Critique other's work

[Anonymous No.10932346]

ITT we critique each others work.
https://pastebin.com/g1iZG2VX

[Anonymous No.10932347]

Bump

[Anonymous No.10932348]

https://pastebin.com/g1iZG2VX

[Anonymous No.10932728]

Jade’s head titled back as she belched again. Her sense of vision was bobbing between harsh clarity and nondescript blurriness. Before her, on a table speckled with a plethora of crumbs and smudges of grease and condiments, was a gigantic array of blotched and stained plates. Some lay strewn along the stand, some were gathered into grimy stacks—which could count as high as seven platters.
Her stomach was a plump, mammoth bulge that pushed in between her thighs and slumped against the leather of the booth she was installed in. Her mouth sagged open slightly and she breathed in long, drawn-out respirations, eyes glazed. The rim of the table intruded against the flesh of her expanded abdomen, the size of which had started pulling up her undershirt. Her eyes were glistening as the same intrusive thought rung in her mind again.
She was still hungry. Starving, actually, like she’d been deprived of a drug. Food. It was her blood and heartbeat right now, the air she breathed. So when the waiter came around, sweating and stuttering, pleading her to stop for her wellbeing, she asked for another tray of literally anything. What did that gangly wage-cuck know? So when a new assortment of multicolored delicacies and delicious foods arrived in sparking clean porcelain saucers, she glutted and chewed and devoured until nothing was left but another arrangement of cleaned platters ready to be sorted into their respective towers.
Now, she was simply amazed.
A small, glancing flicker of lucidity lit up in her voracious imagination—one that warned her perhaps she had eaten more than she could chew. But the louder gurgle of her swelling gut reminded her that her tongue still craved more nutriment, even if she had to somehow mobilize herself to another diner. Another order, another feast. With each passing meal, her arms’ motions turned more and more robotic, assuming either the position of hanging by her sides, waiting for the waiter to come, or reaching for tender lumps of cuisine. The only sensation that had not become mechanized was her stomach.
More and more meals came, engrossing what small empty space there was in her growing belly. Minute by minute, second my second, her skin stretched and gurgled, turning whiter and whiter. It pushed forward more and more until it was battling with the table to see who could be more stoic in their foundations. Enlarging. Expanding. Her stomach was a giant, bloating mass. Her undershirt was covering nothing but her breasts now, and the prodigious globe of her belly was free to bulge larger and larger.

[Anonymous No.10932783]

poopoo

[Anonymous No.10932790]

>>10932783
anus butthole

[Anonymous No.10932809]

I hate being Peep. I want to kill myself.

[Anonymous No.10932815]

>>10932728
>mach was a plump, mammoth bulge that pushed in between her thighs and slumped against the leather of the booth she was installed in. Her mouth sagged open slightly and she breathed in long, drawn-out respirations, eyes glazed. The rim of the table intruded against the flesh of her expanded abdomen, the size of which had started pulling up her undershirt. Her eyes were glistening as the same intrusive thought rung in her mind again.
>She was still hungry. Starving, actually, like she’d been deprived of a drug. Food. It was her blood and heartbeat right now, the air she breathed. So when the waiter came around, sweating and stuttering, pleading her to stop for her wellbeing, she asked for another tray of literally anything. What did that gangly wage-cuck know? So when a new assortment of multicolored delicacies and delicious foods arrived in sparking clean porcelain saucers, she glutted and chewed and devoured until nothing was left but another arrangement of cleaned platters ready to be sorted into their respective towers.
>Now, she was simply amazed.
>A small, glancing flicker of lucidity lit up in her voracious imagination—one that warned her perhaps she had eaten more than she could chew. But the louder gurgle of her swelling gut reminded her


>>10932728
The only problem I have with it is that it's a bit choppy, otherwise I like its descriptive clarity

[Anonymous No.10932822]

>>10932728

https://pastebin.com/xyRFrUqe

[Anonymous No.10932839]

How did things get so out of hand? I honestly have no idea, so now I’m here, writing all of this out, trying to make sense of thirty dead parakeets in the back seat of a totaled 1993 Dodge Grand Caravan and a sock half full of cocaine. If I’m being honest, I have full recollection of the events that had transpired, but I don’t entirely understand why they went the way they went, or why I chose to make the choices I made. It’s as if I had been entirely intoxicated throughout the entire course of this part of my life. Or maybe I was under the control of some sort of Cartesian demon that wanted to see me suffer. Nonetheless, for the sake of simplicity, we’ll just say I don’t remember a goddamn thing, and I’m here writing everything down, so that I can retrace my steps. So then where did all of this begin?
I.
Insanity is an interesting thing. I’m an authority on this, not because my credentials have anything to do with the academic field of psychology, but rather because I myself am a functional insane person. So I guess my credentials somewhat relate to the actual field of psychology, but, you see, there’s theory and then there’s practice. If anything, my credentials have to do with the practice of psychology, but rather than being in practice, I just happen to be in a professional match against Sugar Ray Robinson. Beyond all digressions, all of this started with my insanity. You see, insanity isn’t something that just hits you in the face one day, but rather it is a series of products, a cascade of effects, if you will, that happen to fall on your shoulder, as a feather does on a windy day. As the feathers continue to pile up, you keep telling yourself that there’s nothing there. In fact, you keep trying to brush it off, while at the same time telling yourself that there’s nothing to brush off! It’s absolutely incredible! Still, as the feathers pile up, you eventually become weighed down to such an extent, that you succumb to crawling. Then one day you look to your left and you see nothing more than an impermeable wall of white. Then you panic and look to your right, only to see the same thing. It’s at that very moment in time, you realize that you’re only able to see what’s in front of you and at that very same moment in time you realize that you’re not insane, but rather different. Then one day you fuck up so colossally, that you realize you’re not only insane, but also retarded.
Nonetheless, I would have to say that everything started in August, when the feathers started to noticeably weigh me down. Coming back from summer, even my friends noticed that I wasn’t the same person. Even they began to notice the feathers starting to pile up, but because either they weren’t used to seeing feathers, they didn’t say a thing, or they themselves were just like me and didn’t say anything because they were in the same state of denial.

