CRITIQUE THREAD I GUESS

>Most people affect me as much as a pimple does. They swell me up a little at first, convincing me that I’ve gained something(...)

How does a pimple convinces you that you've gained something exactly?

Thanks for the critique dude, really appreciate it.

It is part of a larger story but if a traditional narrative is what youre after I doubt youll like it, its metaphor stacked on metaphor.

I totally agree with the pacing bit and the 'plot' is very vague. The woman basically represents truth and accepting you will never really...possess it. The development of said plot is a criticism Ive received before but Ive never really written plain old prose, you know? Something ill obviously have to do if I want this to be worth anything.

Not sure how obvious it is but this started out as a poem and I just had too much to say.

As for the ceiling, hes staring up at it intoxicated, falling asleep after banging the woman. The woman being the intoxicant, (truth), and hes kind of acknowledging this will be his demise as it is a siren song, a false hope. There are a few references to alcohol in there, you might have noticed.

Literally just having something you didnt have before, simple as that. Maybe its a bad start

about to take a long walk so Ill toss out some other shit, part one is confronting the abyss.

Washed Up

Meet the protagonist shipwrecked and regaining consciousness on the beach, apparently unscathed:

He’s charging a beach front pressed for permanence, dragging his feet across the carpet in an empty room. He stubs a toe on stubborn stones as he laps upon the so called solid ground, he only has a moment of idle ecstasy to pass gas in a coughing froufrou froth, then he’s gone, ebb to terror. Deciding where to go all he knows is where he’s been, but not where he came from:

Sun baked and faded like our old photos of summer vacations, I try to find him but I’m blinded by the chard red giant burning down. Short of breath I torture myself with every burning step taken on this sedimentary death. No rest, no shade, no trees. Even trees know better than to build in sand. I cool off standing ankle deep in a river bed, this river gushing from my head. Steady flowing slowly, thickly, red. I see a queer vision of dad floating away on a raft. Run in, rash. Splish splash my stitches tear, and widen the gash. The waters rising to my waist, I look back. The dune ridge western face’s frown says its time I leave this place. Shoulder height now, soaking, suns down, breath is smoking, going into shock. Water’s alkaline, swallowing it, choking... Spit it out and try to turn around but the alternating currents already pulling me out. Tastes like frozen eons of blood and semen and tears, I’m probably just being dramatic. Life or death now, sink or swim, oh my poor shrunken head. Fuck it, either way I end up dead.

“Don’t think like that”, that’s what dad would have said. Where the fuck is he by the way? Fuck him. Got me treading water like an idiot, he never taught me how to swim. Most men don’t swim until they know how to. Maybe I’ll give him a call, shoot the shit. “Dad?” *cough-spit* He shows up, “swell”, from out of nowhere, hell...he’d just been there the whole time looming in the dark, looking down at me with a beer in his hand. Fucking boomers. He pulls out this torch right, a barbecue lighter. He holds it out flame first expecting me to grab it but my look says “You can shove that right up your ass.” I can tell he’s disappointed, and he drops it. Engulfed in flames, he’s burning to death right, get this; he says

“Kick off your shoes”.

“What the FUCK, Dad?”

(that ending is fucking bad)

Not good throughout. Weird choice of diction (e.g. "queer vision of dad floating", "pressed for permanence").

>He stubs a toe on stubborn stones...
are you trying to use distracting alliteration and weird homophone-ish sounds?

Off-putting overuse of 'fuck' etc.

A stone on a beach is stubborn because it wont just give up and turn to sand, he stubs his toe on it as he moves in the opposite direction, pressed for permanence.

You're forgoing clarity of both wording AND imagery in order to show the reader how clever you can be.

I'm currently without internet and don't have time to critique right now, but if someone wouldn't mind reading this and giving some pointers. It's a short story that I've just started and I'm curious how well it grabs attention. I usually critique in these threads, and promise I will return the favor eventually. I simply don't have time right now. I can only borrow internet occasionally since my is turned off.

pastebin.com/FDFHKmmX

Thanks in advance to anyone who does. Bookmarking for archive.

Part of My article. What do you guys think?

There's a new type marketing campaign. Form the deep underground webpages of the internet disillusioned nerds utilize "the law of attraction" hoping to use memes to bring magical ideas into existence. To the raising popularity of mainstream “meme” pages on social media sites making money from promotional content. To memes are created by C.I.A and even political campaigns of President Trump himself. Everyone is trying to make their own memes. Why? To explain, let's first break down what we mean by "meme" and why is important to know.

