Is there anyone worse than prosefags?

Is there anyone worse than prosefags?

plotfags

Does this mean people who prefer prose over poetry or people who place high importance on the quality of the prose when they read novels and such?

nonfic fags

"prose", as op, correctly disdainfully means it, is an (obviously, inherently) obfuscation, of the best purest most form of story telling, which is simplish, neat, tidy, to the point, bam bam boom, then john did this, he lifted the amulet from the mantle. He looked across the room at Hilda, and wondered where she was. John got up from his knee and slowly walked over to the book shelf, looking timidly at his watch. Vanessa got up from the carpet, and said "Hey guys, what do you want to do today?".

"Has anyone checked the weather, it could be a lovely day down at the pond?", said Anthony, who was stretching in his robe, and rubbing his belly, about to ask who wants some breakfast.

"Who wants some breakfast? Eggs, bacon, toast, avocado, tomato, potatoes, onions, peppers, olives, mushrooms, a dash of hot sauce, a doalt of salt and pepper. Now whos down for that!?"

"One second friendo, I am checking the whether, make a list of the others who wants what, I will see if I can call up the water front and rent us some pedal boats for the day, Hannah, don't forget to pack the sunscreen!".

The draculian Cyborgs of the Dragan Clan blood line, had called their home around these parts, for the better part of 12 centuries.

One of the biggest losers of the family, Nebulous Christophous, was employed for the summer at the family pond. Lifeguard duty, arcade, shuffleboard, tennis courts, sail boats, kayaks, paddleboats, paddle boards, frisbees, volleyball, you friggen name it.

Noone knew, what lurked beneath the waters, and what may, be discovered, that maybe fateful day.

It's like a visible, physical version of autism.

Ultimately, Faulkner was a much a better author than Hemingway, and part of the reason for this was that he wasn't crippled by this insecurity that his mates might think him a faggot if he put some effort into his word choice.

The fact is that, in literature, the style of one's prose is one of the main tools with which an artist demonstrates their creative ability, alongside plot and characterisation. To insist on simple prose is therefore like removing sound or colour from your film; you could very well do this--people have--and you could still create a film of worth, but you'd also never attain the heights of those directors who didn't intentionally hamstring themselves.

Of course, in practice, ALL writers, even the minimalists, attempt to beautify their prose to some extent, because most adults will simply refuse to read a book whose author sounds like an actual child.

This is a legitimately great post.

The best prose can wield hard words without any impression of effort, though.

The issue in my mind is that our perception of whether a prose style is or is not overly conscientious is partially formed by our own language ability and education, and also by what's considered a 'normative' amount of effort in the culture in which we've grown up up.

For example, most English speakers today don't as a rule read fine literature outside of what's prescribed to them at school, and so they interpret anyone else using a bunch of latinate root-words and complex sentences as pretentious, because they themselves, being borderline illiterate, are unable to write this way without resorting to a thesaurus or extensive editing.

Conversely, if were to hop in a time machine and visit our grandparent's generation were children, back to a time when literature was the primary form of entertainment, most of us would be considered retards for the way we write. Similarly, if, today, you cross over into other languages like Russian and French, whose speakers have retained the culture of reading, they too write 'without effort' in a much more complex way.

Your third paragraph is completely false.

Additionaly, because of the nature of the english language, there is an immense number of latinate root words that would in no way be percieved as pretentious.

>To insist on simple prose is therefore like removing sound or colour from your film; you could very well do this--people have--and you could still create a film of worth, but you'd also never attain the heights of those directors who didn't intentionally hamstring themselves.

Wrong

philosophags. specifically Zizeks.

TIL I'm a prosefag

10/10

You.

Hitler?

Faulkner is a hack, faggot. Deal with it.

Christoph lounged back in his favorite red and white stripped beach chair; shades atop his head, eating fruit salad from tupperware while watching the cottony clouds dace across the perfect bright blue day. The sweet aroma of morning dew fumigated the bitter old sleep from his nosey nostrils. Invigorated by natures bounty of sensual motivation, Chris jolted up from his chair, and ran full speed around in semi circles varying ways, with his arms out like an aeroplane; running full speed to find the nearest bikini bearing babe, to give a good whallop on the rump, and then chase off towards the water splashing.

