Critique Thread

yeah. Now that you mention it I see a few I could probably get rid of. what did you think apart from that? or does that make it unreadable?

A Sci-fi / Low fantasy Hybrid I'm working on right now. Here's the Prologue.

Page 1 of 5

Page 2 of 5

Page 3 of 5

Page 4 of 5

Page 5 of 5

Give me all you got annons. I ain't gonna improve unless you tell me how much my works sucks - just make sure you specify, why.

Hey man I'm a drunk not an editor but fine:

>...but for reasons both strange and inherent he found himself drawn to the hunt. Big game was often the preffered target and with size came danger. But in the years that had succeed his ancestors Artsyomm found less and less those animals of stature (having moved further afield long ago) and was instead forced to contend with what stragglers remained.

Solid 4/10 there brah

Overall I really like it man, nice job.
There's just a few things. First of all I find it extremely unlikely for any kind of prison to be completely unguarded, I know you need to have Jinny meet the old man somehow, but it really doesn't make sense for there to be no one in a military installation.
Second, about her size, at the end of page two you mention that she was "About three to four feet" is she a different race or just extremely small? That would literally be a midget
Overall I really like it though, is it based in our world or a different one?

Just realized I forgot to delete my first Overall, sorry for being a tard

is English your first language?

fairly entertaining actually. and I relate. people used to comment on my height a lot and I hated it..
---

Grey air is thick with diffracted adverts,
plastic rainbows that fall through gutters,
past the blood-brain barrier,
osmosing with psychosis.

Teenagers huddle on a park bench
despite blue-sky warmth, transmitting
time's passage in a smoke-signal,
laughing at shapes in clouds
as if they couldn't strike lightning.

Constellations float on silence's surface tension
as the ocean sleeps, drifting in ripples
from the back of a humpback whale as it breathes.

Watch as potential turns to certainty,
dichotomies conquer possibility
and waves appear as particles.

A mirror in darkness is the most truthful.

Opening:

"Nah, no sign of it."
He tore his head sideways and raised and dropped his shoulders carelessly, a slight nod. The top of his head shone brightly, picked loosely with fine ash hairs that fell to the side over his ear. His face in general had the form, the spell of dishonesty. The low-sitting brow, obscured dry lips, wide oval chin and broad, charging nose. It was anyone's guess as to what it was that dropped the stone in my belly about him. I couldn't pin it, but the deception sat there, it did. Between two shoulders, it did. He hunched, he smelled, his head hung low and he chewed the skin from the inside of his lips and gnawed his cheek all under a single quiver, one jagged fleshy bounce beneath the shade of his greasy mustache, and so there was never anything specific in it. Just one big beating lie. I hated him.

Some nine miles north of Ansted, beneath the dew of a misty Appalachian valley, black insects whisper secrets in the undergrowth. They talk of things unsaid by locals, unwelcome memories and blemished histories, and their murmurs creep up the mountain slopes at pace with a rising autumn fog. A dozen abandoned cabins slouch against the valley walls, oakum bursting from their rotten sides and fallen hemlock leaves blanketing their sagging roofs and crooked doorways. It’s overcast and brisk, and that building insectile buzz stifles thought of anything beyond the invisible creatures that squirm in the soft loam below. By midmorning the vale is engulfed in their hissing drone, and eavesdroppers to the south catch echoes as they walk to work, several shuddering and hoping for an early cold snap tonight. The Ansted folks are only a couple generations removed from the Baptist squatters whose refuse lines the valley, yet they avoid the area like poison, telling their children to never play here and warning hunters from out of town that game is scarce. They don’t come north, and they suggest others do the same.

You're providing too much information. I literally only read the first two sentences but just some very very very basic feedback
>Some nine miles north of Ansted, beneath the dew of a misty Appalachian va
No some
> They talk of things unsaid by locals, unwelcome memories and blemished histories, and their murmurs creep up the mountain slopes at pace with a rising autumn fog.
Just "They talk of..."

- It's based on a post-apocalyptic earth after an advanced Master AI (that humanity relied on for daily usage) turned against it's masters. A thousand years later, Humanity lives on in medieval-esque societies surrounded by a plethora of advance technologies in which they have no idea how to use (they refer to them like the trappings of an ancient civillization - kinda like elves or what have you). Unaware that a branching intelligence of the Master Ai still lives. (he basically becomes the "Dark Lord" of this pseudo-fantasy esque world)

- Oh and I assumed 3-4 feet was big enough for a small teen. Guess I'll have to bump it up a bit - and yes she's human.