A (internet)meme is an idea or concept which evolves over time; usually seen in text-image format or video format via vines or small Instagram videos. Many memes are simply funny combinations of images and/or videos describing a general thought or situation many people experience on a day-to-day; other memes might have more serious messages dealing with politics and even philosophy. Another feature of memes it's ability to go “viral” meaning it spreads throughout the internet due to large numbers of people sharing or creating their own variations. A viral meme could grow potentially up to million of viewers; as many on the internet have stated, the term “meme” itself has surpassed even the searches for “Jesus” looking at Google trend data[1].

Ignoring the overwhelming popularity of memes another important factoid is their advantages over ads. Marketing weekly reported in a blogpost

“Nectar-owner Aimia,recorded 30,000 minutes of data, with evidence relating to around 15,000 digital ads. It found that only 35% of digital display ads received any views at all. And, of those, only 9% of ads received more than a second’s worth of attention. Only 4% of ads, meanwhile, received more than 2 seconds of engagement.”[2]

The moon was laid quiet behind the curtains of a cloudy night, and all of time seemed to have frozen there in that sky. I was caught mesmerized, sitting in my car parked at the lot of where I worked, I was clocked out, dead tired, my joints were sore, and I was relieved to be done with another day of undead shuffling. The sky portrayed itself like a painting from the windshield, and I was plucked from the world around me. Reality only seems real in those kind of moments. The moments of awareness, of clarity, of stillness, the occasional dots on the short line that is our lives. Those dots represent those periods where we become aware of time itself, the now, and we come into ourselves totally aware as if to say "yes, I am here, I am living, now is now." Everything between those moments is just fuzz, it's unawareness. We go through the motions of survival, punctuated by brief moments of actual full bodied experience.

The charm broke off, I shifted into drive and I took off, my co-workers already ahead of me by minutes now. Ahead of me to see their family and talk about their day, to watch sports on TV or play videogames, to yell at their kids, to look at a miasma of contextually bankrupt internet jargon, to jack-off, or fuck, then sleep and go through it all again. Again and again and again and again. That's what life was all about in the end right? "Gotta feed the kids, gotta feed myself, gotta have a roof over me." Who could refute that? I wish I could, but here I was, just another fucking loser with no true dreams and no real answers. The universe is a prison for the living and a grave for the dead, it doesn't matter how you twist the materials.

>type marketing
missing "of"
>Another feature of memes it's ability to go
this is fucked "are their" sounds better
>internet disillusioned
put a comma between, also rule #1
>the law of attraction
I wouldn't say that people use this law to make memes that law is pseud shit why even cite it... if you want to cite something cite viral biology
>To memes are created by C.I.A
missing "that", also you better cite this CIA shit or people will think you are nuts, and even if you cite it they will think that
>why is important to know
I figured you already made that point above
> (internet)meme
space here. also this whole paragraph is kinda shit, neil stevenson had a better description of memes in snowcrash and that was almost 20 years ago

Your argument about memes over ads misses the point that memes are only trying to sell themselves to get reproduced, ads are selling shit. Apples to oranges.

>sci fi, on going project

All Blone’s roads led to City Hall. Five square kilometers of square building, 75 stories tall. The cube was holding millions of citizens and minds, computer mainframes, communication equipment and a dozen bureaucrats. Sporting an enormous parking garage, common meeting halls, branded shopping malls, exclusive coffee shops, art collections, stadiums, and all cases of superfluous civic services. Those tired of physical reality drove or walked inside and were relegated to their personal icebox and mainline from brain to stream.

Bandwidth dictated density. The City Hall’s mass of organic and synthetic computorium, connected adjacent consciousnesses, offered low latency total communication to those inside and with the rest of Blone. From the roof an antenna stretched up past the stratosphere, connecting to passing gships. In context City Hall was a primitive example of the acros which studded Earth’s surface like the spikes of a mace, the blueprints and materials of acros were outside of Blone’s price range.

The MOART reached the outside of City Hall, looming box, sunlight absorbing into its dull soft exterior. Assistant blinked, then said, “you might want to check the stream.”

Gluos closed his eyes and saw a battered MOART pulling up beside the towering square mass of City Hall, the Mayor's cape blowing in wind as he jumped from the back. He saw Assistant stepping out of the cab and an attack helicopter roar overhead down the street. In the truck there was Gluos with closed eyes gritted teeth. The stream mummered in interest, Gluos was tasting ozone. He messaged Assistant.

"We’ve got to get inside."

OP here, going to critique yours to keep the thread going.

