damn straight-laced.

I will definitely read it, will post review in this thread in next couple hours. It'll be here when you check back tmrw.

Okay. If you're worried that it's gonna be super arduous or imposing, remember that plays are formatted such that if they were in block text they would be about half the page count and this is only 8 pages anyway. That's still more than what I critiqued of yours but if you point me toward something else I'll do my best with it.

could be cleaner. I would do away with the very first sentence, as i feel it adds little. or simply say 'I looked out the car window'. Later, instead of silhouettes of the human form, i would just say 'people'. 'We were here ungraciously with no intention of staying long' I would change that to 'We would not stay long.' A lot of the language is just convoluted and uses more words than necessary.

McCarthy does it

Victorians did it

if mccarthy sucked dick would you do it, you little bitch?

She moans softly into her gag, as her boyfriend's cock pushes into her, feeling so big and thick. It must be how horny she's become, making her pussy so tight. Or maybe how horny she makes him, his cock getting so big and hard! All she can do is squirm against the tree, moving her hips, trying to wiggle down onto his cock, all to eager to be impaled on his long, thick fuckstick. Only happy to oblige, Futur thrusts up, until the nub of her swollen clit touches the base of his cock - cunt fully stuffed. He unbuttons his shirt, throwing it to the ground. Grabbing the bark either side of her head, he braces himself and pushes up hard. The noises she makes in her covered mouth are turning him on so much, urging him to pound her like the whore she is - tied up and waiting for cock. She must be such a filthy slut, ready to be fucked silly by anyone and anything. Bet she can't go out anywhere without craving cock, getting screwed by strangers.

What needs editing desu?

pastebin.com/myZgbFdw

First chapter of novel I'm working on

Very descriptive and vivid, but I feel like the poem is missing something, could have a bit more length to it, but as is the prose makes a nice statement.

I feel like this needs more humor. Reminds me of a story I always tell to my mates but less funny, yet it's very honest and stark. It pairs with the images you provided brilliantly. Just a nice story to tell around some beers with the mates.

Very boring, you make death seem like a middle school play. There's nothing really to learn and after the first set of descriptors it all just sort of plays itself out.

But I see potential in this story, I think it would be great if you held to that defeated expectations and had his fathers each tell him a story of mediocrity that just ends in defeated expectations. So that when the hallucinations end, and he surfaces to look at the 4:36 PM again, he reflects how what sort of story he would be able to tell his son as he dies.

That shit purple as hell son. Generally if you're going to open a fantasy story you don't start with demons and hellfire unless it's a neat ass piece of lore that gives the backstory to the story.

Not sure what you're going for, but you need a stronger start that can captivate someone to finish the absurdity.

You need more detail, I'm not really catching what we are and where we are. I'm just left asking questions and not getting answers through the story.

This is the most stylistic of what I read so far and also the worst. I like the clash of long sentence and quick neat ones, but I'm walking away with nothing, it's definitely rough but I don't honestly know where to push you to refine it the prose is so rough.

Space out your ideas more, not enough detail where it's needed, your story is bunched together, try separating each idea into a paragraph, or just rephrasing what you have. Sentence structure is pretty basic and I'm getting a very dull voice from the writing.

I really want to like this story but the writing is just clunky and a mess. Try reading through a thesaurus and finding new words to use. Or just experiment with new ways to make your sentences. The plot is engaging, but the writing is just distracting. Read some good poetry and look how it flows, then try and emulate that flow into your writing.

Stanza four, line 2 is awkward, doesn't flow right
Stanza five, line 3, same could be rephrased

Overall it's nice, but needs work. A bit overwritten, needs to flow more.

CAn't tell from what's givin but seems too fantastical to critique from such a small slice

Painfully overwritten friend. Try shortening' it into it's core ideas then extending it from there.

50 shades-tier. That means trash.

vaginas get a lot looser during arousal so this doenst make much sense

These are all very good critiques. You should do the rest of the thread.

aww jeez I guess

Here

10/10 This is fucking great, perfect flow perfect characterization, I love this.

This is pretty good, a tad over written in places but the characterization was solid. The flow muddied at times, like I said overwritten, but overall it was a nice experience and an enjoyable read. But not one I would do again.

NO ANDS IN POETRY, quickest way to kill the flow in a poem. Reduce your usage of the as well, this poem is too poetic to be this prose stricken. Take much of what you know of writing and throw it out the window when you start writing poetry, all that matters is scene and flow. Remove thens as well, Then is just an and that you didn't want to place.

Though when you're not murdering your pacing and flow there is some decent imagery and good setting.

Honestly reads like Cormac Mcarthy with none of his grace, The writing is great but find your own style.

I was waiting for the part where you stab her and dress yourself in her intestines you freaky shit. Then again that would be something interesting to read, not like you can manage that.

>tfw the best reviewer in the thread misses mine ;_;

Just on the bus m8 if you get mine I'm set on reviewing yours at home

Wow I'm sorry mate, glanced over it.

First and second paragraphs should be combined, take out the lead in to the second paragraph.
The pacing is remarkable, the characterization is a bit flat but this isn't a story that relies on it so much. I do like the plot, though my biggest complaint is at times the writing can be a bit overwrought.

I do like it, might just need a quick editing session, read it out loud and see if anything comes off awkwardly on the tongue.

Rehash of this sample from last night, I've had a bit more time this morning to add what I left off.

1/4

2/4

3/4

4/4

>Space out your ideas more, not enough detail where it's needed, your story is bunched together, try separating each idea into a paragraph, or just rephrasing what you have. Sentence structure is pretty basic and I'm getting a very dull voice from the writing.

Thanks for your critique user, I'll get to work on it

>find your own style

Not him but why is this necessary?

Called with hushed lips
Eyes wide as the apparitions appear
out the rain speckeled window I glimpse
a surreal world of golden hues and glimmering lights
and people I don't care to know
my screen reflects the moonlight of dancing elephants and flowers in utter amber
another sleepless night.

Literally the first poem I've written. I know it sucks but any constructive criticism?

Illegible garbage? Completely unreadable? A human experience nobody would want to read about?