If this is something Veeky Forums does I'd like to have this story critiqued, and maybe I could critique others.
Critique thread
Cooper Baker
Samuel Miller
page 2
Robert Kelly
>the lot
What lot? A parking lot?
Benjamin Reed
like the lot of them. Is that an antiquated expression or just stupid shit?
Caleb Murphy
like the lot of them. Is that an antiquated expression or just stupid shit?
Xavier Rodriguez
It's pretty bad, user: attention to sentence structure is nonexistent; it's riddled with redundancies, like "The walls stay shut for months on end, opening sporadically and offering a view of endless tundra. The walls themselves are covered with black mold and rise high enough to block the rising sun" and "They are in great shape, while I, small in stature and thin as a frame, grow only dimmer as the days roll in, the days roll on, and the days roll by," the latter being, because of how awfully it was executed, particularly offensive; and your diction is unbearably uninspired.
Jackson Torres
So the first example of redundancies I'm having a hard time grasping. Are you talking about the phrase, "The walls" or something else?
and further explanation as to why the latter was awfully executed.
Carson Campbell
I know it's not the best but I've been out of the loop with writing for such a long time and have been wanting to get back into it. Anyways,
Usually finding her sleeping on her side of the bed, tonight Mae sought refuge underneath the kitchen table, an arm stretched out like a bowman depicted in astronomy- with the exception of it being less graceful for the whiskey bottle held in her other hand. I'd be lying to say that I haven't caught her like this before or that I'm surprised that she's sleeping in places other than her bed- excuse me, our bed, but with midnight a few skips away I can't help but to worry.
Slipping myself down beside her I brush a hand in her hair until goosebumps take form. Being this close I can hear the strange stirrings that lingers on her breath. Sometimes I hear words and phrases that remind me of our old rendezvous, other times I hear names from friends new and old. As of late however the only name that clouded her dreams was of mine, which she repeated until her voice cracked like thin ice, then dwindled down into a soft whine.
After six months of my departure from the living I would've hoped that by now she would've sought companionship and gotten some type of closure but even Equinox's visits became less frequent and the man she has been seeing as of late, Boris, has a ghost trailing behind him as well. When the two meet their conversations always start jubilant enough to find entertaining but end sour, they usually brooding over their lost loved ones; Me and whom I've learned to know as Rosalia.
From what I have gathered from Mae's and Boris's chats Boris had married her when the two had barely entered adulthood, the thrill and excitement of being in a gang proved to be too strong for him to ignore and despite his wife's failing health Boris continued down his narrow spiral of sex and drugs until finally it was too late to save her. Sometime later he had cleaned himself up and now plays doctor while he drinks himself away with Mae and downs his daily pills of whatever concoction that'll be enough to get him buzzed for the day. I've shown enough disdain towards him to get Rosalia to silently threaten me with a glare a few times but nothing ever happens out of it. Even if we were alive I doubt she would've done anything as when I glare back she turns away like a dog with its tail tucked between it's legs and usually dissipates to whichever corner of the room she thinks I wouldn't be occupying. Occasionally we'll play cards together. I win more than lose but she takes it gracefully and when her companion leaves so does she without missing a step. Despite the two of us never exchanging a word to one another there's a silent respect between us and I find her visits a nice change of pace usually. Tonight however, was not one of those visits.
(1/??)
Chase Foster
lot of rambling going on here and the story's not very interesting, but that's not important; what's important is how you're doing. no one should have to be alone for this long. you should get involved in your local community. book clubs, local politics, weekly card game tournaments, it doesn't matter; i guarantee once you've acclimated to being around people again you'll feel a lot better!
Blake Taylor
I had saw her before I heard the knock on the door and by her face alone I could tell that this would not be a pleasant visit for either parties. Perching herself against the kitchen cabinets she lightly taps against the wood to grab my attention and meets me with an expression of apprehension, which I tilt my head to the side in response. This wouldn't have been the first time she has entered without her companion but if coincidence proved correct he was close behind, and more often than not on these blue moons he was pissed. A heavy bang that quaked the door proved my assumption right.