>first line
small typo: "she'd begun a new a block"

>third line
small typo: "inbetween it's worn edges" , you don't want to use it's as a contraction

>she did it to spare the opportunistic bunch of blades from being crushed
What makes an inanimate object 'opportunistic'?

>the slowly dropping temperature--visually indicated by the occasional wisp of breath
This doesn't have the mark of good narration. You don't have to hold the readers' hand with "visually indicated". I'd suggest something like: (...) the cooling temperature, with the occasional wisp of breath, lingering before her rosy lips, being swept away by a chilling breeze.

>label it as the Midwest Bank
consider: "the lettering...read Midwest Bank"

>indicate her being along the town's central road
again, with the hand holding

>Though she is on the main road
We know that she's on my main road from the passage just before

>A gust of wind, larger than the other zephyrs of the day, heaves itself on her and blitzes the town behind her at that moment.
Is the wind a recurring motif? It's quite nice, and this sentence is one of your better ones

>allen leaves scraping and stampeding the ground around her
Stampeding? hmm

>attach and detach to her black leggings
hmm. Maybe, "temporarily cling to her black leggings" or something to that effect, rather than repeating verbs like that
This paragrpah is your best so far in its descriptiveness.

>When the calm resumes
Was the gust of wind really that bad? If so, how did she not pick up on the temperature changing? If the weather's gotten that coarse, she better be adamant on getting somewhere important

Why such an extensive description of the town in the lattermost section? Is this going to bring anything to bear later in the short story?

Overall, this has potential. A little heavy on the description. No emotional engagement with the character or narrator after a handful of paragraphs and I'm out, though. Keep working on it.

Full of cliché, with a nice bit in the middle. Show, don't tell, is what I would advise you to do

You should strip it down further

This bit was great:
>I shifted into drive and I took off, my co-workers already ahead of me by minutes now. Ahead of me to see their family and talk about their day, to watch sports on TV or play videogames, to yell at their kids, to look at a miasma of contextually bankrupt internet jargon, to jack-off, or fuck, then sleep and go through it all again.

>Vaguely autobiographical twenty or thirty-somethings with empty lives

Interesting stuff in here guys

listen dude hopefully youre in your early twenties or teens because while all of this is "true", its wrong because its fucking draining and no one wants to hear this shit. bear your fucking cross and find a way to distill this into something that people will want to read.

If you dont care about people reading it then start a journal for your saddie baddie thoughts. Your post has been made a billion times

>he thinks creative writing is ever not vaguely autobiographical

post something then, meta critiques are even less interesting

Couldn't tear my eyes off this, even if I wanted to badly. You have a natural flow to your writing, and you caught my attention, which is difficult to do. Even if I could cut myself with the edge, bravo.
Anyway, this is the beginning of a Chapter 2, but you don't need to know much to get it.

Ray awoke to bright sunlight shining through the window next to him and onto his sleepy, groggy head. He slowly came to his senses, stretching his sore muscles and yawning as he tried to remember where he was and how he got here. For a moment it was pleasent: waking up from a long, deep slumber in a comfortable bed he had no memory of falling asleep in.

Then he remembered: Ryder, the daggar, the blood, the coin. He wished it were all a dream, but as he raised the the covers off of himself he saw it: a bandaged wound in the center of his chest, having gushed out yellow blood all over his abdomen and onto the sheets under him. He'd been Bound.

Ray rolled off the bed in a panic and landed his ass on the hard wooden floor, and a coin popped out of his pocket as he did, spinning for a second, then falling flat onto the floor. He stared at it in a cockeyed wonder: the coin he had been mortally Bound to. Sheepishly, he picked it up, and remembered the first time he had seen it, years ago in Cassel. It was ancient and brass, little larger than a bottlecap, and consisted of several concentric rings, with a glowing yellow orb in the middle.
"Fuck" He remarked, under his breath.

"That's no good for your first word as a bearer." The coin said, vibrating its many rings to imitate human voice. Garver shrieked and dropped the coin to the ground, irked by feeling it move. The coin bounced off the floor once, then its many rings broke free of eachother and started spinning rapidly, at different angles and pace. The coin floated this way, like a hummingbird, and looked like a small orb as it levitated in front of Garver's face.

"Though I've always been more fond of second impressions, anyway. I do hope you'll make a good one." Its orb glowed brighter as it spoke, the same color as Garver's new blood.

The sun was setting and the tips of the buildings were all aflame; I sat in my apartment blind to that glorious rage. She was in the building opposite, the window second from the top. The light was slowly escaping her and she was leaning out with her eyes closed and smiling, nearly falling trying to feel all its warmth. I loved watching her because she seemed so alive, so grand as the sun was bouncing off her. She alone was my sunset, my early moon. She managed not only to reflect but mimic that rage I so desperately craved, and with fingers up and grasping delicately those last rays, she left as the sun did.