[Anonymous No.10932876]

>>10932839
>How did things get so out of hand? I honestly have no idea, so now I’m here, writing all of this out, trying to make sense of thirty dead parakeets in the back seat of a totaled 1993 Dodge Grand Caravan and a sock half full of cocaine.
Strongest beginning I've ever seen. The rest of the story, however, is a little too vague as to the protagonist's insanity. Had you given more examples showing his declining mental health, it would've been more intriguing.
Still, that starting paragraph...complete kino.

[Anonymous No.10932904]

>>10932876
Thank you for the critique. I have more written out
https://pastebin.com/jrrTG4aM

here's a paste of it, if you're interested in reading

[Anonymous No.10932923]

Please don't just call it pretentious and never explain how or why you feel that way. I'm sorry


|Passage Two| "Interment"

The task of the pit was accomplished with the use of a handful of crude, adhoc instruments, sturdy branches,
available and conveniently shaped rocks, but the shoulderblade provided for the major share of work invested. A shallow(but
not to say unsatisfactory)depth and otherwise dimensions were achieved, that good and well gave in to its purpose, its
approximate one meter depth to contain and exclude, within and without. 3 to 4 individuals worked the earth over the late
morning towards late afternoon, with appropriate ritual, rest, and duty pursued intermittenly until final rest came. Stones
were removed only shortly and placed along the edges of the pit, ensured and held grounded by mud and dirt along with them.
The grave'sbottom was overclayed and burned, to provide a solid and flat surface to lay the body to rest.
To aid in this passingover buried with him were several common possessions and utilities. He was kept wrapped in his
coat of fur, as they could not bare the sight of the corpes kept so cold. And in this same way they covered the feet, to
warm them, and his head, to keep covered headtotoe. A string of canines, which ran from the sharpest to the most ground and
molded of the teeth, was placed under his chin. An incompletely modified bone, more cutbroken and crude towards its base,
was placed in the left hand. A handed tool was given into his rightward palm, to aid them thereafter.
Redochre was wiped across his temple, and under his eyes, and so too was the earth spread around him, encompassing
him.
And that was that.

[Anonymous No.10932926]

>>10932904
this madman's insurmountable autism is so relatable it's almost difficult to read the story. thank you for this out-of-body experience, holy shit

[Anonymous No.10932948]

Ah! le beau cul, Juliette! me dit le paillard en se l'exposant ; on m'avait bien dit qu'il était superbe, mais il surpasse sa réputation ; penchez-vous, que j'y darde ma langue... Ah, Dieu ! voilà une propreté qui me désespère : Noirceuil ne vous a donc pas dit en quel état je voulais trouver votre cul ?

[Anonymous No.10932969]

>>10932923
i assume this is a first draft, and maybe it needs context, but i find this very difficult to figure what's happening. i feel like I'm working to decipher it. maybe make the wording clearer, because it is hard to understand. are you a native speaker?

[Anonymous No.10932983]

It was a cold night for me and my men. For many, the cold symbolises suffering, danger, and all things evil; not for us! For us, it represented victory: when the German tracks were stuck in the snow and the lions of Stalingrad came at them from all sides, devouring their prey. It represented glory: for all our greatest battles were fought in the snow. But most of all, it represented home: ice skating on the lake, watching our children sleigh and pondering their innocence, and even drinking vodka. Ah! the cold. How I had yearned for it after fighting in the sun for what felt like a century. And when I finally got it, I realised why the many are right...

We were heading for Warsaw. It was an arduous journey but nonetheless a merry one; we had seen no German patrols and the Regiment was in high spirits. I even managed to procure some Dortmunder from a barn; a war crime befitting no Soviet lieutenant-- but it was the New Year! I touched my brother on the shoulder, "This is living." And filled his flask.

- "Zhit', chtoby umeret'! "

- "Live to die!" I repeated. And we walked further on, singing as we went.

It must have been no later than twelve when our scouts informed us of some Germans at what looked to be a prison. The 1085th were sent to check as the others waited. I led this patrol, we moved through the snow up a hill and laid there. I sent for my binoculars and surveyed the area; men and women in striped rags... Prisoners? Smoke rising from a lit building, but no soldiers. I fired a round into the air; a witless move. When I heard no return shot and saw no soldiers, I concluded that the Germans must have fled after hearing news of our coming.

