/lit/ - Literature

Too much alliteration, sounds like cleverness.

Love it.

October had come like a rushing wind that whistled in the ears and set the trees afire, and now it was at its peak and the air was unstill and glacial as if God breathed winter into the world before its time. In the early morning the sun’s eye glazed and beleaguered with cataracts, unseeing behind gray and opaque barriers. The rain had stopped but its remnant soldiers fallen still across the ground, slick concrete and macadam, trailing of snail-slime like spider webs and leaves dead and saturated with rainwater. The road between the line of houses and the fields shined with echoes of streetlights and the fields themselves only barest silhouetted mounds that faded into cloud-shadows. On the other side of the house a garden and here grew a multitude of florae: roses, carnations, climbing vines about white lattices; yellows, pinks, reds, and greens and greens. There was a fountain too, moon-shaped-and-colored—tiers of glittering waterfalls spilled into sister pools that frothed like some effervescent chemical reaction, sparkles sharply relieved in the gray dawn half-light. Beyond that another road and another line of houses, on and on into the grid of a suburb that waxed and waned along its path until it became a conurbation of higher buildings colored gray and mirrored and they, doppelgängers of Atlas, backs bent under their weighty burden, became the pillars of Heaven.

I awoke on the concrete, it was early morning.

>>3514074
>as if God breathed winter into the world before its time
He did. Genesis 1.

"Who is John Galt"

Obama sits behind his large, wooden desk.

"From this follows a refusal of analyses couched in terms of the symbolic field or the analyses in terms of genealogy of relations of force, strategic developments, and tactics."

>>3514092
"It" refers to winter. Probably should be more clear.

It was a dark and stormy night. Twas brilig and the swogs did bray.

>>3514138
>no antecedent
0/10

He clenched his ass checks together so tightly he began they began to tremble.

>>3514174
sorry take out "he began"

>>3514074

Way too descriptive and long winded. Some of the lines are pretty, but all this is too much for the beginning of the story. Personally, I don't really like when books open with a very detailed physical description of a landscape. It tends to bore me, so take my opinion for what you will.

>>3514082

I think that comma should be a semi-colon. I like it though.

>>3514138

wat
OP here again. I just wrote this:

"We lay back-to-back on bone-white sheets, bare skinned and barely touching. The bed-frame creaks; I stir, she sleeps. The clock reads 2 A.M."

I'm trying to write a prose poem. Does this kind of work?

>>3514052
Don't like the "barely touching", doesn't fit the tone of the passage for me. Rest makes me think of the cold that comes from waking up at night because of an open window.

>>3514082
Foreboding, can be anything, good. I think of a person that's been plastered to the pavement after a night of heavy drinking, or some night of general debauchery, and they passed out on the sidewalk.

>>3514111
A friend of Dagny Taggart?

>>3514195
That's some W.H. Auden shit there, nigga.

I like it.

I was halfway home when I heard the crash

I sprinkled coke on the floor to make it look drug related.

>>3514393
Confessions of New York City Cop

>>3514052

Way too much alliteration. It also seems confusing or imprecise--"back-to-back" suggests that the two are arguing or estranged, which the connotation of "bone-white" seems to agree with, but then why would they be naked? And touching each other?

>>3514082

This is good. Might change the comma to a period, depending on what comes next. Short sentences carry that "punch" you seem to be going for.

The coffee was always good.

His hands were just as old as the rest of him, but seemed more so.

>>3514195
>We lay back-to-back...
>The bed-frame creaks; I stir, she sleeps.
>The clock reads...

>lay
>creaks
>stir
>sleeps
>reads
>(humming) one of these is not like the other

Not even /lit/ can grammar. O what a world.

>>3514082
Semi-colon, m'good suh. It's good though.
>>3514111
Is that a question or a statement? You should probably decide. I'm pretty sure >Who
Implies question, therefore, wat?
>>3514115
Stating the obvious.. "The wind was windy, the rain was damp, and the air that day was quite airy." Shit in that vein. If you must use this at least use it in a context that establishes some sort of comfortable regularity "the day was dawning, and the papers had just found there way to the big desk Lord-King Obama sat behind in his large oak throne." Something like that.
>>3514156
Pip pip.
>>3514138
Keep It Simple, Stupid. One of the most basic writing precedents.
>>3514174
he began or they began to tremble
If he began to tremble, he must be staving off rape, if they began to tremble, he must be terribly nerved out about something. The little things matter, why are his pelvis cushions trembling?
>>3514393
Good work, but focus on the thread at hand.
>>3514425
The coffee where?
>>3514439
maybe substitute 'just' for 'only'
And maybe be more descriptive
In all actuality these are trivialties though, and this is only attributable to your writing style, so theoretically if you were to revise it would be because that's what I want you to do.
Do what you want, write the fuck out of that shit.

>>3514442
What's wrong with it exactly?
I just don't see it... maybe it is there..

>>3514472

The original line was "exactly as old as the rest of him"

Witness the wildcat stance: she stood crouched, naked, teeth bared as if prepared to spring, eyes locked on something distant, the ubiquitous eyes of God.

>>3514487
Exactly sort of indirectly implies that they in no way are any different age from the rest of him, not even perceptually.
Also you wrote 'just'
I don't even know if that's what we're discussing.

>>3514474
"Lay" is past tense (of the CORRECT verb) and the following sentences are in present tense. If I were an editor and received such a manuscript which made such a silly, careless, idiotic mistake in the very first goddamn line I would immediately shred it without reading another word.

The lie/lay distinction. It's kind of important.

>>3514501
She was unstoppable, nay, she was-
A CHEETAH GIRL.

>>3514509
well thank fuck you're not an editor mate. :P
It's just a small mistake that's easily fixed.

>>3514511
I lol'd.

>>3514509
Also in recent years the necessity of distinction between the two has become less of a necessity and more of a semantic frivolity. Though it would be arguably important to an english proffessor, or I suppose anyone who finds importance in spelling everything "down to a T" the average person would find little issue with it.

In a literal sense, we are all fucked into and out of existence in one way or another. Everyday, both man and science work hard to add to this list. A great man once lived who was evidence of this, whose death, while incalculable, was altogether necessary for what followed. The facts of when and how he had died proved to be more important and meaningful than anything he had done previously in his thirty two years of existing independent of that moment.

First line from the short story I'm currently working on:

He knew the amphetamines were kicking in once he felt the slow, tingling crawl begin to work it's way like shifting electric spider's legs in his scalp.

>>3514528
I know that feeling.

But the first sentence needs to be catchier.

He knew the amphetamines were kicking in. Blah blah blah. The tingling crawl began to work blah blah blah.

Then go on from there.

>>3514507

I mean when I originally wrote the line it was 'exactly', but later on I changed it to 'just'.