“Mae! Mae, Ve got business!”
His accent was so distinct that you had to have been deaf to mistake him for someone else.
“Mae!” he continued to call but soon fell silent. Thinking that he may have decided to leave until she was awake I exhaled deeply in relief only to flinch back up upon hearing the rattle of keys from the other side of the door. With a click the large Russian man had let himself in, as well as the stench of cheap liquor- if I had to guess it'd be Hennessy.
Although dead the only real sense you lose is touch and even then it's only lost about half way. I can still feel the softness of Mae's hair and the gentle breeze that flows through the kitchen window. I can feel the sunshine on my skin and I can feel my face flush when Mae gets undressed. I feel her heartbeat when she sleeps and I touch her tears when she cries. Only thing is, is that she cannot feel me back, at least not in the way that I would've wanted it. Instead of feeling my caresses all she experiences when I graze her skin is a cold wind- if I'm lucky that day. I do not have any control in the land of the living anymore and even when I do manage to stroke her the action is usually too taxing for me to wake the day after. One time however I did spy Rosalia stacking the loose change on her nightstand when my birthday came around, which I graciously thanked her for. When I threw her a look to ask her how she was able to move the coins she silently mouthed the word 'time', or at least that's what I was able to pick up. To this day I still have no idea what she could have meant with the phrase 'time'.
(2/??)
Henry White
lol are you talking to me?
Evan Jackson
Even in the dim lighting there was no mistaking that Boris was at least tipsy, but despite this an air of sobriety ghosted his movements. There were no dragging of feet on the floor nor an unsteadiness in his walking yet his breath wreaked with the scent of alcohol. I'm not sure if ghosts can get drunk for never have trying it but after some forethought if I were to inhale enough of his stench I'm sure I could've gotten buzzed- at least.
Mae seemed to have woken up but remained on the floor. Boris called once more from the door frame as I tried to nudge her up.
“Mae. Mae ve need to go.”
“Go? Go where? Th' only place I'm going is back to bed and you.” she held up a finger vindictively at Boris, her voice groggy and sounding burnt out from the alcohol she ingested the night before.
“You can go to hell.”
Sighing he pulls the chairs away from the table and hooks Mae by her ankle, tugging her body ungracefully into the dim lighting of the room with much protest from her and within a flash she lands a kick to the Russian's face. Normally finding these types of shenanigans of theirs entertaining both moods were clouded with their own sorrows and had no room to spare in the usual jokes. After noting Rosalia hiding her face in her hands it had became apparent that there were more serious matters for the two to attend to, and seeing how Boris hadn't reacted much to the blow only now was the somberness of the room addressed by me. Looking down at Mae it seemed that she too had also picked up on the room's atmosphere.
“Why're you here.”
“Ve need to go.”
“Where?”
“Come. Sit.”
(3/??)
Mason Edwards
Following his orders the two pull up a chair to the table. Mae fixes her bra strap as Boris lays the back of his palm to the table. “Let me see your arm.” Rolling her eyes she does as he says. It seemed by now Mae had grown accustomed to his check ups but I on the other hand find them intrusive every time. With each prod of a needle and poke with whatever instrument he feels is right at the time I can't help that my blood feels like its being boiled. When this had first began her face contorted uncomfortably under the cold metal he pressed against her skin but as time continued she had grown accustomed up until he had introduced the needles into play. Now that she has began to grow used to the needles only time could tell what the next step would be. I remember that the first night that this began I had gotten so mad I slammed a door shut. Both had simply blinked at one another and continued with the examination but I on the other hand had passed out right there on the spot. I don't think I woke up until the week after and since then I hadn't been able to repeat it. Now Rosalia tries to distract me from it by playing cards in the next room over but tonight she hadn't offered.
He checked her blood pressure, then her heart rate, respiration, and temperature. He stated all were normal yet still diligently wrote each bit of information down as he always did. I found it thoughtful at first that he had a notebook just for Mae and her health records up until I had read them when he left a page open while he was passed out.
He had been experimenting on her.
(4/??)