We were at the gate now. Two men in the same clothes, starved to the bone, greeted us with unintelligible wails. The stench made me sick but I swallowed it so that my men wouldn't panic. On the sign, it read, 'WORK MAKES YOU FREE'; my German is not excellent. We entered the camp with caution, still wary of any German presence. The path was made of grit, the colour of sand, and I saw a dead body...

[Anonymous No.10932986]

>>10932923
very cool, very well done (imo) the only part that kind of hung me up was the opening description, while detailed and evocative, i wasn't sure exactl what I was seeing. when Lovecraft described a creepy ascending staircase he says "up the endless stairs into the choking room.", he doesn't say 'creepy staircase' but by the use of the word 'choking' you know it's supposed to be creepy... ya dig? I know it's difficult to do, it's def. something that I struggle with.

Check out my latest entry written today. https://creativewritingstash.wordpress.com/

here's mine. don't laugh atme.

[Anonymous No.10932992]

>>10932346

[Anonymous No.10933020]

>>10932926
Thank you so much for reading it.
Is there anything you think I should change?

[Anonymous No.10933024]

>>10933020
I DO have one question. Where did your analogy for the feathers come from?

[Anonymous No.10933031]

>>10932969
It's a prehistoric burial that I intend to end a "book" that is loosely about the time around the domestication of the dog. The beginning will be either a description of a grave robbery or an archaeological dig, or a passage that could be construde as both(digging up the past and burying it teehee). I am a native English speaker but I have severely autistic tendencies, I'm on "the spectrum" but I don't know if that's the same AS autism, so at times I find myself completely questioning my understanding of the language and communication in general, which might explain why it seems like a first draft. I have attempted to put parallels and double meanings in it(the canines becoming less sharp and more molded a more simple parallel with dog domestication) but doing so might have just made it incomprehensible. That said, I do feel like an isolated description of a paleolithic/mesolithic burial without much context will always be *somewhat* confusing, but I don't know to what extent.

[Anonymous No.10933032]

>>10932992
Choppy transitions, choppy dialogue and unrealistic characterization of the children and mood of the other characters.

[Anonymous No.10933063]

>>10933024
>https://creativewritingstash.wordpress.com/


I'm not insane, but the analgoy sort of came from my life. At a certain point in my life, I was doing such autistic shit that even I alarmed myself and I had spooked myself to such a degree, where I had to take a step back and ask how the fuck did I transition to this level of retardation. And the more and more I thought about it, the more I realized that I became the person who I was gradually. Really I became who I was by accident.


Thank you for all the feedback and the questions and all man. I really appreciate it

[Anonymous No.10933097]

>>10933063
This is really good stuff. Is the rest on your wordpress?

[Anonymous No.10933102]

>>10933063
why did you greentext my wordpress but not comment on it? back in my day green text meant you said something retarded. did I say something retarded?

[Anonymous No.10933127]

>>10933097
>>10933102
I accidentally pasted that in there. I meant to look at it and give the guy who posted that link my thoughts.

I'm currently writing the rest, but everything I have written was put into that pastebin


https://pastebin.com/jrrTG4aM

[Anonymous No.10933144]

>>10933127
You should get a pastebin account so people reading that can keep up. This is some of the best writing I've seen come out of this website.

[Anonymous No.10933156]

>>10933102
I like it a lot and I thought your analysis of that poem was damn good


>>10933144
Thank you so much dude. This honestly made me happy to hear. I'm gonna make an account right now so that I can post its username.

I'll brb in a moment

[Anonymous No.10933175]

>>10932986
Thank you, unfortunately I don't know a thing about analyzing literature

[Anonymous No.10933185]

>>10933032
Wrong

[Anonymous No.10933186]

>>10933144
Alright, it's all made


https://pastebin.com/B9gS1cc6

My username is Masri22

[Anonymous No.10933249]

>>10933156
TY for offering your criticism on the poem analysis. I had a lot more fun doing the Nyarlanthope analysis, especially since today is Easter.
I want to bookmark your pastebin thing and check it out when I get a few minutes. Can you post an email address in there so we can contact you about criticisms or impressions we got? EIther way it seems like it's worth a look!

Thanks again,

for anyone else, i do regularly analysis over at https://creativewritingstash.wordpress.com and always fishing for criticisms. >:)

[Anonymous No.10933273]

>>10933249
Yeah sure! Thank you so much for wanting to check it out!


Here's a sort of temporary email (it may not change at all, but it might. If it does I'll let you guys know)

[e-mail]

[Anonymous No.10933275]

>>10933249
never mind the email,. i see there is a way to PM you on Pastebin

[Anonymous No.10933404]

Is there anyone that posted that didn't get a critique? I will critique yours.

[Anonymous No.10933463]

>>10932983
>>10933404
This one didn't get any critique.