- I mentioned there was a celebration in the fort, but I guess I should also mention that they were undisciplined or didn't care much for the High Rulers.

Thanks for the read, senpai, please to know you liked it. Was it clear to read? Did it keep your attention? Was the prose shitty? Grammar wise, how was it?

>is English your first language?
No

I like it, I feel like that's something that hasn't been super often. Really the only other sci fi/fantasy I've read is Prince of Thorns. That shit was absolutely awful though.
For her height, ya that's definitely too short. Remember that agility, speed, strength, is aided by a larger body. It would much harder for a 4'8 girl to climb a wall, than for someone who was 5'10. The minimum I would go for someone who was as strong as her would be five feet, but that's just me.
I read there was a celebration, but leaving somewhere unguarded is a huge no no. I'm in the miltary, and people who fall asleep on duty get fucked up pretty good. Actually leaving your post would result in really severe punishment, though it may be different your setting.
It's good though, it's simple and enjoyable. I like the main character's personality, the old man is cool, and I liked the guard who was thinking she could be hiding in the cell. It's nice to have semi competent bad guys.

Oh, in the first page you mention a battalion is chasing her. That would a huge amount of people in real life.
It goes
Team
Squad
Platoon
Company
Battalion
A battalion would be at least several hundred people, and could be much more.

> This was an environment which the Artsyom a young man of no more than nineteen,

Is "Artsyom" his name? If so, remove "the". If it's some form of title/honorific, it can stay but you could consider making it italics to highlight it's your own invention. You need a comma after it whether or not you remove "the".

> was not only accustomed to it
was not only accustomed to, (remove the "it") Maybe make it "well-accustomed" to, to make it clearer that he was a) used to the environment, and b) liked hunting in it. Otherwise it sounds like a bad way of saying he WASN'T accustomed to it (since "was not (only) accustomed" is so close).

> but, for reasons he did not know, was rather fond of hunting.
You could use an em-dash here: but--for reasons he did not know--was rather...
You could also rephrase with "for reasons unknown to him".

Good start, OP!

That explains things. All I can say is: keep working on your grammar.
There's no use pointing out the specifics; it's something to work on in general. gl

I seem to have lost it
Like the wind that races on the shore
on a cold day but I still take my shoes off
and close my eyes against the light
Go deaf, go numb, go blind, go
No me, no talent, no-life, just
the goddamned cold
and the long-lost whisper that said, hear

may as well post this here.

These threads are kind of dumb though.
I mean, what are we critiquing here? Hardly anyone posts a full story, I'm just supposed to tell you if you rite gud?
No sense.

my friend, you have a golden post right above yours.

Thanks for the corrections senpai, and god bless you for serving in the uniform. I can't imagine it's easy, but we all have a job to do.

I posted this last thread near the end, just interested in getting more comments if I can, but my b if it's rude to post things AGAIN in these kinds of threads.

1/3

2/3

3/3

I really appreciate that! Good luck with everything friend

Grim work, aye, grim work
What is necessary and dark
Must be done, not enjoyed
But for later glory,
Which later comes.
Without fail the end is praised
“The beast is dead! The beast is dead!”
Yet others always creep.
Aye, they creep.
From holes and dens they exit,
And grim work again must be done.

bumping for justice

good but don't disguise meaning in obscure language. i enjoyed this

I never used to read as a child. I had a fear of books.
I had this fear of books because of old stories my grandfather would tell me while I was in bed before he would molest me.
Reading anything triggers these horrific memories.
I can't even write my own name without having a panic attack.
In fact, simply writing out this paragraph has pushed me to suicide.
Goodbye everyone.

Not sure if this is supposed to be in a poetic format or my phone is adding the line breaks.

Regardless, it's boring but hope you don't kill yourself rl.

...

I'm working on an episodic fantasy series, here's what I have so far (only 6 pages, double spaced)
docs.google.com/document/d/1cupymZa-7-hWz6UsNTAeikoTaNOFEsuiMoYkkkD77Es/edit?usp=sharing

"critiques":
Really like the prose of this one, nice word choices.

Not sure what the point of this was. Molesting people is bad?