Evan Murphy
By now I'm sure she had became aware to this all, and despite him explaining that this was all to cure the chronic illness she had been diagnosed with as a child all seemed too planned- too formatted. Mae was known to be cautious, yet with my absence ensuing I feel that she had lost her touch with herself and that careful intuition that kept her alive many times before. Each time the process goes by very quickly, as if to stop her from having second thoughts on it all. The needle with the clear fluid goes in her right arm first and as soon as the fluids make contact with her the needle is replaced with a slightly larger one with similar looking contents. Once it has been emptied into her bloodstream Boris repeats the check up process to note any instantaneous changes. According to the page I had read there were names of chemicals and illnesses that he was exposing her to that he hadn't exactly discussed with her, or at least not in my presence. Each page containing information as meticulous as the next it seemed that he wasn't trying to harm her, yet the whole process felt vile. I felt aware that she knew yet with no ambitions or goals to look forward to I could sympathize why she hadn't tried to ward him off of his examinations and all. Still, that man made me quiver in rage each time he had came around.
(5/5)
And that's all I got. It's rougher than sandpaper and I'm not sure if I'll finish it but it's the first thing that I've actually spent time on in a while. I'm sure it's pretty obvious but I only write out of hobby. Still, any advice would be appreciated.
Kayden Williams
Only read the first sentence, and i'm disinterested. I can tell the rest will be a prose wank fest, no thanks. The best writing is the least writing.
Justin Jones
it seems pretty pointless but not in a way that heightens the isolation. he starts by talking about how smart he is and then ends by talking about seeing birds. his isolation, intelligence, and insight are not apparent at any point in the text. it reads like someone trying to write like someone in these conditions without actually feeling it -- they don't read like the thoughts of someone developed in this environment over time. it is a rush to get information out in order to meet some quota.
also how is he writing? maybe that's the biggest tell of them all.
Eli Morris
this is objectively awful.
I'm pretty sure my 9th grade brother could shit out something more coherent than this in just a few hours
Luke Kelly
Beginnings of a short story
docs.google.com
I feel like you tried too hard to be stylistic. Often times, simplicity and clarity does a lot more good. Remember that it's almost always better to convey a complicated idea concisely, than to convey a simple idea complexly.
Cooper Bell
Is english not your first language m8?
I'm half expecting this to end in bel air
Joshua Adams
I think it's pretty cute, although the name could use some work.
Juan Jackson
Truly awful work, user.
This is just you beating off on the page, oh look how smart and tortured you are, right?
Come up with a story and tell me something interesting.
Oliver Diaz
Which name? Both? Also thanks :>
Alexander Howard
I was referring to the "The bees whispered Irony". I thought the character names were simple, but in a good way. Nothing too over the top yet unique in their own way. No problem, I'm curious on what you write next.
Alexander Rogers
Oh yeah, the title was just something I threw together because you needed one to share a google document for some reason. As for what's next, this story is kind of just for me to practice and play around with dialogue for more complex and bigger stories, so it'll just be a fairly standard love story. I'll post it here again when it's finished. Thank you for taking an interest
Gabriel Baker
>scuttle over food
Maybe you mean scuffle?
>strength of a bison
>a real ox of a person
I'd delete one of these since they're so close together and similar.
>two -suddenly weaker- legs
What's with the hyphens?
>not eat of of disgust
I'm sure you mean "out of"
I don't think it's awful, user. But keep writing. Obviously you have to write a lot of shit before anything slightly good comes out.
Christopher Howard
Connor Allen
>the hush of the winds
>The smell of flora permeated the air as the bushes danced with pink petals and the bees sang of nature in a morse code of buzzes.
this doesn't mean anything so I stopped reading
Caleb Fisher
noted, i'll try to fix the descriptions
Ian Flores
I've made lots of minor edits in response to criticism. I'm also considering some major structural changes and cuts but I am not brave enough to make them yet.
Landon Nguyen
Nice tight style, I guess.