[Anonymous No.10933497]

A poem

Buttons thumbed up to his neck he marched.
With a rythm, with a pinching at the seams, and a clocking like the hooves, he thumped his drums .
He was a marching boy, 13 years tall.
He felt old and mighty, like his homes stead, and his fathers heavy mead.
He thumped and drummed, the young one gone
Grown had he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and war of then young.
Now old and abused by the sound of fire
From the weapons that were used Shocked and made mortal
he thumps on
For ever with a vaccant startle

[Anonymous No.10933552]

>>10933463
That one needs some editing. I'm going to edit it and repost, hopefully whoever wrote it is still around to consider my edits. like- the tenses are all messed up, lol. plus he seems like a commie...maybe the rest of the story will redeem him.
>>10933497
I'll check you next bruh

[Anonymous No.10933640]

>>10932876
>Strongest beginning I've ever seen.
The whole strange circumstance and no idea how I got here is so overdone as is the insanity angle . However, his execution and description of insanity was incredibly well-done and would more than make up for this. Part of me wants to tell you to consider your word-choice but I think it can become a part of an author's work, the way they write. It can be endearing in some cases or boresome in others (see: King).

[Anonymous No.10933657]

>>10933497
>Grown had he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and wars of then young
Damn.

[Anonymous No.10933721]

>>10932983
just spent a few minutes editing his. IDK if hes still around

It was a cold night for my men and I. For some, the cold symbolized suffering, danger, and evil; not for us! For us, it represented victory. When the snow and cold came around, formerly fearsome panzer tracks became stuck in our Russian snow. When the lions of Stalingrad came at them from all sides, devouring them, our prey, we felt glorious. All of our greatest victories owe a debt of honor to the snow that we knew as a symbol of home. In times of peace we skated upon lakes. We watched our children sleigh. We drank Vodka. Cold weather made us strong, and weakened our enemies identities. I had yearned for frost after fighting in that punishing sun. The sun dealt centuries of damage upon the moral of our unit, and when winter finally came, we the burden of heat lifted off our slavic backs.

The unit was heading towards the city of Warsaw. That journey felt like forever, but the cold welcomed a longed after reprieve. There had been no German patrols and the battalion enjoyed the welcoming frost. At the time, I managed to procure some Dortmunder from a Polish barn we camped by one evening, and shared it with a comrade in secret one night. THe fact of it being a punishible crime did not bother me, for the weather was exhillerating to us all. - "Live to die!" I repeated with my comrade, And we walked further on, Chasing the emasculated blitzkrieg.

It was just pas midnight one night, when our scouts came up and exclaimed "There is some Polish[editor note:lol] prison." I sent a patrol to inspect the scenario, myself at the lead. As we waited we wondered what could possibly be manned by Wehrmacht forces. We moved through the wintered landscape, and laid utop a slight precipice. Through my binoculars I searchingly surveyed the area; what I saw was a grotesque image. There were men and women in striped rags. Were they prisoners? Smoke rose from a lit building, but no Wehrmacht were around. All the posts had been abandoned by the Aryan fighters. I ordered a round of fire into the air. My private fired his ordinance. When there was no movement about the camp, and no returning fire, , I concluded that the Germans must have already fled, so we decided to approach the camp.

When we reached the gate, two men in those striped rags, scaredly greeted us, unintelligibly. The stench made me sick but I swallowed it and continues this strange investigation. There was a sense of horror and slight panic at what we beheld. On the sign, I could make out German letters that read 'WORK MAKES YOU FREE'. We continued to enter the camp with apprehension, yet a sheer curiosity at what horrors could be seen. We were still wary of a German presence. The place reeked of death. The living men we saw were near starved so that their rib cages stuck out like jagged thorns. The grit path lead us to the first of many dead bodies.

[editors note, consider the national socialists party in your 2020 state elections]

[Anonymous No.10933736]

>>10933721
My men and me** just noticed that lol

[Anonymous No.10933783]

>>10933657
Thank
>>10933552
I realized I posted an older version

Buttons thumbed up to his neck taught with a might
He stomps with rhythm ,a pinching at the seams, and a clocking like the hooves, he thumps his drums.
He was a marching boy, 13 years tall.
With his innocence all used
He felt bold and mighty, like his home's old stead, and his fathers brown heavy mead.
He thumped and drummed, the young one gone
Grown had he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and war of then young.
Now old and abused by the sound of fire
Of cannon and morter
Shocked and made mortal
he thumps on
With his life
and a vaccant startle

[Anonymous No.10933805]

>>10932815
>bit choppy
What did he mean by this?

[Anonymous No.10933819]

>>10933805

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Za3w8TvFsW6Zo_xJ53laAPu1cwjSij22aVJqnFBO218/edit?usp=sharing

[Anonymous No.10933838]

And he said this he said Its all about where the pain sits in your chest if you can reach out a little bit further past the rain and figure out just how low its going to be that's all you need to know. All that matters is how low that pain is going to sit in your chest. It's all that matters.