>>3514522
The "average person" is irrelevant. My point is that the editors who decide what gets published care, very strongly, about this sort of thing. When they see elementary grammatical mistakes in the first paragraph they are not inclined to continue reading, and the piece is discarded. If publishing is your goal, you have to take this into account.

Back in the spring, a real reporter at a real news bureau with a real computer published
a phony April-Fool's article saying that the EU Copyright Court was relocating to Sealand due
to the micro-nation’s, “unique position of diplomatic impartiality”.

>>3514550
You have my attention.

>>3514567
here's what ive got, I feel like it trails off in quality a lot at about the halfway point i'd say so I'm looking for ways to improve things.

it's like ten pages so dont feel obligated to read if you're not bored/interested/etc, but any and all feedback is awesome/wonderful/appreciated

https://docs.google.com/document/d/164XbpdAlskE27biefS9Mr_ZDsRdw0OLwkxuCnRjKWb4/edit?usp=sharing

>>3514580
Hate the title, love the piece. I didn't even know Sealand was a place before now, so at least you taught me something. It also gave me some ideas of my own, so thanks for sharing.

You did a good job of capturing the tedium and absurdity of it, thats for sure. Its definitely a bit patchy, but it still feels pretty conclusive. The ending is great. Good use of footnotes.

In terms of criticism, there may be too many pop culture references. And don't use words like 'guffawing'.

If one more idiot on this board recommends Ulysses or Finnegans Wake or whatever to me, my fucking anus will explode with rage and my smoldering ass shrapnel will kill us all, thought the OP.

This is dedicated to the whore on omegle who only wanted to tell me in specific details exactly why I never deserved sex or a relationship, and was a manipulative bastard for desiring it, and that I should be more of a jerk to get women.

>>3514580
Uh-oh, it's good. This has ruined my day.

>>3514052

"Last month I broke up with M. Or maybe it was last year, I don't remember."

"I don't know to how of be make speech is good, yes?"

>>3514580

You're relying too much on footnotes and coming off as an overly impetuous DFW wannabe. Don't do this. It's a crutch.

>>3514522
Why would the degeneration of the English language be acceptable? Next you'll be telling me it's 'color' and not 'colour'.

>>3515014

Than at*

Nowhere was the battle between the sexes more evident that the toilet seat.

>>3514872
The only thing worse than being DFW is wanting to be DFW.

No, wait. I just remembered Franzen exists.

>>3514052
>>3515014
Relationshit is dead.

Posted this before. Never got a response.

The road in was not a road but an earthen path salted with just enough shale and fallen branches to keep Hale’s battered Jeep from bogging down. Two low stone walls marked the property line but someone with strength and determination had dislodged a great number of the stones and regrouped them into a massive cairn that left no room to pass. Hale spent the better part of an hour knocking it over and rolling away the stones, and by the time he was done his hands were bleeding and he had sweat through his shirt. The path beyond entered a grove of old growth oak and sycamore that on both sides bent over the sodden track in search of light and seemed to form a tunnel through time to when this World was not yet New. Hale looked at the windshield-mounted GPS and smiled at the black mass swallowing the car icon. For better or worse, he had found his terra incognita.

"I lit my last cigarette and pulled the pin of the grenade strapped to my chest. It was a race against time now, and it looked like lung cancer would lose."

>>3515076
>>3515076
I like this.

>>3515076
>"I lit my last cigarette and pulled the pin of the grenade strapped to my chest. It was a race against time now, and it looked like lung cancer would lose."
Dan-Brown-tier humor, oh boy. Have you considered writing for daytime TV?

"Rogery and Avery were friends. They were also ducks."

>>3515115

Best in the thread

Her cum covered tits were lopsided and artificial, none-the-less she was the only whore in all of the international space-station.

OP, try :
>"Laid back-to-back on bone-white sheets, bare skinned but hardly touching. The bed-frame creaks; I stir, she sleeps. The clock-face blinks early morning."
It has better scansion. Not quite right, still.

>pitch

As he stood up, taking a deep breath, the pounding in Ronald Moore’s temples fizzled.

When I was younger I remember going to the beach on a sun kissed summer day.

That night Alison had a dream about a thing called an elephant. Legends said that they existed in the old world, before the harvest. She had never really seen one before, only drawings of them. In her dream it was a thousand feet tall, and it was made of storms. In her dream she was standing on a narrow cliff watching this stormy behemoth come near her, and she only felt one thing; love.

>>3515341

It needs work. There's the seed of a good idea in there trying to burst through. The idea is good, just not expressed in the best way.

>>3515249
I'm calling shenanigans on this. If they were on the ISS there would be zero-G so why would the cum cover her tits?

She was dead. Heather Malone was dead. All the way to the airport I told myself.

I had held a funeral.

No body of course. Some of her old clothes, a pen and pencil set she had given me. a copy of her poetry book. Me and Thomas and a couple of her friends. There's a bronze plaque in Wildwood with her name on it, and two dates.

But still the cold. The frost creeping around my living heart, as it surely must have crept around hers in those last (final, surely. Surely?) hours after she climbed into Terrel's machine, and they injected whatever witches' brew was supposed to keep the living cells from rupturing, the ice-crystals from slicing, the proteins from curdling, the neural channels from randomizing as they slowed her down and froze her (to death? Surely?).

All I could think about was the kind smile and worried happiness of her parents when they handed me that letter. I wanted to punch Carl when he lead me to the room, showed me the ghastly foil-wrapped mummy. He said things about hoping to see her again soon, and other things about her wishes and intentions and final thoughts. Stupidity. The ravings of a zealot.

My ex wife was dead. All the way to the airport with the letter (her letter?) beside me. She was dead, surely as the five pounds of hamburger at the bottom of my freezer would never walk or moo or chew its cud again.

She was dead.

But on the flight down, I had dreams.

>>3515334
That sentence is wrong. It says that when you were younger, you remembered something (as opposed to you can now remember being young) but with the tenses all fucked up.
>I remember going to the beach on a sun-kissed summer's day when I was younger.
is more accurate
>I remember when I was young; going to the beach on a sun kissed summer's day.
is more accurate and sounds nicer
>I remember a trip to the beach; a sun-kissed summer's day in my youth.
is just as accurate but also poetic, which seems to be the nostalgic atmosphere you're going for.

>>3514082
Depending on what you're going for, I actually like

"I awoke on concrete, in the early morning" better.

>>3515370
Here's the passage:

I remember going to the beach on a sun kissed summer day when I was younger. Among the fleeting memories of the crashing waves and the gritty sand in my toes I remember seeing a blue glass bottle dancing in the surf. I remember picking it up out of the cool salty foam and uncorking it. Inside there was a little yellow sheet of ruled paper that defined me for the rest of my life.