Very cold, as in 'very' 'cold': & also confusing—why type all that out? Why spray boredom gently in our direction? Where is the burning? The fever? The despair? It felt like walking around Best Buy with a blindfold.

Preposition Ratio: 11.9 %

Zombie Nouns: vision, destination, identity

Lexical Diversity: 44.62 %

Content Carrying Words: 58.35 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 65.49 %

Longest Words: Unsurprisingly, distinguishing

Listen, however you decide to roll forth, you can't hide a corpse.

>aflame
intothetrashitgoes

Quick questions: deep? too deep? embarrassingly shallow? where did ye get all the awkward habits? do ye read much? what is today's date? who is the president? how great a danger do ye pose, on a scale of one to ten? what does 'people who live in glass houses' mean? every symphony is a suicide postponed, true or false? should each individual snowflake be held accountable for the avalanche? name five rivers.what do ye see yrself doing in ten minutes? how about some lovely soft thorazine music? if ye could have half an hour with yr father, what would ye say to him? what should ye do if I fall asleep?are ye still following in his mastodon footsteps? what is the moral of 'mary had a little lamb'? what about my everest shadow? would ye compare yr education to a disease so rare no one else has ever had it, or the deliberate extermination of indigenous populations? which is more puzzling, the existence of suffering or its frequent absence? should an odd number be sacrificed to the gods of the sky, and an even to those of the underworld, or vice versa? would ye visit a country where nobody talks? what would ye have done differently? why are ye here?

But why

The sun sets and the tips of the buildings flare as I sit in my apartment. A woman leans out her window, her eyes closed, smiling. To feel the last of the sun. She, alive, grand, the sun bouncing off her. Reflecting my rage, and with fingers up and grasping those last rays, she disappeared.

Thanks man. I'll try to be more aware of my typos and improve on skills.

Saw you in the other thread.
It's a little clumsy in the emotions it's trying to protray. I don't know why but the words hardly clicked on me, and some words like "glorious rage" had me think a second time to understand what it was you were saying - which broke flow for me. The two verbs "falling" and "trying" in one sentence was clunky, and made me stop to think again, perhaps put a comma in between, that's my bag.
When you say "she seemed so alive" I didn't get it until I looked back and saw she was smiling. It dosen't have to be for all sentences, but for this one, describe she makes you feel alive AND THEN describe why. I love the picture you're painting, but the wording is a little off. A book in my opinion should run like a smooth river, one ride all the way through without wanting to fight or stop against the currents.

Here's mine.

The moon glances sideways on those without a fit or a hope for something else to shine, and in dark nights like this, Elvira was more than compromised to find her hope.
“Dark nights wander,” she said, the melancholy drowse of her eyes bagging to her cheeks in tiredness. These were days of peace, peace too peaceful for one to take the dangers seriously, as it was on a night of nights so befuddled as this. Glory be to God she thought, that a night should leave her so melancholy as this one, on the eve of the anniversary of her mother’s death all she could hope for was a peaceful night.
Dark waters stern in the breeze of the piccolo trees, the swamps were stenching the drifting air, and all was quiet on the western front of Elvira’s rest. “Dark nights wander, and dark nights fall, but the breeze of my heart finds no rest in thee, o wondrous saviour; where is my kindle to be?”
There were darker nights yet to rest, and darker nights gone, but in nights like this found Ollie by the birch under lap of the branches, in rest of his abode. The young bard was a man of good rest, but found none on the dark, soggy night. This was the anniversary of his parents’ deaths, and he had found little forgiveness in his heart to carry on the mission so wearied in his heart to carry.
“These are dark nights indeed,” said the Wolf, a man, a beast, a warrior, he knew not which, but for the blade by his back, and the axes by his holsters.
These were dark nights indeed, and all was falling to rest, as the three heroes laid their good heads upon the laps of the sycamore trees, and there the winds of the willows lapped up all the airs of hope for tomorrow, for on this night, a night not which like to come, now, then, and ever again; was the night they were all going to die.
And Ollie, lying by his bedside rest, looked down at the scroll by the waist of his bleeding belly, and there it wrote:

“The stars sank into the seas, and the sun withheld its light.
And on that day, a day feared on the bright, you shall know it to be true, that the end has come.”
- By the Words of the Prophet Glamdrig, 14 P.A.

I know mine's not great, but holy cow yours is terrible! I'm not even sure where to start.