[Anonymous No.10933846]

>>10932992
Danq

[Anonymous No.10933865]

>>10933783
Buttons thumbed up to his neck taut with the might of his uniform;
He stomps in rhythm like a clocking of hooves, pinched at the seams, he thumped his drums;
He was a marching boy, 13 years bright;
With his innocence not yet used up, he marched and thumped his drum;
He felt bold and mighty, like his old homestead, and his fathers frothy crown of mead.
He thumped and drummed, till the young one gone
Grown he now shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and war of then young.
Now old and abused by the sound of fire, he marched and thumped his drum;
Cannon and morter shocks a man mortal but with his life and a vaccant startle;
he marched and he thumped his drum;

do you mean taught like teaching a lesson, or taught like taut? like tight?
how can he be a boy and grow but be 'tall' in the beginning?
again, his innocence can't be fully spent if he's still young
i made homestead 1 word, and left room for an adjective to describe the mead. 'bold and mighty' fits the 'crown' of froth upon the tastey meade.
I added the word 'till' to signify a passing of time.
" like arms of when new, and war of then young." it sounds great but I don't know what it means, i thought about this for about 5 minutes and drawing blanks on wtf it means...but it def. sounds cool!
i added 'he marched and thumped his drum' because it's a cool cadence if you are aiming for any form of lyricism.
i also swapped around your last 2 lines... let me know if I butchered your poem or if you like the edits... I wont be offended if it pissed you off, i actually want to learn how to become a good editor for my own benifits...

Nice poem bro, i got the imagery for sure, a young man upholding his duty, becoming scarred in the process, but steadying and bravely continuing, and becoming an expert in the process. now others can look up to him... right?

[Anonymous No.10933890]

>>10932992
This is fucking great lol! you know it's danq and you don't need any criticism! haha! thank you for sharing! The one thing I don't get is why does he hate his wife? she didn't say anything bad that I was able to find... she just chuckled along with him..the kids i can understand wanting to kill however. maybe throw in something about her expensive jewelry or something?

[Anonymous No.10933892]

OP your link's not working

[Anonymous No.10933926]

>>10933892


https://pastebin.com/B9gS1cc6
this is OP's new link

[Anonymous No.10933932]

>>10933892
old building was a new one* I should say

[Anonymous No.10933941]

>>10932809
at least you're not on the black team... how the fuck did the black team win on 4chan???

[Anonymous No.10933947]

>>10933941
eat shit

[Anonymous No.10934032]

>>10933865
I used the the 'tall' to depict he was not tall at all, but only 13. To really drive in that this is still a kid, broken from war.

I appreciate your edit, but I don't think it conveys the same impact of vivid imagery
Maybe this is better.

Buttons thumbed up to his neck taut with a might, his jacket now brown and not blue
Carrying a rhythm, a pinching at the seams, with a clocking like the hooves, he thumped his drums.
He was a marching boy, 13 years tall.
He felt old and mighty, like his home's old stead, and his fathers heavy hand, with his brown yellow mead.
He thumped and drummed, the young one gone
For grown had he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and war of then young.
Now old and abused by the sound of cannon and done men
Lost he his youth, but for traded he found what was made mortal, for his eyes were vaccant and his mind was stuck startle

[Anonymous No.10934189]

>>10934032
Yes your imagery is certainly better than my edit, I'm like the kindergarten teacher who sees your kid for a few hours a day but you're still the parent... I still like the idea of repeating the cadence of 'he thumped his drum' and "He thumped and drummed, the young one gone" is a perfect way to make the transition from childhood into maturity. exemplified by the comparison of "13 years tall" vs" old and done men" I really like how you did that, very clever indeed...

BUT!!! I still dont understand wtf you mean by " like arms of when new, and war of then young" even though it sounds neat as fuck, AND the last line could either rhyme and/or make more rhythmic sense with the rest of the poem... it's not a bad imagery, but the lyrical rhythmic quality seems lost with the longggg ending phrase vs the cadences of all the other phrases.
It's definitely getting there! can you post a new edit?? I really would like to find where this one winds up. I'll do a quick edit and relay it back to you

Buttons thumbed up to his neck taut with a might, his jacket now brown and not blue
He carried a rhythm, a pinching at the seams, with a clocking like the hooves.
He was a marching boy, 13 years tall.
He thumped his drums.
He felt old and mighty, like his fathers heavy hand with a flagon of brown yellow brew.
Like his home's old stead, the young one gone.
He thumped and he drummed.
Grown had he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and war of then young.
Now time had abused this young man, the sound of morter fire made many done men,
Exchanged he his youth for vaccant eyes and his mind was struck startled'
He thumped and drummed his tune

[Anonymous No.10934441]

What are some best guide books on writing fictions and non-fictions anons?

[Anonymous No.10934455]

>>10934441
if you read fiction/non-fiction books you'll pick it up

[Anonymous No.10934496]

https://pastebin.com/riqLuNYA

[Anonymous No.10934503]

i want to SUCK PENIS

[Anonymous No.10934506]

>>10934455
I'm reading and practicing but I can't tell if the direction I'm going is good. Actually there's just no sense of direction at all.

[Anonymous No.10934534]

>>10934506
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWBF4R6MW-k&t=419s

I enjoyed this lecture.. got me on a short story and short poem kick. it's short enough to listen to quick, but packs a punch, as does everything Bradbury ever did.

[Anonymous No.10934586]

>>10934506
that's part of the process my friend

[Anonymous No.10934672]

>>10934032
hey, idk if i pissed you off by constantly changing your prose, or if you just went to bed or w.e, but, I just wanted to let you know:
I finally understand the "arms of when new, war of when young" meaning. it's a reference to the warm allure we feel towards a new inspiring thing, whether or not it be tainted in the future is no issue. like a new gun, or a new war.. I really like what you did, but the last line does need a rhythmic adjus IMO, and i offered some cadences for you. do with it what you please my man... I hope you had fun. I sure did! thanks for letting me collab with you. that's your poem, i'm going to keep it in my private collection however as something I edited anonymously, if that's ok.