>Yes I changed it

>>3515369
I misread this,
>My ex-wife was dead. All the way to the airport with the letter (her letter?) beside me. She was dead, surely as five pounds of frozen hamburger; at the bottom of my freezer and would never walk or moo or chew cud again.

I like the misdirection of that last sentence.

>>3515378
>I remember a trip to the beach; a sun-kissed summer's day in my youth. Among fleeting memories of crashing waves and gritty sand between my toes I remember a blue glass bottle that danced in the surf. I remember reaching out and plucking it from cool white foam then uncorking it with my child's curiosity. Inside was a small yellow sheet of paper, a small yellow sheet of paper without which I would be a very different person today.

He struggled to draw the Katana from its sheath, his sweat droplets making a poor lubricant.

>>3515431

I saw him there, four hundred and twenty pounds of rage, his forehead shining with sweat and dark patches of the stuff running down his thighs, back, chest and armpits. He glared at me and with a high pitched squeal, charged me.

As she watched her fleet dissolve into atoms, her hand wandered closer to her crotch. The deaths of millions was just so...hot...

>>3514762
the title's terrible, that's for sure, but ive gotta think of something better. I was a bit worried i was toeing the line on pop-culture references so ill go through and see which ones don't hold up-- i try not to overdo those, because i know its the fucking worst when people go overkill with them. also, i'll definitely double check some of that word choice, thanks
I can see where it could get patchy, i might have taken the tedium to an extreme at points. I'm glad you dug the ending, though-- I was unsure if it was too abrupt or not, I liked it in concept but i wasn't sure if i quite stuck the landing. I feel like the whole 3rd quarter, i guess, though, needs work-- basically, the stuff with the Sealand Defilers up til towards the end i guess is what i feel lags, but I'm not sure. All my recent edits/reads have been kind of rushed, so I want to take spring break to fix the problematic shit in there. after the most recent of these edit sessions, I was a bit drunk and decided to submit this to TAR, but it was a few days late so thankfully I dont think itl make it in for this issue and I'll have a chance to fix it more. If you're reading this Prole, please don't put me in this month.

as far as footnotes, since it seems like >>3514872 and >>3514580 have differing views on the use, i guess i should clarify that most of the footnotes were originally in the main story, and i decided to use footnotes because I felt like this info was important, but it interfered with the flow of the story when it remained in the main body of the story. After that, i did add some footnotes that werent there, so i could see those ones being a bit of overkill, and ill take a look at them

>>3514819
if its any consolation, I'm a shitty dude so you can still hate it/me with impunity. really though thank you so much, im so glad you enjoyed it-- shit, i'm just flattered all you guys even took the time to read this

(contd)

>>3515468
anyways, as far as info on sealand that >>3514762 mentioned, some of it is real (most of the history, the prince and prince regent, its existence, the anthem, the existence of the roller derby team-- though not the name, etc), there's obviously a ton of liberties taken too. Sealand's existence honestly is more interesting than sealand's history, i can say from googling it way too much, but it still is kind of fascinating.

holy shit thank you so much for all your help, feedback, and honestly way-too-kind words. i'm just flattered that you guys took the time to even read it-- the fact that you liked it is just gravy

this is like the week from hell for me in terms of work, so i havent had as much time as id hoped to give people feedback in this thread, but if any of you guys would like me to give your stuff a read, shoot me an email (which i put into this post under the trip), and while it might take me a week or two to get back to you, ill do my best

seriously thank you guys so much

>>3514544
I see the validity of your point.
>>3515076
If this were a TV show I would only like it if the main star was very likeable.

>>3515354
Shenanigans is like 'misadventures' so it's not completely applicable.. It's like one of those words that doesn't fit well at all, but is arguably "kind of" alright in this context.
Also osmosis, and semen is still sticky in space... so I have no idea what you're on about.

>>3515354
Dispersal upon impact. The only instance it wouldn't cover her tits is if it passed straight through her torso

>>3514195
>>3514195
>Does this kind of work?
Very much so.

I don't write poetry often, and the last collection of it that I read was Wordsworth, so this probably isn't very good. This is the first stanza.

I didn't fall in love today
Although I did notice your smile
I'll keep it for only a while

Personally it feels as cliched and wet as fuck.

>>3515369
>Thomas and I
>Surely?).
>>3515334
lol, Sunkist(like the beverage)

A multitude of things can now break me, destroy every last fiber of an already crumbling being. Did I get tired of being detached, a non-combatant in life’s battles?

I built a towering fortress, in seclusion and peace. On a path to tranquility, and being successful at it too. But why did I step out, and butchered and crushed it all in one terrible volley from the catapults and trebuchets?

I did figure it out, I seek devotion, agony, joy, and misery. Something to break the monotony. Anything that would drive me, towards obsession or abhorrence. It didn’t matter to me.

I am truly my worst enemy.

i'm afraid you'll be those one of those dreams where we both lose. maybe a nightmare, but i wouldn't say so. i'll repeat again you're a thousand suns that'll only burn me apart. but let me breath into you. i'll be the cold raw wind. and like that my whirlwinds along with your suns will only destroy the worlds around us. and wouldn't that be something?

>>3516212
love is probably the gayest word ever. It cant find any place in any writing where it's appropriate.

I assume mostly because it has too many meanings in modern day language.

Dozing in bed
Violently blue
My heart is dead
Thinking of you

>>3516259
disgusting
yumivomiting.jpg

A coughing blew out the exhaust.

>>3515444
10/10 would read for the remainder of my existence

>>3516212
i hate to sound like a jerk, but it kind of is cliched.

also, its the kind of cliched where the words seem to be chosen in a misguided attempt to emphasize how they sound over what they mean. write with meaning first, and make the rest work accordingly. write with a purpose in mind; dont write and hope youll stumble on significance in the process

>>3516399
Poison type pokemon are such dicks.

I was happy then not having any ringing and tingling in the head music coming from the outside and dead in the inside music of the applewaves caressing gently rolled oceans of hands harvesters of sunlight music of paperlike birdies high combing my thinning hair telling me to hush petting the top of the head Motherly music of all these travellers with me like me notexactlyme but sharing and echoing back me nothing to justify nothing to be had nothing to be spent everything in the music silent. Then the ball died off swallowed by the whalesea.

I was happy then not having any ringing and tingling in the head music coming from the outside and dead in the inside music of the applewaves caressing gently rolled oceans of hands harvesters of sunlight music of paperlike birdies high combing my thinning hair telling me to hush petting the top of the head Motherly music of all these travellers with me like me notexactlyme but sharing and echoing back me nothing to justify nothing to be had nothing to be spent everything in the music silent. Then the ball died off swallowed by the whalesea.

>>3514472
>The coffee where?
That's not something to get into with the first line.
Take your shitty advice giving attempts somewhere else.