I understand you're not a native English speaker, and have some weird writing influences, so let's start at the basics: who are your influences?

Hey anytime. But I was being sarcastic. Takes a fucking fantastic ego to miss that. Keep practicing I guess.

God - Father, Son, Holy Spirit
Tolkein
Emily Rodda
Barbara Hambly
I'm sure there are others too, but these folks have inspired me to write. And yes you're correct, I was not born a native english speaker, but picked it up lwatching action movies from the 80's and 90's.

So you come and prance around on Veeky Forums without having read the meme trilogy? Get started, kiddo.

Summerise the plot for them all, friend. Why should I read these memes? To get gud?

>allaying

Endless Fun is a great example of clean writing, Mrs Yes is the peak of literature, & V2 is, ha-ha, woah, one long ass poem about sex & death that's almost as good as Jimmy Augustine Aloysius Joyce.

A quick rundown:

And but so a screaming comes across the porch, from the stairhead, Tommy bearing a bowl of lather on which a pinecone and a toy rocket lay crossed—he sits on the steps surrounded by heads and bodies of characters never to be created, Wallace having quit and thrown himself upon his belt, ha-ha o my, Tommy thinx, don't throw rocks at the thrown, ha-ha.

Overall I think the writing has a lot of potential, and is pretty decent. I only have a couple of things to say.

>and the tips of the buildings were all aflame;
I wholeheartedly thought this was going to be a post apocalyptic setting based off of that, like some crazy solar flare happened and the buildings were on fire. I see reading the rest it's intended to invoke the narrators sense of rage, but I would use a little less of a post-apocalyptic-y word

>I loved watching her because she seemed so alive
This really seems like telling instead of showing. You could say something along the lines of "My eyes kept drawn to her. She seemed so alive, so grand as..."

>She managed not only to reflect but mimic that rage I so desperately craved
Seems kind of showy. The only thing that really hinted at rage was your choice of word in aflame. The rage part, aside from that, didn't really seem to have much of a basis to it. Maybe add a another description or bit in that would hint that the narrator would think that the woman mimicked rage he so desperately craved?

Really though, aside from that, I thought it was phenomenal. I especially love that last part of >and with fingers up and grasping delicately those last rays, she left as the sun did.

>post apocalyptic
You're not this stupid, I'm clearly talking about the sunset. Obviously if you don't get this, you're not in the IQ range of my intended audience.

>telling instead of showing
I had just said she's leaning out A FUCKING WINDOW FOR SUN

>phenomenal
Exaggerated compliments don't help. Wasted both your and my time.

Yeah I didn't write that

Oh so it is pasta. Thank god. Aflame XD

I'm sure this is bait as well but to clarify anyway, I didn't write this:
I did write aflame XD and will post a revised version sometime soon

Idk who the fuck you are. You critiqued my thing? Or..? And FINE I'll reconsider using "aflame". Ffs

I tested for an IQ of 138 in the third grade, so please don't try that. This is a critique thread, where everyone is your audience. As writers we often hold other facts or ideas because we know exactly what we want to convey, but on paper (or text) it doesn't turn out how it should be. I told you my view, and how I think it could be edited so that others can enjoy it.

By the way, this is Veeky Forums. No one here is within your "IQ range" of your intended audience.

Yeah well mine's 10x bigger, and I have proof. Anyway, I don't TRY, I do, I make things happen. My audience is YA and ~obviously~ they understand metaphors, and non-literal usage.

Pathetic. I thought you all might be smarter than Reddit, but this place is hopeless.

Yeah, probably shouldn't have used that word. Worth editing out.

Any other criticisms?

Well, good luck in life.

...don't be... so... boring...(?)

>not getting the joke
>this hard

Scientific illiteracy is wrecking the world, phamalam.

Haha, okay, fair. Assuming you aren't the troll that's been derailing this thread.

The conch shell thing is p good, but you clutter the whole thing up with the worn-out druggy reaching... and since you don't do it as good, or well at all, just use plain English. The setting is interesting, your grammar is tight, but you don't come off as clever or smart, just try-hard.

Preposition Ratio: 11.51 % ← good!

Zombie Nouns (Kill): affection, fusion, attention

Lexical Diversity: 45.79 %

Content Carrying Words: 53.62 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 69.69 %

Longest word: cannibalistic ← kill

Got all that? Now if you clean-pick your writing down to its bones, we'll be better able to see that rippling net of gems in your mind.

Okay I took a lot from this so thanks, but the past tense is important to enforce the ephemeral theme.