Does anyone have anything else they want edited? For reference here are all of my posts thus far.
>>10932986
>>10933102
>>10933249
>>10933275
>>10933404
>>10933552
>>10933721
>>>>10933865
10933736
>>10933890
>>10933941
>>10934189
>>10934534

I had fun editing the Auschwitz one... love to edit something else if you've got it, help me practice!

[Anonymous No.10934681]

>>10934672
>if i pissed you off by constantly changing your prose, or if you just went to bed or w.e, but, I just wanted to let you know:
>I finally understand the "arms of when new, war of when young" meaning. it's a reference to the warm allure we feel towards a new inspiring thing, whether or not it be tainted in the future is no issue. like a new gun, or a new war.. I really like what you did, but the last line does need a rhythmic adjus IMO, and i offered some cadences for you. do with it what you please my man... I hope you had fun. I sure did! thanks for letting me collab with you. that's your poem, i'm going to keep it in my private collection however as something I edited anonymously, if that's ok.
>Does anyone have anything else they want edited? For reference here are all of my posts thus far.
>>>10932986
Hey, what'd you think of the piece I put up on pastebin?

[Anonymous No.10934804]

>>10934681
are you this guy? https://pastebin.com/B9gS1cc6

[Anonymous No.10934841]

>>10934681
https://pastebin.com/riqLuNYA
That one? I am reading it now. do you mind if I make some edits?
>:)

[Anonymous No.10934846]

>>10932728
too many adjectives.

[Anonymous No.10934894]

>>10934681
I am reading it, it is flowing, i am making minor changes. if you don't reply im gonna drop it though because i've got something else I need to do. But i definitely want to edit it for you so long as you'll appreciate it... just say 'hey' so i know you're paying attention.

If he doesn't reply, or if i finish his, does anyone else need anything? i've got something to edit for work, but it's not due until next week.... fiction with my anonbros is way more fun..

[Anonymous No.10934938]

>>10933892
looked at me*

>>10933926
>now I’m here, writing all of this out, trying to make sense of thirty dead parakeets in the back seat of a totaled 1993 Dodge Grand Caravan and a sock half full of cocaine
you'd think it could wait. at least until you had buried the parrots.

[Anonymous No.10935148]

>>10934681
OK so this guy asked me to read his pastebin, (https://pastebin.com/riqLuNYA)) so I started reading it and it needed some serious editing. I don't know if the guy is still around, but i edited the first few paragraphs for him as an example of what to do to fix it up so it's ready to be read by other people.

If you are here, you need to go through this and edit the ENTIRE thing from start to finish 2 or 3 times before posting it again. I can't even get to enjoying the story because there are so many glaring mistakes. I get that you're excited to share your art, but it's totally not ready to show to anyone. I'm not knocking your style or ethics, just fix all the incorrect verb tenses, endless sentences, and unclosed metaphores, read it read it read it again to make sure it makes sense and flows and contains zero grammatical errors.

So here is my edit of the first few paragraphs. let me know if it helps you.

BTW here are soem of the words I likes that you used. most of these I had never heard before.

impiously
languid
decrepitude
corpulent
visages
aggrupation
demarcated

[Anonymous No.10935156]

Here is the story, it didn't fit in my original post.
>>10934681
>>10935148

They came at the break of dawn. Mere blurs in the distance, so far away down on the valley, soon became ominous silhouettes under the early revealing sunlight. Their numbers were large, their aggrupation erratic and without grace. They approached improperly for a hunting party or a military division. The differences in their sizes unleashed in us fear that washed over like a downpour of the last uneasy remnants of the night. On us there was an impression of terror left by a long and foreboding column of smoke cast over the ominously advancing army.

We were certain we hadn’t yet been spotted; the advantages we held over them were assuring. Only were we disturbed by our complete bewilderment at the strange presences. They were so close to the coast that demarcated the end of sacred ground. The small group of which I was a part had quickly come to the resolution that there were only moments to act. In haste we were imbued with the fortitude and courage that the weapons our brothers provided us could radiate. we hastily embarked.[editors note: descended the hills was original wording instead of embarked]

It did not take us long to make a clear and complete image of the foreign creatures for our minds eyes. They were weak. They barely stood as they forced themselves to drag heavy flaccid bodies over the impiously stone littered dirt that made up their hills. The only ones spared from the laborious fate were the children carried by languid arms which held them tightly against ragged chests. [This species / These beings] were unlike anything we had ever previously encountered. With our weapons we quickly reduced their likes to corpses which littered the bluff. Upon further study the corpses revealed small noses, small bones, and brown to yellow manes for these creatures. Their skin was a sickly pale that coaxed gags from us all. The clothes they wore were torn at many places and mismatched in size, their rags were dyed dark as some starless night. The clothing was of a similar pattern, yet they were decrepit and worn.

The details of a life of torment were more pronounced on some than on others. Misery had left its bloody mark on what once were been beautiful visages. The signs of famine shewn on the children and the less corpulent. They inspired within us emptiness and confusino, despite that it was the best time of the year for hunting and gathering and the fact that food was in abundance everywhere we could look, they were emaciated. These strangers were strange. possibly alien, much more so than anything we had ever countered before.