>>3515312
>fizzled
>fizzled
>fizzled
>fizzled
>fizzled

that word does not work

>>3516730
I actually kind of dug this. this is stream of consciousness done kind of well, assuming it ends up going somewhere. color me intrigued.

They had two children out of love and two out of habit.

>>3517692

This seems familiar. Have you posted it on here before? If so, it is good.

>>3517695
>They had two children out of love and two out of habit.

Posted it before, yeah. The book itself is stagnating at the moment.

>>3517692
I'm certain that's paraphrased from something I've read before.

>>3514580
this was alright. a bit long though, honestly.

>>3516479
This is great advice, thanks.

>>3517892
no problem, just remember the most important thing about making something with your own voice is that you dont get too wrapped up making it try to sound like something else

>>3518019
>the most important part of doing something is not trying too hard to do it

great advice there dickhole.

>>3518056
I could have phrased it more clearly, but I meant "trying too hard" in the sense that they were trying too hard to make something sound a certain way-- in the sense that they started out writing with the primary goal of making something sound a certain way, and putting the subject matter and thematic ideals as a secondary goal, or hoping theyd figure them out as they go along. there's nothing wrong with having an aesthetic idea in mind when you write, but you shouldn't hold your writing prisoner to a certain expectation of tone, syntax, and flow. You can start out with how youd like something to read or to sound, but when you write, it should be a push and pull between these expectations and the ideas that emerge as you try to do justice to the story you're looking to tell.

I'm not saying don't put effort in, i'm saying don't try to force a certain ideal or style-- don't try to write it with concern for how it will be discussed on wikipedia.

of course you should put every ounce of effort into writing you possibly can, and then triple it.

>>3518080
but isnt there an inherent value to aestheticism itself?

Into the deep grey morning he hastened, only to be found dead and chastened.

>>3518080
"Genius is an infinite capacity for taking
pains"

Feels pretty damn terrible, knowing I'll never write a better opening sentence than "Call me Ishmael."

Should I push or suck my turd back in?

>>3518559
I must have read the gay version, where it's "Call me, Ishmael."

Let me start off by saying that this won't be a focused piece of writing. It won't be a masterpiece. Masterpieces come from a chip on your shoulder. Someone with something to prove. Someone driven to succeed. Someone a little bit crazy. Usually somebody that is angry. Not me. I've reached nirvana.

Doctor Ward said it might be a good idea to start writing about myself, because I’m always in my head and that maybe I would be able to sort out my thoughts if I could just vomit them all out on a page like a Roman at a banquet, probably, but I don’t know if that’ll work. Okay, he didn’t specifically tell me to vomit out all my thoughts, and he wasn’t all probably-maybe about it, he’s a doctor and in a position of responsibility, so he has to be firm, and he is. I understand the idea behind this whole thing but I don’t know.

Maybe if I write them all down I’ll feel relieved or something, but I’d probably just look at what I’ve done and not understand a word of it, and not know who could’ve written that, or why, and I’d become all dissociative with it and think the guy who wrote that story’s name was Walter Fry and that he was a freak. And later that day, or tomorrow, I’d read it all again, or I’d show someone, or some kinda epiphany would take place, probably during one of my bouts with insomnia just to heighten the senses of paranoia and unease, and I’d realise I wrote it, but I still wouldn’t understand. I was the one who put pen to paper, I was the one who drew lines through words like facsimile or coquettish or elucidate because they were pretentious – they didn’t fit the scenario – and I was the one who thought that someone could possibly understand. But not even I would understand, and Walter Fry and myself would become bitterest of enemies, and he would spit on me if we met somewhere in my dreams, and I would let him.

>>3518617

Worst in the thread.

Sorry. Just unoriginal and in your attempts to not come across as pretentious you end up sounding even more like one. Generally best to avoid mission statements when writing fiction, I find, leave that to when you're asked about it.

Read but one page and i will be forgotten: the tale i have to tell is not my own. It was carried to me on the tides of strange oceans and delivered to me from the hands of a man i knew living, and do not care to know now that he has become the thing that handed to me across my own threshold--I dared not invite him inside- the verdigrised and ancient boxes that contain the manuscripts that now i must lay before you if i am to fulfil the awful promise I made their author in a world that now seems so much lesss than a dream. And so much more.

It began on Crete..."

"I woke up this morning in the afternoon, splattered some clothes after spilling out of bed..."

>tfw you can't translate for shit

>>3518809
is this about Alex Mack, from the secret world of alex mack? if so this is fantastic 11/10 would read again

>>3518777
I don't think you really need the framing device, but it's a pretty good one.

>>3518617
lesson number one on being a young male writer is no one gives a shit about young male writers. lesson number two of being a young male writer is that breaking the fourth wall doesnt automatically make something good and its very hard to do it correctly. lesson number three of being a young male writer is that memoir-style writing and autobiographical writing is the lamest kind of writing on the planet and thousands of people are already doing it and theyre not that good at it either so dont feel bad but write about something else for gods sake. lesson number four of being a young male writer is stop being a young male writer.

>>3518777
this elicits a really great sense of adventure, im intrigued to hear more if youd like to post it

Like a flower blooming warm in the dewed sun, for the first time I saw the beauty in life.

He stepped over the dead bodies, taking care not to have sex with any of the women in the room.

>>3519312
This doesn't quite work for me-- it sort of seems like its trying to be edgy for the sake of edgy. Also, while i get the intended comic effects of saying "taking care not to have sex with any of the women in the room" --the contrast with the first half of the sentence/the mislead with "stepping over the dead bodies" and "taking care", the bluntness of it, the way its stated as if its a reasonable precaution, the possibly implied necrophiliatic urges, etc-- it falls kinda flat, and honestly feels a bit uncomfortable. I mean, maybe it works better in the context of the rest of the passage/story, but just working off of what I'm seeing here, it's not quite grabbing me-- though with some tweaking of the hook, maybe it could work? I like the idea of contrast, and necrophilia jokes can land well if thats what youre going for, but this is blunt to a fault, and it sort of just leaves the reader with an odd taste in their mouth.

again, though, context could prove me wrong, so just my thoughts.

Yesterday I murdered my best friend. This is my confession, and when I am done I'll do what's right and end it all, and then maybe I can apologize to his face.

>>3519329
The man pushed open the door to the saloon, he was looking for Trent. The Saloon was in Asia somewhere and all the men in it looked really evil some of them werent wearing shirt. Other ones had headbands on and scars they all looked like they knew karate except one who only had one leg ' probably eaten off by a tiger or exploded off by a grenade' thought the man. Then he heard it "hahaha" the last time he had heard that noise two men were dead and one woman had been had sex with. He looked through the crowd and saw Trent playing russian roulette! BANG! A man shot himself! BANG! Another man shot himself! CLICK! Trent didn;t shoot himself! "hahaha" he said "Too easy" as he collected the money and stepped over the dead bodies taking care not to have sex with any women in the room. The man gave Trent an envelope and Trent looked inside of it and found €147638 and a note he read the note it siad "KILL THE PRESIDENT". Trent crunched the note into a ball and threw it in the air BANG! Trent shot the ball of paper and the man at the same time! He looked at the man he had just shot at the same time as the ball of paper and said "Don't you know that periods of severe financial crisis require a strong socio-political base from which to resolve themselves!" Trent said but he didn;t really mean it he just wanted the money and couldnt of been bothered anyway.