I understand what you mean and it's all because I just threw a bunch of thoughts together at lunch and that was the jumbled result. I'm cleaning it now and yes this is how I usually write. With that alive bit I don't really know where else it would fit better, but perhaps it will flow better as a whole now.

I guess the initial apocalypse feel isn't terrible as I want you to see this sunset as a grand happening.
This alive bit I'll need more work on apparently.
Yeah I don't know why I used rage at all, I just wanted a strong emotion and I that's just what I went with.

Anyway here's the revision; be brutal:
The sun was setting and the tips of the buildings were flaming as I sat in my apartment. She was in the building opposite, the window second from the top. The light was slowly escaping her and she was leaning out with her eyes closed, smiling, trying to feel all its warmth. I loved watching her because she seemed so alive, so grand as the sun was bouncing off her. She alone was my sunset, my early moon. She managed not only to reflect but mimic that glory I so desperately craved, and with fingers up and grasping delicately those last rays, she left as the sun did.

I'll post it in this thread because I don't want to make a new one; does anyone using Writemonkey know if it's possible to make it so it's not full screen when you start it? It's really annoying.

How can I stop my obsession with storms and the sea? It's literally all I write about besides that sunset thing
Anyway here's something else where I can't decide if I should use quotation marks or not:
There’ll be a storm by three,
He whistled through broken teeth.
She’ll be raging for you,
But don’t worry
She’s just lonely.
Just a bit
Lonely.

Remember to lock up your house and meet her out there,
Out there in the field,
Out where she’s calling.
Do you know she’s been calling?
Calling for you.

You can hear her heartbeat if you listen,
Just listen.
It’d be the same as yours
If you’d care,
If you’d dare to be as grand as her.

'I wrote it shitty b/c I think it makes it more ephemeral'

↓

Let me revise

↓

'HA! See what your critiques led to?! THIS IS WHAT YOU MADE IT!!! HAHA YOU GUYS SURE LOOK DUMB NOW!!!'

What's the next step in your master plan?

You made the worst post in the thread worse

>grand sunset
>aflame → flaming
Wew.

>jumbled result
Y make us read your junk. I mean, making that excuse, 'I just threw [it] together', means you knew it was just nothing... did you want to see if you were a natural? That you just drip magic from your majestic mind? Wha?

>cleaning it now
Another ESL poster?

Hey your critiques are pretty cool. Is it possible to do mine? I'm OP.

This just feels like you're trying to sound smart. I can't tell if it's a meme or not, but it's not very good.

Yeah it's Alt + F4

Put it in pastebin

Why aren't your I capital? Is it some kind of "trying to be unique"-autistic thing, trying to make a point?

Wow that's a sick meme, thanks /b/ro xD

It becomes clearer in chapter 2. There is a good reason. I'll eat my hat if you guess it.

DELETE THIS

Will you at least add the constructive part of the criticism?

Same user Wrote this before, but I tried to clean it up a bit better.

Lee came at sunrise, brisk morning in the far off distant hazes of the Dunes; where time begins and midnight ends, there at the ever-wavy line of dust and wind, rising with the gold-tinged clouds of grey. A lone road ascended from the interstate split up the valley, then down the hills of Alberta Bay. It was through the old-world concrete carrions at the edge of the world where the ruin lay in wait for the sullied scrounger; a doomed man with a debt to pay.
Taking off his helmet, Lee left the old hover bike humming. This was going to be a short trip after all. A quick survey of the area found no bandit getting sneaky, but then again, that’s exactly what they would’ve wanted you to think. Only an idiot trusts his eyes out here.
Behind the hollow rubbles of bombed-out commercial buildings left plenty of gaps for a scope’s flash, and behind every abandoned car left plenty of space for a landmine to snuggle under.
Chinese restaurants, groceries, and a roofless Shop-at-Mart lay in consecutive lines before the parking lot. It was an all-too-perfect spring to attract the most opportunistic of hoarders, and when hoarders come, so do guns. Lee brought out his radar detector, and found two blips almost immediately. Oddly enough, neither of which belonged to the entrée delight of hoarder bait before him – but to an old cinema hiding almost clandestinely across the street. The parking lot held no cars, no life signs, and no other hovers in view. It was almost too good to be untempered with.
Giving a deep, troubled sigh, Lee flipped a coin for it.
It landed heads.
Trap was the first line of thought, as it was anywhere else in the frontier. Scroungers weren’t meant to get this far into the forbidden territories, but if you were as desperate to pay off some mob boss for a drunk night of cards, then you may have reason enough to throw your life aside for some old tech to scam a historian over.
Lee strapped on his Net-launcher and an old, half-cocked Gattle Gun, and ventured forth inside the building. The darkness of the theatre lobby was hardly pierced by the tongue of light coming from the outside world. The doors barely half-open.