I don't care about the story but I don't care about a lot don't take it personnel, kid, you just gotta wait until someone else responds
Angel Taylor
A quick re-write leaves me with:
"Nothing could have prepared me for the isolation of this place, layered as thick as the [ice] about us. Slowly it drains me of my will of and even my soul of purpose. I envy those of physical fortitude, and would gladly trade my misery for their crudeness. They claim torture by the endless, indistinguishable rolling of days as well, yet they maintain their tall and muscled bodies while I, as thin as a frame, grow only dimmer."
Mostly I removed things, changed it about. You don't need tow rite explicitly "I always smarter", the rest clearly relays that. I try to condense it, hence the rolling of days in the middle instead of in the end, where I thought it fit less, and it helped to explain earlier while it was a shame to leave it for the end. Then I remove some things, because I like to let the readers imaginations work. Thus he's only thin as a frame and not small in stature.
I honestly don't understand some parts. He thinks he has will over muscle, but would like to trade for muscle, because the muscled have more will? That's how I understand it and it confuses me. It says they suffer extreme mental abuse, but maintain, but just before it says it washes over their bodies. Or was that physical hardships?
Wyatt Cox
Already I see that I would probably rather have it "Slowly it drains THE will and even the soul of purpose." Maybe even "I envy the physically fortuitous..." Oh well.
I only make the second post to respond to this: don't ever let what you've written restrain you. Don't let the wall of text block you out. Cut out the innards, chainsaw it to bits, do it. Fix it.
Evan Allen
a LOT better :^)
Jayden Thomas
whats up with all the blue? kind of distracting/pointless it seemed
Easton Hernandez
Lots of blue wasn't intentional. I'll change some stuff so it isn't distracting.
Brayden Foster
>it drains me of my will and purpose
>yet i have the will and sense of purpose to write
you're still not fixing the fundamental problems of the piece
Nathaniel Flores
Go to the other critique thread, morons
Josiah Cook
Is it alright if you guys critique a premise? I havent started yet but am still deciding whether or not this is something to go for, especially since i dont have too much free time and am not too good at writing
Anyway, so the protagonist mysteriously starts receiving newspapers dated exactly 1 year from the current date, and i intend to portray him doing the various things one would do with such knowledge
Henry Cox
Adam Cook
So he seeks out a purpose in writing of his misery? Walling in his suffering might be seen as the total loss of will rather than willing to do something. You're boring.
Xavier Adams
lmao
Jeremiah White
nehgga i got broads in atlanta
David Gonzalez
There's a lot wrong with it, but you could probably shit out an average fantasy novel if you put the time in.
Anyway:
>Archaic, wordy and overly-formal style. Re-write it and take the stick out of your ass.
>Uses summary nearly throughout the entire thing (people want to be told stories as they are happening)
>Dense paragraphs where too much happens and not enough coherence between the senetences in them (people skip quickly between sentences and you should focus on only one or two things per paragraph)
>Riddled with cliche
>Too inward focusing -- this reads a bit like a diary (possible intentionally but it doesn't work well). I don't really give a fuck what your character is thinking.
>No real story or characterisation (stories should have a character we are introduced to and should have a beginning, middle, and end and events that string them together coherently. Exposition and one thing happening does not make a story -- don't worry a lot of amateurs do this.)
My advise is to have a real plot in mind in the future so your writing will go somewhere. Cut out everything that is unnecessary. And then start reading some contemporary fiction and flush out all the cliche fantasy/early 20th century prose you've got stuck in you.
Also, get out of the habit of quickly writing a shitty draft and then showing that to people. It's not going to help you improve, it's just going to kill your confidence. You show people your work for a reason -- not because you're too lazy to finish it properly. If you know something is a piece of shit avoid showing it to others unless there's a specific reason for doing so. Make it not shit first.
Angel Sanchez
This is a really good show, too.
Cooper Walker
...
Owen Hernandez
A short poem
Jacob Thomas
What the fuck is that second clause connected to? "I've always considered [...] that with gracious portions of knowledge comes willpower"? What the fuck does that even mean?
Don't begin sentences with coordinating conjunctions unless there's a reason/it makes sense.