Here's the story I wrote that that line is from, thanks for your critique

>>3519331
too blunt-- when you lay out EXACTLY what's going to happen, in most cases, it makes the reader less compelled to continue on, as it causes them to form expectations about what the story contains. while it can often be good to facilitate expectations/false expectations (esp. with thrillers and the like) in the reader, it becomes a problem when it fosters expectations about the story content/arc rather than the broader narrative. in this case, when i see you so bluntly say "yesterday, i murdered my best friend. This is my confession, and when i am done i'll do what's right and end it all, and then maybe i can apologize to his face.", it makes it clear that this is going to be effectively a confessional suicide note, but one very limited in its scope. furthermore, the way you framed the sentiment "and when i am done ill do whats right and end it all"-- i hate to say it because i sound like a dick saying this, but it kind of sounds like a linkin park or some other 2edgyteencore band lyric.

While kind of conventional, starting simply with "yesterday i murdered my best friend" could work, provided you follow it up with something else less blunt. you don't want to focus all on surface actions/emotions in your opening-- you want to give the reader the idea that there is something to plumb deeper into, and that its worth continuing onward to find out more about this narrator's existential angst over killing their best friend-- and as the story develops, it can become clear that he's got a conclusive solution planned, and that this is the intent of conveying this information.

bluntness can work sometimes, but i dont think its doing you any favors, in terms of what youre aiming for.

>>3519347
again, of course, inb4 there are always exceptions and etc, but remember the golden rule: the less your stories can be compared to Chuck Pahliniuk, the better.

To not miss the spot I decided to leave the road and walk alongside the river bank. When I heard water splashing I crouched and peeked through the leaves of the brush I was walking through and there I saw Manon de Florette wading through the water in her undershirt. The Florettes were originally from Alsace, and in Manon’s constitution there was all the florid German vitality that marked their accent, with its stress on the first syllable. I stared at her for a long time while she slowly rinsed her hair. The August sun, the water flowing, not a sound and not even a breeze. As she turned towards me I closed my eyes and ran away. I was too scared that once I would have seen how beautiful she was I would have jumped out of my hiding place to run towards her and smother her with kisses. By the time she took off her shirt to lay down to dry on the warm rocks I was already running on my way back to Giverny with my heart beating with feelings, since it’s not always that a man falls in love with a woman’s face.

He yielded, having come face-to-face with his mortality yet again. Whims decide death and life.

It was a cold, dark independence day when I first heard the news.

>>3519339
there are a lot of spelling/grammatical errors here, and it feels kind of unpolished. I gather youre going for a campy, exploitation-movie vibe, and i guess it succeeds on that level, but im not sure if it quite works as it is. and i think the "have sex with any women in the room" line still feels clunky, alas-- you could probably phrase the sentiment in a more interesting way.

however, all these problems could be largely circumvented --assuming this is the whole of the story, as you seemed to imply-- if you decided to change the framing device around this, and change the meaning of the story. maybe if you have this presented as some kind of deranged narrator trying to tell this story himself --not as a participant, but as the author of this story-- then it might be a bit more interesting. that's just me though, and i could definitely be wrong on that idea.

so again, i'd definitely clean this up for mistakes, try to vary the syntax, and maybe try to make it flow a little better, unless for some reason --like the batshit insane narrator-- you want it to be completely disjointed. just my two cents.

>>3519420
whoevermadethatwritingtipaboutneveropeningwithadescriptionoftheweather.jpg

also, the thing with opening with "______ when I heard the news"--- its in concept a compelling idea to bring the reader in with the clear suggestion that bad news is about to shake shit up, but aside from the fact that "when i heard the news" is an overused intro phrase, it's just not the strongest possible way you can frame the sentiment/idea. It's not particularly bad, but its worth considering a different, more gripping intro.

if you don't mind my asking, what's the news your protagonist gets, and what follows in the story?

>>3519417
broad platitudes are like a very strong, potentially offputting seasoning-- they work best when used carefully and deliberately in a very limited capacity, and they should never be the first taste that defines the dish. it's always tempting to go for the big-picture idea --trust me, i know, ive been guilty of this many, many times and i still instinctively do it if i dont stop myself-- but its better to allude indirectly to these ideas through action and more detailed observations than through directly spelling it out. "whims decide death and life" could potentially work, depending on where it occurs in the story, and the broader context, but thats a line that could either work alright, or fall completely flat-- its hard to definitively tell from this line, so i'll just give the harsher criticism just in case. feel free to give some more context if youd like.

also, about the word yielded (And dont feel bad about me calling you out on this shit because this is one of the things im most guilty of-- see someone's comment on my thing about "guffawing")-- sometimes words that have a similar meaning to another more common word dont work as broadly as we'd like them to work as synonyms. yielded is definitely one of them, as compared to "stopped" or "hesitated" or "paused"-- its a word that elicits a very passive feeling, and it just doesn't really work effectively in this context in my opinion. I wish i had a better guiding rule to work with, but im struggling to put it into words well at this time. it just doesn't land with me, but it could be just me.

that being said, imminent existential threats as a lead-in can work well, and im definitely interested in seeing where this story goes.

>>3519489
Thanks for the critique. To be honest, I didn't really have a story in mind writing this, just wanted to try my hand at a gripping first sentence.

I'm autistic. I mean you're reading this to understand me. I get it, so there.

>>3519476
Fuck, I know the thing about the weather but I thought it'd be interesting for my story, as Independence Day is a term usually associated with the USA, where Independence Day is in July, and my story is set in the near-future where the UK has broken away from the EU and has turned into a self-obsessed nostalgic shithole. Basically what would happen if UKIP got into power. The opening scene is set on Independence Day because it can set this scene so damn well. Advice on re-writing this opening line to not be so cliche?

Its a pulpy detective story, by the way, not a piece of high fiction.

>>3517666
thanks anon, i actually have the whole text if you'd be interested. it was supposed to end but then my friends liked it so i might just keep going.

here's the whole thing, anyway:
http://pastebin.com/dBrLLiLF

cheers
(also English isn't my native language, so pls b kind)

>>3519387
Nothing?

I have a few possibles for the same story:

"Public Fornication can get you up to thirty years in prison. Possession of an illegal substance can get you up to twenty. I did not want to go to prison for 50 years."