Sounds like a Death Grips song, I like that

>pastebin.com/MVF49vre

we were assigned to do a "couplet poem"
whipped this up in a 30

great themes, but some weird handling on it
>osmosing with psychosis
is a bad line
The comparison of space and ocean is common enough, but you handle it well.
>Teenagers huddle on a park bench
is a serious change in register that doesn't add much to the piece

Final line looks like it's trying too hard to be a final line. I'll post a piece by me to see if you think you should listen to me (because you might not want to depending on how you feel about it).
You went crazy with the repetition. The go's are kind of excusable (because I can't find a quick way to fix them), but
>No me, no talent, no-life, just
>the goddamned cold
should be
>No me, just the goddamned cold

On Creating the Universe

I was alone in a dark,
when I made places.

I took my flesh,
and rolling into a ball,
I cupped this in my hand.

I pressed us into a stone,
and shattered it against the
vitelline wall of everything.

The shards shined as stars,
bright but feeble.

>pastebin.com/5am3YPLF

My shitty phone autocorrected "vigor" to "visor".
Fixed.

>Abyss
>Pope Albert IV
>There was never any pope named Albert in real life
>Catholic Church not Orthodox Chruch
>They were sat on our seats
>Not They sat on our seats

I'll have to take a look at that last line, I can see how it sounds odd. And someone already brought up the Albert thing too so I'm looking to have that changed.

Abyss is fine though. It works and is descriptive enough. If you think the word is cringey or something you should look past your connotation of it and just see if the word serves the purpose or not. But I think I understand your qualms fot the word anyway.

Thanks for taking a look!!

Anyone else wants to take up my shitty
Sci-Fi story?

Whoops forgot link to

It's okay, You have anymore to share?

Also here's mine

>Jinny then at the fourth paragraph its Vinny
>Base is empty for reason
its great overall. except for those two

Also Perhaps you should change Battalion which consist of 300-800 soldiers. (Too many soldiers). to either a section (which consist of two or three fireteams which are 4 men) or a platoon (30 Soldiers was the maximum if I recall correctly).

choice is yours

Kat's Special

we went out to dinner for our first date
stumbling home we looked around for somewhere dark to sit
we ate at each other
naturally someone walked by but silence stayed
moving home we embraced again in the kitchen
by then it was a hollow memory of better times
the light revealed averted sights
less hungry than before, the taste soured
things were left unfinished and we quickly split ways
now I sit out of pocket heavy of stomach and my heart is hamburger

Those two issues are being fixed right now thanks to another user who mentioned them too, but thanks for the read senpai.

Anything else specific though? Was it easy to read? Did it flow well? Could you follow the story? Was the prose shit? Grammar wise - how was it?

Give me them juicy deets annon-senpai

It was easy to read. Prose was good. None of that purple prose. Couldn't really see if the grammar was had or not.
I would buy it once you're done writing it

What

This is nice.

thanks but
>don't disguise meaning in obscure language
how do you mean?

I suppose I obscure things because I feel as if my natural style is too straightforward, and that I should go against what comes naturally to improve. And also that obscurity makes for a more interesting read.

>bad line
hm ok
>serious change in register that doesn't add much to the piece
I suppose I could write something else, yeah

>Final line looks like it's trying too hard to be a final line
I see what you mean. To tell the truth, I tried to come up with others to add to it but felt like I was labouring the point.

I do quite like your poem. The idea of there being a wall before everything is quite counterintuitive but now I think about it, makes sense (the wall could be the laws of physics, or the "I" 's conceptual limits)

Straightforward is only an issue if you rely on cliches.
>And also that obscurity makes for a more interesting read
try to work on layering meanings so that you can have your straightforward and obscure too.

By serious change in register I meant that it was extremely casual language compared to the rest of the poem, and final lines are hard, man.

From his treehouse in the sky, Kid in Yellow comes down and begins picking a fight with nature. "And what," he says, "In the fuck is this supposed to be?" Indicating the phone book.
"Just another shade of yellow, kid." Sez Bermuz, the slug.
"You dirty fucker, thought you'd edge me out my own game, huh?'
"Nothing personal, kid. Just needed a decorator."
'Decorator for what, you shit - you're homeless."
"Don't know why you're so cruel, kid. I always figured you a coward, now I see you're just a Chinese."