[Anonymous No.10935271]

I am all caught up with critique/edit requests.

The last 2 I did weren't even here :( Hopefully they log back on tomorrow and can appreciate my efforts.

Does anyone have anything they want edited, critiqued, or read? If you want serious edits and haven't edited it yet yourself, please limit to 3000 words. But seriously, edit it yourself first!

TL;DR Offering free editing critiquing or reading for compliment fishers.

[Anonymous No.10935349]

Okay I hope this is more clear

Buttons thumbed up to his neck taut with a might, his jacket now brown no longer with a blue
Carrying a rhythm, a pinching at the seams, with a clocking like the hooves, he thumped his drums.
He was a marching boy, 13 years tall.
He felt old and mighty, like his home's old steed, and his fathers heavy hand, with his brown yellow mead.
He thumped and drummed, the young one gone
For grown had he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and war of then young.
Now old and abused by the sound of cannon and done men
Lost was this youth, all torn and made mortal
Time over done
He continued on with his drum

Thanks again, sorry I got bussy.

[Anonymous No.10935448]

What say ye? I like what you do,but the rhythm just keeps feeling off at different points after every edit you send back. word are fine but i'm concerned for the flow of the piece. I studied jazz and was a pro musician for a few years in latino dance classes, jazz dance,contemporary dance, also musicals, bebop, and hard bop, so I am pretty good at rhythms and feel in that sense (bassist). I just don't want to destroy your imagery... You owe me a look at my blog by now i recon...

>>10935349
Buttons thumbed up to his neck taut with a might, his jacket now brown no longer blue;
He carried the rhythm, was pinched at his seams. Like clocking hooves, he played his drum.
Behold, a marching boy. Thirteen years tall, he felt mighty and strong, like his home's only steed,
Or like his fathers heavy hand, holding brown yellow mead.
He thumped his drum to the rhythm he knew. The young one gone,
For grown he shown, His jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and when war was young.
Now aged and abused by the sound of cannons which had many a man done.
Lost was this youth, all torn and made mortal time over done
He thumped his drum.
------------------------------------------
Your last post:
Buttons thumbed up to his neck taut with a might, his jacket now brown no longer with a blue
Carrying a rhythm, a pinching at the seams, with a clocking like the hooves, he thumped his drums.
He was a marching boy, 13 years tall.
He felt old and mighty, like his home's old steed, and his fathers heavy hand, with his brown yellow mead.
He thumped and drummed, the young one gone
For grown had he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and war of then young.
Now old and abused by the sound of cannon and done men
Lost was this youth, all torn and made mortal
Time over done
He continued on with his drum
---------------------------------------------
Original:
Buttons thumbed up to his neck taught with a might
He stomps with rhythm ,a pinching at the seams, and a clocking like the hooves, he thumps his drums.
He was a marching boy, 13 years tall.
With his innocence all used
He felt bold and mighty, like his home's old stead, and his fathers brown heavy mead.
He thumped and drummed, the young one gone
Grown had he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and war of then young.
Now old and abused by the sound of fire
Of cannon and morter
Shocked and made mortal
he thumps on
With his life
and a vaccant startle

[Anonymous No.10935473]

>>10935349
I think the original had better wording, I am getting stale on this piece man, i want to help but it's like... idk how much more perfect you can make it.. I brought back some of the words from the original one for you :)

Buttons thumbed up to his neck taut with a might, his jacket now brown no longer blue;
He carried the rhythm, his jacket was pinched at the seams.
Like clocking hooves, he played his drum
Behold, a marching boy. Thirteen years tall, he felt mighty and strong, like his home's old steed,
Or like his fathers heavy hand, clenching golden mead.
He thumped his drum, the young one gone,
For grown he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and when war was young.
Now aged and abused by the sound of cannons which had many a man done.
Lost was this youth, shocked and made mortal with a vaccant startle
He thumped his drum.

[Anonymous No.10935539]

Man, i am shocked at the amount of people that post stuff here completely unedited, and then never reply! You better have a good excuse!!

Post more stuff for me to critique or edit if it's 3000 words of less.

[Anonymous No.10935593]

I like writing poetry before I go to bed. It helps me just settle and sleep. Here's just a sample

There is something about waking up predawn
Getting on the road while
All are asleep, and dog's yet to yawn

Seeing the rolling green hills turn to white
Mountains which seemed so far
Up close, even more amazing to my sight

For it's been a blessed day
No work, I wish to say

[Anonymous No.10935654]

>>10935593
Thats clever. The ending made me laugh. Adjectibes werent too creative tho but clever rhymes and rhythm.

[Anonymous No.10935666]

You filthy fucking whore, I swear to God
Lured in those silky sheets but I a lamb
To be slaughtered, again as we cum in sin
Who are you, she devil, and what is this trouble, what has been wrought upon me with this hellish deed, you wretched thot bring me under into your sin.

[Anonymous No.10935769]

>>10935666
0/10

[Anonymous No.10935797]

>>10935769
Y

[Anonymous No.10935808]

>>10935666
With those digits, that's a disappointment

[Anonymous No.10935876]

>>10935654
Thank you, I'll keep writing

[Anonymous No.10936965]

Wind blows the sand;
Orders from command
Crackle on the comms;
Where to drop the bombs?