"To them, I think, I was a god."

...Have I mentioned I suck at opening sentences?

>>3519687
I like the public fornication one.

>>3519687

Fornication one has a lot of potential, got a good humour to it. The second one sucks.

It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times.

>>3520657
It was the BLURST of times? You stupid monkey!

>>3518777
>>3519234
"My brother in all but flesh, I hope this finds you well. I remeber our long nights as i write this, now. The hours and days in the antique towns and the unveiled rays of the sun following us down all but the dimmest alleyways.How weary we became!
We grew tired of the tavernas and the grappa and goat's meat, but the women! sloe-eyed and olive skinned, with the wine-stained and silent feet creeping up the stairs behind us in the dead of night while the inn keeper snored behind his bar and the old spaniard, one-legged and sharp-eyed, who kept the vigil at the door, winked above his ridiculous moustaches at us.
moonlight on skin the color of new honey, and the olive branches, swaying in the wild heat, throwing shadows on the floor! That I will never forget and never regret! No more my companionship with you my friend.

We sharpened our harpoons on the stars in those days, as the old sailors say!

I fled you then and I am sorry: you had your urns and your manuscripts and i was following a legend. I took Kieller with me, who am sorry to say has died, but of this you shall know. And of course Sarano, who brings this missive to you. I hope he does not frighten you in his new form: he tells me he is happy, and i believe him, but he cannot walk among men comfortably, even if propriety would allow it, and I think seeing the world he comes from for too long raises shadows in his mind that trouble his dreams. I hope his appearance will not long trouble your own.

We sailed toward the Cyclades, as you have probably guessed..."

"With the dankest of companions, I blazed the streets of Babylon."

"Fuck".

I threw a wish in the well.
Don't ask me; I'll never tell.

In the beginning, and there is always a beginning, never doubt it, even in eternity.
In the beginning, god found the earth, walking in her footsteps through the voids. And with her her made a son, a bright and raidiant boy he named Byelovog. Around his brow there was a burning, like a single light,
bright and pure and stainless, upon the fields and gardens of the earth. For him was the green and pleasant spring, the noontime sweat and the joy of sowings and harvestings, and the ripening of all things. But god held up his hand and there was a shadow cast, and this shadow was Czernovog: sovereign of night and darkness and the weirds of magic. And of Hot blood shed upon moonlit stone. and when the light fell upon him he was hurt, and vanquished by it, and so that one of his two sons might not rule above the other, the father of the stars made night: so that half of the day his fair son might rule the fields and farms and half they might be beneath the dominion and sway of his darker brother.

Now four daughters also he had:

In praha: The blue fuck? You trespass here. A cat shrugs stiffly into a purposeful slouch--a golden mouse i charge thee! the moon is a hemorrhoid.hanging out off the asshole of night.
"Behold, i will smite thee with the botch of Egypt, and with the scab, and with the itch, whereof thou canst not be healed"
I am drowned in praha, full gutted with a gout of drizzle out of cobbled lanes and frost-rimed gutters, The lights draw cracks upon the ground of the plaza and the cat walks through them like he knows the way, but he knows nothing. his future is as locked up as my past: unknown and unthought of in the heathen future night,
go out pussy, and bring me back something golden. Peradventure I will lighten my hand from off you, and from off your gods.
I have drunk too much in taverns, in rathskellers and in sorrow of my own making. In places like this: cobbled and awkward and oddly lit. fit only for the trespassing tramp of fugitive felines. Fit only for grief.

>>3520844
Promising. Would keep reading.

he wind carry's bell-sound. wild chimings out of change and peal. And the cool air scents of coffee and the sharp-cold-sweet of orange peelings, bright scraps on the cobbles. The old cat pulls itself loose from the shadow of St. Mark's and saunters careful-like into the plaza. No mark it's foot leaves, no sound it betrays: a vagrant shade cut loose from the lime-tree darkness and wavering steadily toward the lights of the Heart and Scepter. Above the sagging joists of the old-town a cloud-hugged moon dot's the "i" of the early evening, But I am drunk already, on dry old sack and pale vermouth, and the blood-needle smear of grenadine tainted wormwood. The cat is my thought, going home to the gray places beneath the tables, where lights above the festal board make easier shadows than the alley night.

Who bent the back of this earth, and heaved you up here, Percival? And whence doth this fresh field and pastorum novum appear to vex the ancient shepherd my dear Eugenius?

Annie is bones in a box these last three Easters, and her directions never led me here. I could cast her like runestones over the flints of shoreditch road, but the dead don't know the future. There is no map for it. the street signs are equivocal, pointing two ways at once. These un-mercatored excesses will not stand, sir!

A damp smile and he gets my round. Tight hair slenched across eggshell brow like a comb from a whale's throat.
Something brought you here, some business out of the night. You are felix ultima, last luck and perfect pussy. Here to drag me off to hell or wherever place of durance cats abhor. Perhaps a cold back-parlor with the dryrot smell of old lavender coughing out of the needlework divans.
Vespers rung already? I marked the clock but did not count it. Poor gnomon I. Send not to ask, for the call comes soon enough.
Old percy has a gun, and can use it, by god, if the whim takes him and the thought carrries. No puffed up claw-shod mouse-worrier will psychopomp his numbles off to Satanus, though his lights have gone mostly already there, in the fragrant escort of the Camel short.

"A dark cloud of energy began to form in his contorted hands; twisting and bending at the whims of his fingers."

Thoughts returned to the stagnation permeating from his parents held fast by beds which allow them fewer reprieves than ever.

They found the dead girl under the eaves of the old whitewashed dairy at the corner of the long pasture. they saw the broken dasher and the shattered churn, the torn dress and the vacant eyes.
The red riband binding her throat they did not see, nor the golden arrow clutched in the pale. cool hand. Those were meant for us.

We passed among them, unseen and unfelt, working: gently binding despair here, lifting up hope there, smoothing out the seas of grief and loss and fear. Before our minds always the passive, loving face of the Awful God. For as his eye is on the sparrow, so it is always upon the wings of his greater messengers.

Above us the Unseen City cast it's radiant shadow, welcoming us, calling us back from the dominions of decay and pain, and we would have taken flight. But beside the old well my companions saw a creature in the guise of a tired old man, and seeing that he saw us, and knowing by that what he must be, would have fallen upon him with the always ready blades of righteousness.

But I bade them hold, and approached him alone, for I knew this one of old.

"Hail Idorloo, Child of the Fallen."
"And health to your mighty self, Shaddaiel. Is this a business for the Detective Angel?"

>>3523396
Damn. I like it.

>>3523399
Thank you. Here's more:

I sat down beside him on the lip of the well and he assumed an aspect more in keeping with his nature and origins.