Money: plato's genie out of the bottle. pray your little heart but it wont be wrestled back. wrongfooted in the global market and you lose your shirt while a south american nation loses their food supply. what to do if daddy gambles away our lives? what this means: truth is that money comes and money goes, so let us share indiscriminately and debauch until we find ourselves permanently disfigured, waking up in an alley with frostbitten fingers on a cold February morning. Time is three parts illusion, only one part necessity, and the future is an absurd concept. So let us reforge hedonism irresistibly anew, wrought as a glowing idol to light the whole world's way to hell.

And let us not forget the supposed need for sustenance and shelter. As if the water were not free, excrement not edible - as if a single thing were necessary. The grand deception, us bandits standing up among the animals and spreading nonsense, speaking words. As if we were not automatons. History: the laughing fascist. I wish I could say: come with me, open your pores, open up your throat, taste everything, live like a beast off the land, until eventually ferment smells like feast. And when you do finally die after countless days it will seem as though you have fallen into a feverish spiral of vomit, diarrhoea and muscular atrophy and you will sweat like a furnace though it be cold in the night, and time is stopped still, time running back and forth, and your mother murmuring to you from across the room while you beg her for a glass of water.

In any case, too much talk of fascists will make your brainstem swell until you see lizardpeople lurking behind every painted face. What is needed is more language for the sunsets, more rhythmic recordings, more jokes and less explanations. Take for example this bit of stage comedy: [with a comedian's drawl] So I was at my parents' funeral. Both of them had died in a car crash, right? I stand to deliver a eulogy I had written. As I walk to the stage, I'm wondering why my parents, twenty-five years divorced, are sharing a funeral. So I'm sweating. I turn to face the crowd and say "Hey, everyone, how about a joke? So what does the son say at his parents' funeral?... I don't know, because the punchline hasn't been delivered yet!" [silence falls; sudden gravitas]. My father rises in his casket to warn me of an impending danger: the joke is a metastasized cancer that has destroyed its own centre. I turn around and suddenly see God in the form of an obese German man, lard spilling sloppy from the burst folds of his planetary form. I meet the man's eyes, pale blue and watery, and in a flash I see the cosmos swirling down a funnel, perhaps a great Universal Toilet. An Eternal Return to the Drain. He says to me but three words: "Nietzsche is dead," and then an eagle named Small Government comes flying down from the blue bearing an American flag.

>Snow and trees... he was rather fond of hunting
>the animals pulled in
>forcing him to content

Interesting phrasing, I think they mostly work but they are sort of distracting to come upon. "Forcing him to content" seems wrong though, not sure if he's forced to become okay with the stragglers that remain or forcing to have to deal, contend, with the stragglers that remain.

And no, at this time I don't have anything else to share, but thanks again :)

Thanks mate

I'm going to attempt this again.. I feel like I have a better idea of how to write now

That's the point of these threads, I suppose, but often they don't serve much purpose..

I like this. I probably made little sense of it but nevertheless - good imagery

No problem, you're def off too a good start. Here's one of my older poems I think has a bit more in common with your writing, so maybe you can see some of the issues with the technical wording I have without looking at your work. (although your piece has much better structure concerning enjambments and it's themes are much more interesting).

Chipped Stanza #2

I spew black ink. Vomiting inside the endlessly
stretched balloon, I hope my bile is caught on
the concave, a disgusting constellation glistening
against the blacker canvas or net of ether.

Arrange the sopping granules into a tower
far enough from the shoreline to avoid the
waves, but don’t let the grains dry. Plagued
by Pointillisms, minutiae worry me
with thick heels on bent wrists. How to
describe the fractal! Sorting is so tiresome.

I long for that great smear. To make a clean
gradient. No longer stuck point by point, but
make a sweeping arc. Is it fire or leaves in
the wind? It’s orange, curving to the left.