Allll the shit that is being called to attention→stop doing it.

Writing is a subtractive art.

Is the reason actually good? I could buy it if you wrote as the person, and the person you're writing as isn't good. However, it seems like everything except the "i" is written as an author would write in, not as a plebian retard who doesn't know "i" is supposed to be capitalized would write it.

Okie dokie will revise again but I'll keep it out from now on

The 1st chapter is written by a computer program that has a mistake in it, and the author of the code runs into serious issues when he realizes that the capital I issue thing runs through more. than. just. that. one. program.

Bet you can't beat that symbolism.

But hol up, greentexting
>grand sunset
And the like while expecting me to know what you're talking about is a bit ridiculous. Also saying wew means shit

Here you go! Thanks man. Any critiques welcome (same text as OP).

pastebin.com/87ctB8vF

You don't have a notebook where you record all the best examples you've seen of sunsets being described? And sun related things? And then tracing the word etymologies & breaking down the rhetorical syntax—all the way down to its linguistic categories?

Then you're not serious about this. Go somewhere else.

Or maybe you do and I'm the asshole. Let's make nice, in that case. It's not the case, is it.

As for the other two green texts, yeah, you said those things, I added commentary.

Past tense =/= ephemeral

It makes it limp.

I do to an extent but sorry I'm not cool enough to post here.

>you said those things
Yeah I said flaming (which I don't understand the problem with or even aflame but I pulled that for you guys anyway) but I never said the sunset was grand, I said she was.

Of course past tense doesn't automatically create an ephemeral state, but I used it to emphasize it.

Just the first two pages. I'm trying to find a good balance for sexual tension, but the male is annoyed, and trying to seduce her, and she's not quite sure what to go on. He's younger than her, but rich, and I want to frame him slightly with the kind of mad bastard fever you get whenever you're thinking of the best way to make what's not quite making love .

I'm working on some other pages, it should be longer than 3K words -it's set in Sienna, loosely, and they'll move around largely lost, sitting at various cafes talking around the the gradually more direct fact that they are not having sex. They go to The Duomo, and they see a crying nun being screamed at by a few fat ones. Later, they go back down to the town square, and climb the clock tower - which is beautiful in real life - and see the nun climbing up it just as they leave. It will be a starry night with good wind from the Chianti, and they will argue over themselves, with the boy really, convincing her to indulge in last night or nothing. There's a little commution and peole get up, but they're too wrapped up in the talk.

And then, they turn, and then they see her, and -- I'm no too sure how I'm going to nail that last scene. I''ll probly have to visti /gif/ a lot..

-----

I'll ciritique in next post

Can't help but sense that quick moving machine whirring away in your head—it's like being pulled into your orbit, crashing through a forest of verbs & nouns—with night unfolding and the quiet murmer of that consciousness that streams & wavers behind all of our faces as we sit in one room & then another.

Preposition Ratio: 8.42 % ← Dynamic!

Zombie Nouns (Remove or turn back into verbs): obligation, irritation, racism

Lexical Diversity: 43.37 %

Content Carrying Words: 59.34 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 59.62 %

Longest Word: aminopentanedioate ← Must you?

I really like yr symbolism here:

yr man!

...

>I want you to see this sunset as a grand happening.
Ye said this↑

You do to an... extent? I'm pointing you in a useful direction.

>I used it to emphasize it
Not effective. What WAS effective was her going back inside at the end. The action of it. Your description is tedious.

Each revision isn't permanent, so try saying it in as few words as possible. You have 108 words. See what you get cutting it to 54. I guarantee it'll be better.

Just try it, it won't kill you. The damn thing has potential.

I love you yr man. I remember you, clearly high, comparing a piece of mine to sitting down bare foot at temple.

Thank you, dude. You pretty much single handedly pulled this thread out the gutter.

I hate to disappoint but I don't do drugs, dummy. And it was the Hagia Sophia.

Oh you meant that, yeah. The majority of what I write is someone viewing a natural event like as a grand happening so as to hopefully sway the reader into a more appreciative mindset. That's my goal and the only reason I write.

What I wrote was based off prior knowledge and so no I didn't study up for it which I'll start from now on. I already knew quite a bit about it but not enough in the aspects you were listing.

Yeah I trim down overtime, I'll probably post a much shorter version in the next thread.