A white-eyed golden toad with a ruby jewel upon its forhead passed me a Camel Crush from a beltpoke out of which faint cries of lamentation emerged periodically. He lit it with a flick of a thumb.
"Well, a golden arrow and a red ribbon." He said. "If I were Saint Valentine I'd be thinking up an alibi right now."

He was blind, as must all those of his kind must be, that creep out beneath the sun. yet there was for him the darkness visible, and he knew,as we all did, that which was the truth. The better to spin his lies.
"Valentino died a martyr, and sits at the Right Hand." I could not waste time here, but i felt that he might have something to say that might help. "The Golden Arrow is a symbol of Eros, and the red strangling cord of Kali of the Thug. Why not suggest them?"

He chuckled in a deap, croaking way and his gular sack fluttered.
"Because I was with them last night: at Geaepalooza. Pan, Kokopeli and Krishna have started another band."

I had known this, and yet I asked:
"What? some new school of depravity? Do they think to impinge their own rites upon the souls of the Lost Sheep?"

He nodded. "It's always worked before: Wine and the Water of Life, the burning of fragrant herbs, orgiastic practices around bonfires long into the night, and music. The kids would be doing it anyway: why not get some good out of it?"

"Because it deceives, it misleads, it distracts them from the hope of Paradise!"

Again he nodded. "Which is technically my job, yet you don't see me jumping around in a ruffle over it."
"Because you've lost hope." I'm afraid I sneered.

>>3523471
" There is no hope in Hell." he said. "Your boss made sure of that."
I sighed and breathed out the fragrant smoke into the mists hovering above the well.
He chuckled. "'The angel blew out a long breath, for his heart was full with care.'"

"You are here to distract me, i believe." I said to him.
"Not so. Though I might wish it. I am here to assist and to learn: Hell is as surprised by this as you are."
I snorted. "Hell is surprised by murder? By evil?"
"Hell." he said, "Is surprised by the absence of her Guardian Angel. And I am wondering why you are not?"
I am afraid then that I covered my face. Though I knew I could not hide it from Him.

"Being a killer isn't easy, as you and I well know. It isn't easy at all. It requires purity and will, will and purity. Crystalline purity and steel-hard will. And I myself might even weep on the killer's shoulder and whisper words to him, words like 'brother,' 'friend,' 'comrade in misfortune.' At this moment the killer is good, because he's intrinsically good, and I'm an idiot, because I'm intrinsically an idiot, and we're both sentimental because our culture tends inexorably toward sentimentality. But when the performance is over and I'm alone, the killer will open the window of my room and come tiptoeing in like a nurse and slit my throat, bleed me dry."

The voice of Slaver was the sound of wind out of the desert, and the groaning of the dunes in the wild grabens beyond Khitai.
"To go there you must walk where it is neither safe, nor wise."
The Ghoul moved smoothly toward us, and seemed to hover above the fire. His cloak hung around him like a moss green shroud. His face was thin as a whippet's, and his eyes did not blink in the smoke.
"It is well that I came here."
He seemed thoughful.
"It comes to me to think that some of your reavings have already disturbed things long ago put to rest and forgotten, some by better men than yourselves, and some by far, far worse."
Fastolfe looked troubled, but did not speak. It was Blackburn that finally broke silence.
"We have riven tombs before, Slaver, and harrowed barrows aplenty in old time, but not in any time near this. We have not troubled your people nor marred their signs. Surely you have not come up to chide us for some sin long past?"
"No."
The tall creature slung his lank hair back behind his mobile and alert ears, that pricked like a jackals, and breathed in the woodsmoke as one might inhale the fragrance of a pomander.
"No, I do not rise to speak of the past, though some here might profit to recall it."

>>3523875
His eyes drew swiftly across mine, and settled on Fastolfe, who did not meet them.
"No the thing I speak of has bearing on the near-times, though the old-times may be in it as well. This thing..." and here he reached into the inside of his cloak and drew out a piece of torn tapestry, as much a patch of mould and cobweb as a thing of weft and warpage.
"This thing is a part of what troubles me".
He laid it out before us in the light of moon and fire and the keen eyes of Balckburn read its tale the quickest.
"The raven crest!"
"Yes, that is his sign, though it wears and fades as do all his works upon this healing earth."
"Soonest best." muttered Fastlofe, in a tone I had not heard before.
He Stood then and brushed his long beard in contemplation.
"So say the wise" there was mirth and perhaps affection in the voice of the lank creature before us, and I might have called him a man, had I but heard him and not beheld the taught and silvered mein before me.
"This thing is a bit of shroud: a winding sheet in the style of the men of Stanhowe. I found it trodden into the dew outside a broken door not three days march from this spot, upon your backtrail. The door was broken with a hammer, and the seal of the betrayer's hand was shattered."

"I own it."
Fastolfe spoke up then.
"I broke the door, but I did not see there the seal or the runes, and perhaps I was not careful as would have been wise. Still, I saw no harm, and certain there were no bones within, nor winding sheets. We slept there out of the wind, and lay our own charms upon the lintel when we left. There was nothing profane done, nor any offense to the Nightwaking."

The shitpile was less than twelve hours old, and I knew I would catch them. It was off the path about ten yards behind a creosote bush and the green flies led me to it. He had wiped his ass on a strip of calico torn from the little girl's dress.

In the tackrrom behind the goatshed I had enough strapping and the stubs of some copper rivets to make a halter of sorts, I had to find a flat rock and use a balded mallet more suited to pounding fence posts than mashing burrs, and i had to set the rivets with the hollowed out head of a square nail.

The saddle was hopeless, but I took a girth and a surcingle and a stack of blankets and made shift. While i was looking through the tack though I came upon a long barreled forty four, all cleaned and oiled and shiny as a baby rattlesnake, wrapped up in greasy chamois. There were thirty two cartridges in a rawhide poke, I didn't think I would need more than three. My mount was an old gun-mule probably bought at an Army auction. A bit low-slung but with good wind. Round shod like they do with mules hereabouts.

I took my bowie knife too: and a little rabbit skinner about as long as my little finger. The Crow Indians say they can skin a man's ballsack three times before the stones drop out. I aimed to try for four if i could get old Woody Van Slen alive.

i'm told i was born dead-hearted. but i believe i would be by now at all hazards, seeing what I've seen

Las Vegas is the best place in the world to lose anything.
Your money, your wife, your car, your humanity and self-respect. Billy Wendell had lost all that, long ago: back when the flamingo was looming out at the end of the strip in all its chintzy neon and stucco glory. But the one thing Billy had never lost was hope. And that was what had killed him.

"They're dimmers: Cainlings. The children of Nod."

Cammie had heard of Nod, of course. Half the winter stories and lullabies she had heard as a child and told and sung to her little brothers and sisters had been about it. She had thought it meant a dream world, or world of long ago, like a clever way of saying you had nodded off to sleep.