I hope to sling my guts onto a cave wall and
have my insides coagulate into a painting of
Nimrod. I will plunge into viscera because
I’m not ready to confront the typewriter. Its
tacky clacking scares me. I am brickwalled
by abstraction.

ch1
sitting on city streets always a pleasure. traffic is an arterial flow, the city a desperately sick creature hulking with the machines that keep it alive. the city like any other living thing: a slow flame, a refrigerator running hot. the air by summer heat is saturated with sweat, smoke, haze, and it is delicious. you must enter into equilibrium with the environment. you spend the day in a sauna. sitting at the bus stop, a little glass greenhouse to bake in. i melt, nerves ooze out through the skin, osmosis with the environment. i peer out under hooded eyes sidelong like a fat cat in the sun. my brain ticks yet.

check phone. group chat. joseph.
"apparently the object of my desire has fallen into a full cocaine addiction. she hasn't eaten days. I don't think anything is gonna happen there. i'm gonna die"
she hasn't eaten days... yet. cocaine addict, eater of days. watch out joseph. consciousness resides in the brain.
joseph with endless girl trouble. joseph unwilling to take it in the ass; joseph our german romantic.
joseph looks like a young fascist, speaks like a grad student and has the bearing of an athenian. the slightest scratch and he is defeated.

onto the bus now, hop, skip, i'm a little schoolboy with my little schoolbag, i will sit here and read Blake like i am some cheap dollar store Ginsberg. i'm rolling through little suburbia and i have how marvelous a portal to the albion of the romantics. idiot fools they were. blake should have been burned at the stake. blake, burned at the stake. sobriety is hell, jesus christ.
i actually hate this. supposedly Bob once said that anybody who claims to be happy when sober is a liar; he was probably hopped to the gills on morphine, teaching Marcuse to a class of 19 year olds when he said this. maybe the same class that he supposedly told to go collectively jump off a bridge. i like the things Bob says, they have truth to them because they are utterances by a man with no faith in truth, making no attempt to speak the truth. i suspect they will grow into great apocryphal Events, stories in which the dean himself swoops in and begins casting spells to silence Bob. every people need their mythology.

check phone. group chat. joseph:
"I'm just gonna go into a bathhouse and let 40 random men line up to fuck me in the ass"
dylan:
"what you really need is to get into the mountains of the kootenays with 10000 hippies, if you were here you would either perish within a day or bed a thousand women"
good god that is a lot of women. nauseating hyperbole, sex become a tortuous series of wet rubbing motions. one thousand consecutive sex acts. good god.

>"Forcing him to content" seems wrong though, not sure if he's forced to become okay with the stragglers that remain or forcing to have to deal, contend, with the stragglers that remain.
The next sentence tells the readers that they weren't enough to sate him.

I liked this. Good descriptive imagery. I think "yummy snacks" needs changing if it doesn't tie in to something later though. It sticks out from the other descriptions.

Still, being "forced to content" is strange sounding.

Hi newfag here, thought Id share a segment from a fiction piece I wrote last semester. People seemed to like it, thought about exploring it more later. Keep in mind its rough but Im open to criticism. I can post more of it if anyone cares. Thanks!
>“There are two things in this world that cannot be denied; there are predators, and then there is prey. Man has the choice of being either.”
It was a cool April afternoon, the clouds convened above the renowned Westein Manor, begging for release. The residence on any other day was usually quiet, inert, but today new life began to stir the esteemed grounds. It was unfortunate however that it required a death to summon these new visitors. For the great Howard Westein had succumb to his long fought illness, taken in the night, and the only voice to be heard within the great halls was that of his attorney, Phillip Turlowe, reading the last will and testament of the late businessman. A gathering had been set within the derelict manor, where three guests found themselves residing in Howard Westein’s study, waiting to hear what was owed to them.
“That has been the mantra of the Westein’s for generations, and it is sole reason why I have accumulated such wealth and prosperity for this family.” Mister Turlowe continued.
He needed to clear his throat, for the air was laced with dust, agitated like locusts to the new intruders. Reading the words of a dead man to those who would hear him, though he had wished it would be to more…..sympathetic individuals.
Scattered around the study were the only remnants of the Westein family. Arthur Westein, the last living son of the late Howard, a man in his early thirties wearing a tailored suit with a crimson undershirt. Julia Westein, the only daughter Howard had produced, resembled what one may expect a small town schoolteacher might wear, her brunette hair braided like always. And finally the widowed Lillian Westein, his second wife, one far younger than the first, and the sort of spouse that one could hear at tea time gossip. Her black dress was intended for mourning, but given its price tag it was mainly for attention, or at least the Westein children thought so. Arthur sat in the center chair, fiddling with decaying leather, expressing a look of annoyance and contempt to those around him. Julia was leaned against a neighboring bookshelf, blank, lost in a nexus of her own thoughts until Mister Turlowe would commence. Lillian stood away from everyone else, entranced by a lit fireplace, fighting off tears poorly to the point Arthur remained convinced it was all for show.
“It is my hope that my children remember this always, for you will need to show ferocity in this world to survive, and claw for all that you hope to keep. I fear my days are short, and in my absence I worry all that I have built will be squandered away by my own kin.”