Anthony Ortiz
I think it's britbong speak
Benjamin Hernandez
Here's a tip: be creative. Each libe should be a swelling permutation of your first sentence. You guys always write too consciously, like it should be nothing like human thought pattern, but instead an artistic simulation of thought pattern. "I woke up and thought about x. It was y and im z." This is bad. Practice with nonsense first. Learn the sentence first. Use non sequiturs. Worry about development later. You're too used to internet exchanges. Start from scratch.
Joseph Powell
what happened to Alaska guy
Hunter Watson
Is this worthwhile?
Jackson Powell
you're trying to supply something the writing itself lacks
Landon Gomez
>Inspector
>FBI
No.
Landon Perry
I dont recognize this but i will say it is certifiably shitty. Read more Yeats.
Hudson Rivera
>oblivion, sausage grinder, acculturation
Your writing is masturbatory and overly self-aware, leading you to confused metaphors like this one. What's up with bevilacqua, you just mangled a name from a ya novel. Still, i like that you don't seem to take yourself too seriously.
Gavin Fisher
...
Alexander Diaz
Asher Jones
First paragraph's a bit awkward. "For two months now..." especially. You said the name of a place I don't know, then didn't describe it physically. Seems like English wasn't your first language.
Featured scenes of joyous occasions, not literal joyous occasions.
Tense... you put " around committed but not crimes...
A lot of small things like that. Overall I don't really care about the characters but it may make sense given the context. I liked the direction it took at the end.
Grayson Williams
I love this style. The stacks of pretentious descriptors near the beginning made it seem dense, but the action moved quickly. It seems You're much better than I am so I don't really know what feedback you're looking for.
Matthew Hill
Can someone crit this?
Brody Ramirez
>First paragraph's a bit awkward. "For two months now..." especially. You said the name of a place I don't know, then didn't describe it physically. Seems like English wasn't your first language.
I wanted to show how she's in a different city than the one she knew and possibly grew up in. Was it wrong for me to do that? Wouldn't one be shock to see the city they knew change so radically? And English is not my first language so excuse my poor grasp of the English language
>Featured scenes of joyous occasions, not literal joyous occasions.
I got nothing on this, Sorry?
>Tense... you put " around committed but not crimes...
She thinks the crimes they committed were fabricated, and so she thinks its not real, therefore the "
>A lot of small things like that. Overall I don't really care about the characters but it may make sense given the context.
it does make sense
>I liked the direction it took at the end.
Can you explain further?
Parker Foster
If you take everything you wrote and put it on one page, more people would read it
Put it on a tumblr and link to it if you're really lazy and/or incompetent like me
Can do
The first sentence is awkward, but its also attention grabbing in a weird way, so I don't know whether or not you should change it
You need to vary up sentence length more. Having five or six sentences in a row that are all the same length feels repetitive and weird a lot of the time. And I'm aware that there are exceptions and that there are well regarded authors who can pull that off, but as a beginnig/amateur writer you should to vary up sentence length
You also need to vary up sentence structure. 90% of the sentences you write as NOUN VERB BLAHBLAH. "He was wearing..." "It was celebration...." "Ash fragments were..." "He flung his..." "They reminded him..." And there's nothing wrong with using this kind of sentence structure, or even using it a lot, but you're just using it too much
The repetitive sentence structure and length makes it feel flat. The second paragraph is the most obvious example of this.
That being said, for some parts of this you did vary up structures and length. It's not like the whole thing is flat
Some of the metaphors don't exactly work. "He grabbed the idea without thinking, like a child takes their mother's hand" feels awkward. I get what you're trying to communicate, but it just feels off
Over all its not bad, but it does need some work
Keep it up!
Isaac Turner
You should always read your writing aloud. If you think to yourself, "wow, I sound like a total fag", then you should re-write it.
Then again, this requires a level of social awareness that few people on this board have. What I'm trying to say is, use your own voice, don't invent one.
Hudson Ward
GOD DAMMIT
Henry Williams
Please critique:
Brexit
Breakfast, breast, tit, Brexit.