"Nod is a real place?"

Desidre looked a bit put out, but that was mostly worry, Cammie supposed, because her tone was not angry, but quiet and patient as always.
"Nod's real: it's a place I guess, but it's sort of...a place that's noplace, a place that's all around us, that shares our seas and our sun and our air, but it has different ...everything else, animals, people, mountains. There's different things that live there, different folk. "
She gestured to where the fat little form of Drymon curled up in the blazing coals on the iron hearth.
"Folk like him."
"Folk like the cold eyed one that brought you here, and that stone-skinned boy out there fixing your cartwheel."
She paused.
"Folk like you, maybe."
" Me? I was born in Arrowdale, though, my ma and uncles showed me the house and everything"
"Maybe born, maybe foundling. You're the Quail clan, and they take in foundlings. Say it's good luck, but bad luck if you tell them it's so."
Cammie nodded hesitantly. She could recall seven times when small bundles had been brought into the Wagon circle, and then babies had been named and claimed and showed off soon later.She had never though it might be true of her though.

"Have you aught about you that seems to you strange, child? anything you don't share with your clan sibs?"

Cassie though about the Geister girl at the old Inn cellar, about the dry, quiet voice that had called to her from the cenotaph on Spargan Hill.

Since everybody seems to be posting and nobody's commenting, I'll ask an obvious question:


Which if any of these would you keep reading? Which would make you turn the page or read the next paragraph? And which would not?

Forrest Gump is on drugs. I mean, probably not literally, he isn’t crafty enough to find a dealer. His little Alabama streets wouldn’t have much to offer either. It’s probably his being retarded and all. Yeah, that’s it.
Point being, life isn’t a box of chocolates. Things aren’t sweet inside. And with the following tagline, you know exactly what you’re getting. When you pull out a treat and bite it, I never see anybody gasping.
“HOLY SHIT. IT’S FUCKING CHOCOLATE!”
Forrest Gump is retarded.
Life is more like… Fast food. You go because you’re thinking “Hey man, I bet that’d taste pretty good right now.” So you go buy a shitty taco. On a whim. Tomorrow, you’ll regret it, and it’ll burn your asshole, and you’ll want to die, you’ll be a little fatter, all because of one shitty choice. That’s life. Shitty choices that burn your asshole.

>>3514052
Mock my faux excitement
spit gently on my shoes
tear apart my foolish jokes
tie up high my noose
now that all charm is broken
I'm ridiculous and dull
tell me how I'm false or vain
but honor me this, my softest plea
in return for times we have had
do not crush the cockroach of my love
and do not claim your's as a dove

>>3519387
>>3518753
>>3515378
>>3515341


Would probably read more, to see were things went.

"When old Johnny Malone turned us out at McHughs
but we weren't drunk enough to go home.

We struck out toward Mail Coach, to wake up your brother,
to maybe get us a step further on

With your hand in my hand, and them both in my sweater
and the pavement still wet from the rains.

we ranged wide of the stragglers and smoked in the doorways
and trickled away down the drains

At the four lights got tea, and ate chips from my pocket.
And wandered away from the noise.

and the sound of the sirens was sweeter than music,
as they rolled up the last of the boys.

And we wandered down John Street at two in the morning.
with every sign pointing to bliss.

And I held at your stoop, and caught both hands together
and you stood on your toes for the kiss.

and that Powers and coke and half pint of the black stuff,
In your mother's kitchen at dawn.

was the finest of drinks in the finest of houses
that ever I hope to sup on.

And your grey woolen coat with your hair in a kerchief.
could have been a white dress and a veil.

And I tried to describe what I saw in yours eyes then,
but all of the metaphors fail

Have I ever told you that all things are precious?
every stoop is an altar or shrine,

Every cup a communion, and each word a blessing
while your footsteps lie beside mine?"

She was fucking him because he looked like her father, and she always envied her sister for being the one he touched. He was fucking her because she looked like his mother, and he didn't like the idea of his father winning that particular battle. This is what we call normal.

>>3524090
I like it, I think it could do with a bit of drafting to make the conversational flow a bit more believable, but it's made me interested in reading.
>>3523396
Detective angel makes me think of a detective who's "too old for this shit". Other than that, it's really good.

>>3524201

Meh.

>>3524071

well-written

>>3524065

classic, but obvious

>>3524026


pedestrian, but would read more

>>3523396

very good, well-written and involving. Interesting Idea.


>>3521158
>>3521152
>>3521106
>>3521029

also pretty good.

>>3526879
I wrote some of these. thanks for the feedback.

I held out my arm, palm up, for the pedler while he prepared over the sink. My head bobbed to the vibration of the room but mostly as a reaction to the other people looking at me. Each one I reacted to with an I’m-in-the-in-crowd nod of acknowledgment and I think they were satisfied. They were all close, maybe fifteen of them, and each dressed in similar schemes as to create a singularity which moved around me like liquid. Looking, I rested my elbow on my right love-handle and knew there were probably five to six more in the three stalls. The music stayed in a diluted form until the door was opened, as it was, intermittently and only then it was clear, abrasive, and effective to the overall group movement. New shoes emerged into the area as toilet paper and neo-bacchanalian scrap washed across the floor like ducks in a bathtub.
The peddler flicked my bicep with his middle finger and said, “It’s IM”.
“What”
In an haste, he pushed the needle through, midway up my bicep and pressed down the plunger. The clear Mercury slipped into my body and I questioned then if I was ready to receive the messages of the gods.

"Perhaps it's only my perspective, but it brings forth a sprawling well of emotions to carefully slip down these events from the shelf, and with a slight breath blow the layers of dust from their surface to relive the mistakes of the past. Like picking dry scabs from old sores, or tearing off the gauze from a well-rotten wound, the pain smarts more with age. But I cannot liken to a mere nick the downtrodden self-loathing I feel with her memory, like a blight on my conscience 'till death lands his final kick in my side."

Edawrd stared down in dumbfounded horror as his flaccid penis took the form of a serpent, turned to face him, and uttered the words, "Klaatu Barada Nikto."

>>3528773
Comedy?

WELL,

I don’t know who’s to blame, really. It’s all of their faults this happened. All of them expect probably George.

>>3528788
I should hope so

>>3528803
Making sure it's not an erotic novel or anything.

>>3528805
Perhaps I should expand my horizons.

>>3528812
I'd fap to it.

>>3528824
My sides have detached

John hobbled with his pleated trousers bunched around his ankles, pissing on Jenny's face. She moans ecstatically.

>>3528814
>>3528773
He'd thought that a plea to the demons would be anything but easy, but this wasn't something he'd had in mind. He'd failed to maintain the erection required for the ritual and now he feared the worst.

>>3528826
>>3528824
Go be a samefag somewhere else.