Christoph lounged back in his favorite red and white stripped beach chair (on his favorite dark blue and orange yellow and red modern art homely country style painting of grand squarish shapes and a mellowly detailed rooster; he liked animal decaled things; well particularly mugs, as he felt there was something unexplainably comforting about using these particular mugs, as if they were more inviting of become dirty, less fancy maybe, as even if to say, 'come eat chicken noodle soup out of me, you dirty boy' and/or 'say that to my mug, why dont you?', though more than 95% of the time, he used a single cup; smooth glossly polished white ceramic chalice, of which he nearly often he could, savor the sweet nectars of this planets wreathful fruition, and of which was being filled up just that very then to the brim with juice d'orange by his very good friend, Antonio Alfonzo), shades atop his head, eating fruit salad from tupperware while watching the cottony clouds dance across the perfect bright blue day. The sweet aroma of the mountain morning dew drifted down from the Adirondacks and fumigated the bitter old sleep from his nosey nostrils. Invigorated by natures bounty of sensual motivation, Chris jolted up from his chair, and ran full speed around in a variety of semi circular ways with his arms out like an aeroplane; running full speed to find the nearest bikini bearing(clad) babe, to give a good whallop on the rump and then chase off running towards the water splashing.

(Gregory Piffin, who had been scribbling relentlessly all night and morning looked up from his notebook at his friends who had gathered around the living area this fine day break, and have threatened to ruin his concentratious relations with the muses. 'god damnit,' he thought, 'I think I am a writer; why hath the organizing cap cursed me with such an ill blessed fate'.

"Hey Gregor, im taking b-fest orders what do you want?"

"Sleep, my good friend, sleep"

"Wanna do a shot of whiskey, and maybe go to the pond?"

"hmm... what the heck...."

He started to walk towards the kitchen, placing his notebook atop the others in a finely engraved cabinet chest from the 1500s with a sterling key.

"actually... no... let me just get some water and go to sleep, maybe I will snab some hash browns"

"suit yourself"

"yeah, hate being hung-
"pussy"

"what?"

"I had a little sneeze, god bless me"

"alright, yeah, im going to sleep, night yall"

...

You've both managed to be wrong
Prose does not have to be gratuitous and minimalism does not have to be simple
Word choice and structure is not linguistic mastrubating, it's the author trying to articulate exactly what they're thinking and feeling

Yes. You are.

>Word choice and structure is not linguistic mastrubating, it's the author trying to articulate exactly what they're thinking and feeling

This is a nice ideal, but it is not at all reflective of the artistic process used by 97% of the authors who are popular on this board. This is not to say that all authors of fine literature sit down and consciously think "I need to reduce the number of modifiers attached to the terminal noun phrase of this sentence because its present lengthiness after such an already quite long sentence is generating an awkward, rambling effect which will make it hard for the majority of readers whose attention spans are not supernatural to follow and, additionally, break general expectations of..." As with any art form, most practices are learned through the consumption and imitation of forebears, by assimilating their habits into oneself until one has an 'unconscious aesthetic schema' guiding them at all times. When, for example, an author commits the error I illustrated above, this schema will give them a sense of dissatisfaction which in turn compels them to revise. This is why it's inescapable, if one wants to be a writer, to actually read.

And I didn't say that prose _has_ to be maximalist. Read it again, and if you still disagree, show me one minimalist writer who is regarded by serious critics on the level of Joyce and Proust.

In what sense, cross-time or cross-language? Regarding the first, there are tons of indications of this: the lexicon size of the average American today is about half that of Americans living in the 20s; and if you take a few novels or news articles from that time and ones of a similar popularity from today, and then apply to these any of the many readability algorithms (such as the Flesch-Kincaid), you'll soon notice the general pattern of decline. Cross-language is a bit harder to illustrate if you don't read texts from those languages, but one recent example of this is that French translators have been having an exceptionally difficult time translating Trump because his paratactic style of speech (which is basically an extreme form of grammatical miminalism) is only used by children, leading to French readers thinking that it must be a mistranslation.