Forgot to post something for critique.

So I'm writing some lyrics and I want to describe a floodplain as being like a morass. Is there any suffix that works with that? Morasstic??

The life of someone famous. You get to see their life from their shoes. It all seems rather strange.

Vacuum. A crack in the seal. Life escapes. The cold. The void. I am in a house, the dimensions of which seem unstable. Better order food.

Later, I suppose I am back to school. All those moocs paying off. Given a choice between two ugly girls, I say "It has to happen on its own!" And trust that they know what I mean by that.

replete with everyone's favorite time traveling nazis.

ode to the shitty indian performers and senile people

in a theater auditorium.

Although the whole shebang is a recording, a virtual reality, I wondered what would happen if I interacted with someone.
I decided an innocuous route would be to ask him what the time was. To my surprise he answered. I did not expect an answer. And I gave them all the double finger in public on the camera (even though it isn't live.)

Apparently the whole row is filled with live audience, the rest is a recording. I'm not the only virtual viewer.
That just made my day. Other people are having this dream too.

Guberta, now ancient, tore off her wig and wandered on stage, weaving in and out of dancing acrobats and drag queens. She is raving about 1938. I remember that was when I last knew her, but do not give up my cover. "somebody get her off the stage!"

Ladies and gentlemen, the theater.

"Who is the son of Sam?"(he's the bad guy from before)

"I'll never give him up." Begins shooting at the rest of the cast.

"No one go into the bathroom!" A stern voice warned.

That's unenforceable. Eventually someone will make it into the bathroom. It's like terrorism, impossible to prevent.

"aaaah" Someone cries.

He's shot corporal courageous, but we already knew that would happen, the trailer gave it away.
A few subcontinentals raise their chairs over their heads, and politely interrupt proceedings during the climax, forcing everyone out of their chair to let them by. Apparently they had stolen chairs from the concessions and wished to return them before the end. Ruined the whole movie.

The cast continues time traveling until 2338, when the floor becomes lava.

I wrote this up really quickly and got real proud of myself. Please bully some humility back into me.

He found himself in a limestone hall whose massive walls were ornate with crystalline gold formations glistening with the scarce sunlight that penetrated the cavern through small openings in the ceiling in between rows of sharp inverted minarets, at the center of this halld stood an enormous hourglass with a wooden ladder resting at it's side. The hourglass was silver with lace drapings along it's edges that twisted in continuously lighter patterns of intertwined threadings streaked with azure gemstones on whose ends the metal itself seemed to sublimate, as ordained by fate. Inside the upper cauldron gold whirlpooled, producing the rumbling of a tide he tried desperately to stop, with hands bloodied he ripped protrusions of gold out from the cave walls and climbed to the top of the hourglass and there deposited his meager earnings in an attempt to replenish it, but the pace of the golden quicksand was too great and soon every last nugget of gold would be dragged down to the navel of the hourglass where it would be ground to dust before his bloodshot eyes.

Roast me

>When I was twenty years old I almost dated a girl.
Cliche, but go on

>She laughed, I played, the crusty-skinned retirement-teacher across the classroom stoically ignored us.
If you were trying to go for the play by play, why not just use periods instead of commas? Regardless, this sounds awkward.

>She said, I had a boyfriend with your name.
rip quotations

>one-room cage-cave
wtf is this. Also why hyphenate everything?

>Mig Bac wrappers
this cucked by copyright

>pray-pleaded
this is the same thing

>I thought of my ex, her face of disgust ... my side of the door frame.
i don't even know what to say

>flirt-girl
austim

>surprised me when when I opened it. Surprise!
kek

>I didn't turn the paper over. The semester was over. I closed the book and left.
Whatever hope of a plot you had died with this.