We’d almost roll off the tongue
if not for the ex in the middle.
The pendulum swings left to right
And back, drawing your curves
In vicious inertia.
A pan-European project to address
Technocratic anemia: ecological
Catastrophes and economic imbalances,
Spotlighted by iPhone notifications
Of myopic outrage, beside your
Scandinavian bed made of crepe paper
by migrants to mimic
A heavenly cloud.
Connor Gutierrez
political poems used to be so popular back in the day. It's refreshing to see I suppose, but I'm a bit of a nationalist so I don't like the tone. Also, is a Scandinavian bed made of crepe paper an actual thing or an attempt at describing some ridiculous trend?
Also, vernandsisters.com/dogboys
Hunter Sanders
THEY PAVED PARADISE
Xavier Gutierrez
Thanks for reading. A girl I'm seeing bought an IKEA bed last week that looked amazing in photos. Turns out it's made of the lowest quality stuff/feels like you're sleeping on crepe paper (I'm not very imaginative).
Alexander Richardson
>you just mangled a name from a ya novel
what does this mean
Austin Collins
Would anyone mind giving this a read?
James Young
not him, but something can't stay shut for months on end, and also open sporadically
honestly i cant write for shit and im not him but thats probably what he was talking about
Wyatt Howard
>He woke up early the next morning.
i immediately quit reading.
your opening sentence abruptly ends and you begin the next sentence with "And"; for the most part your sentences are generally abrupt thoughts but there's some coherence that shows if you keep trying you might make it.
remove any references to authors or else you're screaming to everyone that you're important and need to be noticed. you're like a shitty blend of mccarthy and english translations of murakami
Nicholas Hill
Anymore Critique
Juan Parker
>everything must be spelled out for me
I didn't interpret it as a by-the-book movie script. I infer things that are implied by his actions. He's isolated, he's suffering, he's writing. If you actually then write out "THAT'S WHY I AM WRITING, SEE, I AM ISOLATED AND SUFFERING SO I WRITE TO ESCAPE OR WALLOW IN IT."
Do you also write "He took the sword in his right hand and opened the door with his left, then he stepped over the threshold and moved out into the chaos"? No? Then don't an idiot.
>what is not even iceberg but it's a thing that exists
Camden Bell
God damn is this autistic.
Zachary Torres
fun read
Bentley Harris
i'm writing poems now apparently which feels pretty pleb but whatever
Isaac Wright
Are you non-native? Words as sausage grinder and acculturation are strange, rather use something as appropriation or idk.
Christian Lee
That on the side, this looks fucking dope. Would definitely read!
Tyler Moore
Could someone please whip up an existentialist poem or play about the destruction of the Library of Alexandria.
Andrew Hill
HOW DO YOU SEE YOURSELF?
As a compact mirror, buoyant at sea
A bespectacled rat snuffling and anxious
I believe the culture machine when it tells me to hate myself
I am a cuntified and frustrated masculoid
Looking for a hole to fuck and momentarily re-invert myself into an ecstatic, soaring arrow
An arc of jizzom directing its weaponized trajectory to my virgin shoulders
devoid of the manly reassurance required to deflower them
My stretch marks feel like an amputee's stump
And today fresh hate-food chemically coagulates
into jiggling gangrene stitched to my stomach walls
Hi! my body is hell and I tear at the padded walls till my nail sockets bleed
Because I don't eat to live, I eat to die
Skipping lunch while my growth plates were open like a wound!
Never partook in steroid usage or did varsity sports as bodily penance!
Regret regret regret!
Yet vanity has my name spelled out like a birthday cake
and I will give anything to savor a morsel of this homoerotic narcotic narcissism
I am petite and versatile like HIV
I am malnourished and brainwashed like a conscript from Kaesong
I will tie this noose with the curve on my growth chart
I only want to ride the eternal phallic horse
(I know this is really shitty cause it's my first attempt at poetry, I'd really like to know if anything is salvageable and/or what I should improve on)
Tyler Allen
Nah I'm not. I just wanted a weird metaphor to talk about how different groups are assimilated into the grander American identity. Part of the book deals with ethnicity, and how different ethnic groups fail or succeed to fit into the American cultural landscape.