Although I live in the city, I enjoy leaving my curtains open to catch natural light. Sometimes I even sleep with the curtains open, letting the sun hit my face to wake me in the morning. Every weekday, mother closes the blinds so the daycare child that sleeps in my room can sleep. When I come home from work in the evening, the blinds are still closed. This bothers me. On these nights, even when I come home late, I open the blinds for only a few minutes before closing them to fall asleep.

I love the sound of rain. I find it peaceful, and it helps me sleep. But I have no netting over my window frame, so I can't sleep with the window open, or else I'll wake up with mosquitoes and moths and blackflies in my room, sometimes hiding away for days at a time and sometimes fluttering around my head as I read. So I undo the locks on my window and raise it as far as it can go, without and proper gap in the frame.

More than the light and the rain, I love the fresh air. My room quickly gets dusty, so I leave my window open for hours at a time, in the hope of ventilating the place. But through the sunlight, in front of the open window, I still see dust float through the air. This frustrates me. Still, I especially enjoy the smell of fresh air during a rainfall. Tonight, as it rained, I opened the curtains, pulled back the drawstring of the blinds, unlocked the window, raised it all the way and stuck my head outside, breathing deeply and counting the stars that poked through the rainclouds.

God I fucking love this kind of writing. You've just described me, lad.

I'm just plain old impressed.

Preposition Ratio: 11.78 %

No Zombie Nouns(!)

Lexical Diversity: 44.11 %

Content Carrying Words: 55.89 %

Personal Vocab Diversity: 60.0 %

Longest Word: ventilating

This may have been the only good thing I've ever read on Veeky Forums

I really enjoyed this but I'm high on Zplipidem.

Liked these string of words: castor oil, pg, glycerin, and fragrance
Has a nice chidlishness to it.
>no bandit getting sneaky but that's what they want you to think
>left the old hover bike humming. THIS WAS GOING TO A SHORT TRIP AFTER ALL

It's not bad, buth there's a touch too much exposition for either trivial things or things no worth including. If only an idiot would trust there eyes, show why, don't tell it in three ways.

...

Sorry, "I really enjoyed this" shoudl be foryrman could you do me the great privilege? I've been writing a little high on these things.
pastebin.com/8Ti8uKgh

...

Thanks, I write essays for personal interest but this is my first attempt at that sort of thing. I was considering adding another bit about my alarm clock which is a total failure of industrial design but I liked how the other elements revolved around the window. [spoilers]Honestly I was expecting people to tear this to shreds, this means a lot to me[/spoiler].
Is there a site you're using for these stats? I'd like to see how some of my technical writing checks out.

Anonymous 05/06/17(Sat)00:47:49 No.9470399▶
File: image.jpg (183 KB, 736x1206)

#
Just some code I wrote.

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Tomorrow. Gon tear it to RIBBONS. U WILL NEVER WRITE IN THIS TOWN AGAIN.

Giton nah.

I love you my man, tear it like poor pulled pork

And if you're ever in Dublin, I'll buy you a pint.

I know this is bad but it's one of the first things I've written since I supposedly gave up. Please don't be too harsh

For some reason I've never understood the younger generation always romanticizes death. It doesn't matter which younger generation per say, only that they're the youngest one at the time that's running low on baby teeth. Death is a dirty business, and nobody really walks away clean from it in either body or soul. Not even me.

You'd think a long career of dealing with the dead would you numb to its weight and its stench – that once you'd seen a few bodies that'd just stopped moving (or in my case several dozen that started again for some unholy reason) you wouldn't feel it when that black angel came for your own. Turns out things are never that easy either for you or for them.

When I caught wind of old ghosts in Willow Creek I felt an old weight settle back onto my shoulders. I had hoped I would never have to return to the soot bed where my neighbors and family once lived, and was dumb enough to believe for a while that that town was gone. Restless dead don't lie though, and someone has to make sure the dead make way for the living.

I rolled in at sundown and then turned right around and left. I knew these old roads better than the old scars on the back of my hand, but somewhere along the way I must have made a wrong turn. As I retraced my steps I knew deep down I was being an idiot. There were the same old sounds and the same old smells, the same creeks and bridges and the thunder-split boulder with the injun trail marks. Everything outside it was right where should be, but the town beneath the willows was nothing like the one I remembered.

I should have expected it really. We were a town of mahogany mansions at best and pine shacks at worst. Fire doesn't discriminate the way folk often do. It'll have have the whatever and then clean its damned plate, and when it's done there's nothing but ashes and bones and shriveled black timbers. There wouldn't be much left here that I knew as I saw it, but something dead was clawing against the tide here, and if anyone was going to send it home it might as well be me.