He took the challenge lightly. It's almost imperceptible that he took it at all. No question had been asked more than how this series of behavior was meant to come to a climactic end, revealing that Foster Quinn had been the hero all this time.
To look at him in real time is looking at digression itself. But in accordance to the plot, he is never out of shouting distance. He can be summoned to move things forward. However, as often as he drinks, it is easier to lead him further astray and let the story unfold itself

>First sentence
Seems kinda dull. How about "There are no more wonders, surprises, or good fortunes offered that amuse me."
>Single pleasant day
Seems kinda contradictory from the previous statement. If he already hates everything in the world then why view the day as pleasant?
>Malediction
Not arguing the use of the word but it sounds like you grabbed it from your word of the day calendar
>Sweet tastes bitter, lyric without rhythm, painting without color.
Perhaps a bit repetitive? Like "lyric without rhythm" but painting without color doesnt sound right to me. Perhaps "painting without passion">
And then the rest sounds kinda edgy.

A biblical farce:

In the Beginning, when all the lights had finally been installed, God commanded, "Let there be light!" and the foreman gave the signal for the power switch and there was light. "Good!" Yhwh said to himself, "This is very good" looking well pleased with the results. He and the contractor had been working at this corner of the universe for some time now, and frankly they were running a little behind schedule.Working from Yhwh's sketches the Demiurge was coating the planet with plants and animals, his specialty, when he noticed Yhwh farting around in a patch of clay. Seems he was building some crude beings, whose posture to head size ratio he immediately recognized was a recipe for disastrous back pains on the poorly conceived creatures. Noticing the Demiurge bringing up a patch of flora and fauna by the river, Yhwh raised his voice so he could hear, and beaming with pride he told the two new creatures. "There now, I have created you in our image and you shall hold dominion over all the plants and animals. Just to borrowing though, they're all mine really." The Demiurge bit his tongue at this. These things were to all have free will and would not like to be held dominion over. "I shall name you Adam and you Steve." After the Demiurge finished filling the river with fish he sauntered over to see Yhwh playing with his new creations. Already scolding them about which trees they could eat from. "Do you want me to make more of them?" the Demiurge inquired. "No no, this is enough." Yhwh assured him without turning around. "But how will they breed? I've made a multitude of the animals you designed for a very good reas–" "Adam and Steve will breed with each other."

Yhwh cut him short more than a little testily. The Demiurge tried to protest, but his client wasn't listening. "They are the favored people" god went on "and they will be fruitful and multiply all across the world!" The Demiurge stifled a laugh. Adam and Steve tried to do as their creator told them, but after a few hours god grew impatient with the lack of desired results. Neither one was getting pregnant. Yhwh stormed off in search of the Demiurge, who kept busy making some dinosaurs. Stopping beside a sheer mountain the god whispered harshly "Demiurge" and motioned for him to join him. As the contractor approached, the god took notice of the dinosaurs. "Why are they so big?" "It's in your notes sir" Demiurge produced the page with the size specifications. God furrowed his unfathomable brow. "Oh, um. Of course. –Hey, something is wrong with Adam and Steve. Please help me. Come quick." And upon their return god noticed that Steve had taken a little break from trying to get pregnant and was eating from one of the trees god had told him not to not so long ago. God bared his indescribable teeth. "Bad man!" he shouted and lightening struck him out of the tree cold. Adam had also been eating from this tree but he hid what was left of his share behind some bushes. Seeking favor he went over to the unconscious Steve, flipped him over and continued as god had instructed on how to make babies. "But this is where the feces comes out of, Yhwh." Explained the Demiurge. "Nothing is going to come of this but poop-babies." He went on to try and explain what was needed for procreation. A woman of the species. He proceeded to make one from the same patch of clay by the river. "Here. I present to you, Lilith." Standing new appeared a shapely and soft woman in pique maturity. with limbs, facial features and hair the same as Adam and Steve. Yhwh recoiled in disgust. "It's all knobby and pussie." (puss filled) Lilith scowled at the towering god. Immediately the two disliked each other. But Yhwh turned, grabbed the unconscious Steve and left before Lilith could object any further. So the Demiurge introduced her to Adam, who, still a little rattled from seeing his mate Steve struck by Yhwh's lighting bolt, was pleasant enough. A moment later Yhwh returned "Here! I call her eve" and presented what was most certainly Steve with a few modifications that made him/her look a bit more like Lilith, but really, you could tell it was Steve. The Demiurge felt very sorry for Steve, but this wasn't his world. "Whatever. You know you're going to have to make more of these. You can't get a thriving breed form just these three's genes."