James Gutierrez
I keep getting mail for the guy who used to live in my apartment, including postcards from some girl he was apparently banging before he went to Afghanistan. Today I got one with the return address on it, so I thought I might send off a reply:
pastebin.com
Ian Moore
It works as a good thing on its own but I feel like the rest of the story is going to annoy me.
The prose is generally solid and entertaining but if you keep reading and writing there's room for improvement.
Adam Sullivan
Cool ideas, cool imagery. Sounds like a pissed off marxist in a good way. Rhythm needs work, but if your new to poetry this is normal. just keep writing and read it out loud. It should read easy and fluid (unless you're going for something on the contrary on purpose).
here's part of a short story i'm working on. have only written poetry before so trying it out.
I would have walked into the house but I was now a shepherd dog, committed to the flock and to the wielder of the staff. I knew my street dog days were done, so I sat on the curb and watched Rothko paint his rust and blue in the sky and I felt good and glad that I had not walked into the house for an innocent family of seven could live there now. On the curb with my tail between my legs, I thought. When a man becomes old he goes back to being a child, but never back to being a young man. At seventeen I would walk the streets of Panama in search of women who drank and ate ambrosia. I preferred older women because they had no ideals and only cared about money and I on the other hand had only ideals and little money. Now married with children and forty-two years old the young man is gone.
“Materialism! Materialism Renounce materialism!” Says the youth, and even said I in my younger days. But how easy it is to reject the knowledge of the fathers when it has just been discovered? When one is a child he only sees or cares for the material, feeling uneasy whenever he is left with nothing, but as the child grows older he realizes that the material is superficial, and that there must be a deeper meaning to the world. The young man then turns his vision away from the world, and unto himself. Once inside he sees hundreds of thousands of crystals reflecting a vase. The scattered images show him that there is something, but the location of the vase is unknown to him, and will always be. And how bitterness overtakes the young man when he realizes that mortals only ever get a glimpse and never a taste! Alas, this is how I have come to exist. In in my first year of college the mind was the only weapon I had so I sharpened it against anything I could find; Christianity, positivism, I clashed against it all. I devoured texts and studied and made money tutoring the children of the high class. Money was okay, but most of it would be put back into the Panamanian economy, strengthening the nightlife industry and keeping the price of booze down for all. And how I pondered, coming close to feeling ennui.
Ryder Powell
I really like your prose because it captures the concurrent nature of past and present when in that state of reverie and reflecting i.e. that cozy line about Rothko and the imagery of the narrator's tail between his legs is just so perfect, in addition to seamless transition between these trains of thought. I also thought the vase metaphor was pleasing and tidy and I loved it. Would love to read the rest of your story, user
Noah Thomas
I got tired of reading light novels so I decided I wanted to write one.
Roast this shit. Excuse the weeaboo terms, there's no pure english equivalent for them as far as I'm aware.
Jose Lopez
Here's mine. Literally just thought it up so no bully pls:
Each morning he subjected himself to the mirror's ritual humiliation: he tramped in to the cool quiet of the bathroom with eye averted, unwilling to look at himself. When he eventually did, he invariably groaned- purple pustules tribal tattooed themselves across his face; juicy zits and lovely throbbing white cysts fought for space with a patchwork of lumps, bumps and great pussing yellowheads. For half an hour he would savage himself with filthy fingernails.
The worst offenders (those grinning pink pumpkins; those eggflowers blooming across a crinkled forehead) he milked in the coldly frenetic manner of a surgeon- the seething, bubbling mass that had not yet broken the surface of his skin he left with a hateful glare.
He had struggle with his skin problems for years, had tried every ointment and pill the increasingly weary doctors could foist upon him but, as if in sniggering revenge, his face had responded with milky blinders and a face so oily and toxic he sometimes awoke from his bleached pillow to find the yellowish outline of his features screaming soundlessly back at him.
Ryan Miller
I'm eating bitch
Xavier Rogers
This is just a first draft at the moment, but I'd really appreciate a critique.