[All I've got so far]

docs.google.com/document/d/1HXykFVB2H8QBD1dvjHGQScSE30c-WBZs-XaiCt16T2k/edit?usp=sharing
Feedback would be much appreciated!

I hate this. Also if you're going to humanized God, at least think of some better dialogue

He's depicted as an idiot. Not a human.
It's a farce, but the subject seems to strike offense with you.

Hey Im not offended by it, subjects fine. Its just so.....basic? He barely speaks 5 words at a time. Are you going for a Monty Python Life of Brian thing or what?

It's going to be a little stage play in a far flung future. Story within a story. Maybe too heavy on narrator, but I could rewrite it with more dialogue later. Thank you.

>...but for reasons both strange and inherent(?), he found himself drawn to the hunt. Big game was often the preferred target, and with size came danger. But, in the years that had preceded his ancestors, Artsyom found less and less animals of stature -which had moved further afield long ago- and was instead forced to contend with the stragglers which remained.

It's like the blind leading the blind here.

For the record, I did not know butterfly was going to be posting their own biblical fiction before I starting writing this creation story and decided to post it here. If I had known I probably still would have, since I've been obsessed with this story for over a year now

>You know how it all began. It's a story told a thousand times by a thousand priests, each telling changing in a thousand subtle ways. You do not know the words, not that you need to. Words change, the meanings don't. It's the symbols that stand out, and in the beginning, and in the end, they are all that matters.

>Opposites, that's the start of it. Good and evil, light and darkness, yin and yang, space and time, the binary in question isn't important, just that it is the most important one of all, and at the time the binary did not exist, only a shade of murky grey. Two are one, but must become two eventually. That which is singular is unstable, and like a serpent with two heads, such opposites will always tear each other apart. The two split down the center like a zipper of gore and scales, but something is always left behind.

>The split is uneven, and it is because of it that we are around to see it for what it is. Space takes the liver, the stomach and spleen, and to time goes the still-beating heart. Ichor is spilled with each cardinal pulse, each droplet gleams with a world all on its own. With each passing second new streams are formed, each of them branching from the path of the same puddle. Time it seems, is not one river, but a thousand-fold tributaries born with each tick of the clock, each a product of another strange choice.

>One might imagine that those above us are eternal in every sense, that one day the flow would staunch and turn back upon itself, and time itself would resanguinate, but with each moments the clock ticks a second slower, and still ichor has long since curdled.

>From the ichor of the serpents was born the first god, he who embodies all uncertainty in all forms…

Give it to me straight guys

Should I continue?

Please continue

Did someone teach this kid The Move?

...

perhaps the worst thing I have ever read.
you desperately need new ideas, and if you're over 18 you need to stop writing entirely because that would make this irredeemable.

>I am so UNIQUE

As said by millions of edgy teenagers

Also, there are some true retardation gems in this

>science is the only true way of understanding the universe completely and not even science has a complete understanding of the universe

>For a creative and individual person, not a STUPID SHEEP, creativity is everything

>the only people who can know absolute truth, (YES COMMA) is a scientist who has the tools to measure the entire universe

Holy hell dude, this is so awfully bad I believe it's a top tier bait

>Holy hell dude, this is so awfully bad I believe it's a top tier bait
way to take those quotes completely out of context and act like they weren't part of a bigger narrative which you missed completely. Dumb fool. Then again, I shouldn't be upset that such small minded, attention deficient individuals would make such a dumb response to my work.

Laying it on a little too thick there, friend. Overall a weak parody of a (thankfully) dying breed of person.

>Overall a weak parody of a (thankfully) dying breed of person.
We're marching towards that inevitable Orwellian society you've been dreaming of, mmm?

And no, my work is not parody. I say things in a brash way, but I expect you to take it seriously because of the validity of the statements. What you've witnessed is a person speaking with conviction, a person who is convinced that he is not crazy, and in fact has something of real validity to say to the people of the world. The writing is filled with a lot of nuance, and it makes you really think about the world around you, and put your mind into a sort of escher esq state. That meaning, your mind creates a sort of infinite loop of paradox, but in it's beauty you can find many patterns which are pleasing to the mind. It's sort of a spiritual sentiment in a way, but in an entirely secular way, I believe the sentiment alone is ingenius, if I were to get a little proud of myself there.

I already told you, this character isn't believable at all and if you want respect as an artist you need to be more subtle.