Jonathan Collins
>I always considered myself smarter than the lot.
LOL
Dylan Rogers
Well, the prose is lovely, very descriptive and fluid. But I'd say the characters you're setting up are incredibly annoying. I don't really want to know anything more about this kid or his family; their conflict is cliched, the son's "I'm so lost" is just begging for a boring magical adventure where he discovers how to pull his head out of his ass, his father and mother are both stereotypes, and uh, yeah. I don't like them at all. If this was the point of the work, carry on, but otherwise, there really needs to be some more development on the instigating motivations in the story.
Anyway, here's the first page of my incredibly boring, cliched, weird fantasy myth about ethics with characters you can't help but find utterly boring. :^)
Julian Watson
and here's the second page. I'll post more if anyone wants.
Also, text form of the creation myth:
y e l n created the world, and so man asked him if they have a purpose
y e l n replies simply
no
Jace Perez
i have no mouth and i must scream xD
Nicholas Long
youre a faggot.
You think you are smart
You think strength and intelligence are mutually exclusive
You think something prevents you from engaging in physical training
You think only you have the right to be sad
youtube.com
Is this you?
Noah Gonzalez
INTELLECTUAL INTELLIGENCE
Brandon Evans
actually, if you were writing fiction from the mind of somebody other than you, you did a very good job portraying the average r9k "Sure I have friends but they wre just pawns to me, im so alone" edgelord . I never thought of that
Jose Fisher
it's not that it should be 'spelled out' but you're looking to explain something in the text that there is very little actual evidence for. this doesn't make the text ambiguous and good -- it just says the writer is not very good at logically developing a text or writing out actual human thought processes in a way that is consistent
he seems to have some sort of explanation for all his other actions and experiences but, despite being smarter than the lot, his overanalysis doesn't extend to the realisation that writing gives him a purpose he otherwise lacks? no, that isn't convincing writing at all
Ian Baker
It's just a bit shit, nothing terribly wrong with; it's just what I'd imagine would splat onto the page if I were to prod any not wholly incompetent young person, with an interest in writing, firmly in the belly. No one would ever really want to read it but that don't mean stop tryin'
Bentley Powell
Rate me on a scale of 1-10
1 being Keep your day job
10 being Quit and devote your life to writing
Nikolai got up at the usual 8 AM on Sunday. It was a cold morning and even colder because he lived in the basement. The bedroom he occupied used to be a guest room but was claimed by him after he graduated High School. This was a constant reminder of how he failed to get accepted into any college he applied to. After getting up and turning off the alarm clock, he let out a deep sigh, patted his little white dog who happened to be sleeping on his bed, and headed upstairs. No one besides him was awake at that time as his family was not religious. He made sure to be quiet while making eggs and toast. After the food was done, he sat down and read the news on his phone and ate.
The biggest news on the CNN app was Britain leaving the EU and the gay pride parade that the liberal presidential happened to be attending in New York City. “What a pandering bitch” he thought after seeing the picture of her fake smile as she was listening to some fag in a dog suit. The picture made him bring back memories of the video he saw the other night on the internet. A bunch of weird kids with queer hairstyles talking about gender. It annoyed Nikolai that this was now mainstream. He sighed, got up, pushed the chair in, and went back downstairs to take a shower. After the shower, he got on his uniform, and headed out for work.
Nikolai worked at City Centre Coffee, a overpriced coffee shop in Downtown Baltimore where liberals liked to hang out. He got out of the car and walked toward the store. As he did this, he was suspiciously surveying the parking lot. Luckily, the store owner wasn’t there that morning. “Probably at church” Nikolai thought as he walked through the door. “Whatsup bro?!” Adam said as Nikolai walked in. This was Nikolai’s co-worker, who was unusually awake this morning. “Hey, How’s it going” Nikolai said back to him. Adam, not being there longer but being older than Nikolai, told him to go take out last night's trash as no one did it last night. After taking out the trash, he walked back up the hill from where the dumpster was, got back inside, and clocked in as he forgot to before.