The foe is advancing fast
Ammunition, will it last
Till death rains from above
Giving the men deadly love

But then, shouts from the rear
Shouts, screams with panic and fear
The batallion got surrounded
Cut off from the front, grounded

Comrades fall all around
Their bodies hitting the ground
The snake's grip grows tighter
And the faces grow whiter

The officer's words; No escape
No hole in the ring does gape
They can see the enemy now
Capture they can't allow

Wind blows the sand;
Orders from command
Crackle on the comms;
Where to drop the bombs?

Cordinates given
Never give in
It rains death from above
Friend, foe, all gone


R8

[Anonymous No.10937688]

>>10935808
pottery, pure pottery

[Anonymous No.10937819]

Detective Dick Dangerous lithely leveled Hrunting, his hefty hand cannon – seventy-seven shining centimeters of severe steel, mirroring the merciless mug of its master – at the inquisitive invader of his office. The crook, cornered, concerned, countered with a flurry of flying five-fingered fists to the face of the irate investigator; but this rampage was rapidly riposted by the gumptious gumshoe, who coolly kicked the crazed criminal back before deftly discharging six slugs in swift sequence, bloodily blasting to bits the base, blundering buster.
The looker laughed and languidly spat:
“Foolish fraud, to thieve from a trained tail is a task not to be tackled, a crime that cannot conclude. Even an occupied and ornery oculus was capable of conquering you.”
Ceasing his speech, the searcher’s soul shuddered with satisfaction. To deal death to doers of devilish deeds delighted his dignitary, the law, his lone lover and loyalty, the bringer of the bright and beautiful. It hastened his heart, to serve his shepherd with strength and severity. The detective always discerned to describe: this ‘style’ was specifically separate from the waning wake of frivolous fashions – for his form, the governing genre of his guise, was one of explicit and energetic exaggeration, not of childish clothing. All accomplished acts acquired an absurd and aroused air, for the fierce and fearsome fellow – enduring exemplar, dashing dick Dick Dangerous – ravenously and rapaciously reveled in the rapture of life, in the shattering and subjugation of sanguine sinners, and to prevail as a priest of passionate penalty.

[Anonymous No.10937822]

>>10937819
by the way only certain parts of the book are written like this at all, i'm not autistic i promise

[Anonymous No.10937864]

>>10937819
fuck me

[Anonymous No.10937991]

>>10937819
>>10937864
actually i reread it and it's alright

[Anonymous No.10938119]

Missed your funeral, well, to be honest,
Just didn't want to go. Too many things.
Out of touch friends and stranger relatives,
The smell of blood wafting around
Ghostly and sour.

Somewhere your bedsheets lie crumpled,
The stains dried and hard, and darkened,
In some biohazard bin under spent needles,
Soiled clothes, scabs, discarded limbs
Too far gone to recover.

So I'm here, distant as always,
And you're there, suspended
By some mechanical device.
I think the undertaker just hits a button
These days, and down we go.

Maybe right now they're lifting their rifles,
Maybe just like you in those last breaths.
And if there's any hasty reason I'm not there, it's that,
This inversion, your second death, salute,
Gunfire echoes off the hills.

[Anonymous No.10938400]

>>10936965
Structurally weak. I have no problem that you're going for a rhyming quatrain thing (though that form tends to be an amateurish default), but I don't sense any attention to metre. No syllabic consistency or detectable awareness of stress. If you're trying to follow traditional poetic structure, don't half ass it.

Conceptually, it's a trite "war is hell" poem that owes more to movies and video games than anything real or personal. It relishes the chaos and tragedy in a childish, simple way, like your main inspiration are the lyrics from a Slayer album. I would suggest you steer clear of this subject matter, except maybe as a way to reassess war's portrayal in popular culture, which is probably your main/only connection to it.

[Anonymous No.10938493]

>>10935473
Reads sort of like an early modernist who went off the deep end. Playful and indulgent in a Joyce-y way, but not particularly fun or rich as I read it. Better than most of the stuff I've read here though.

[Anonymous No.10938512]

>>10935473
unironically not bad

[Anonymous No.10938532]

>>10933031
the double meanings aren't the issue, i just think it needs more description to clarify. maybe read it out loud to yourself, i could do a line by line critique when i get home from work if you want.

[Anonymous No.10938590]

Just a general critique of most things I see here, especially the prose. Way too much description and very little happening. Sometimes I wonder if the writer even knows what should be happening, or is so starved for narrative that they're drawing it out at a snail's pace to pad a very dull story. Not saying you have to write like Tom Clancy. Just dial back the detail to the essentials and let the reader fill in the rest.

>>10932992 is an exception, and you do some very nice things with with pacing and momentum. But wow what the fuck happened at the end there. The characters become more and more cartoonish until the complete shit smear that is the last line. It's like you gave up and turned your narrator into a comic book villain.

[Anonymous No.10938629]

Hunched in langor
And entranced by a screen,
Images of brittle men
Plotted meekly by a lake
In loose grey-brown rags
And straw hats
Beam before me.

And I ponder
Their patience
With the fishing rod
And blaring sun.

The fish they've studied
The Art of obtaining them,
The Art of waiting.

It allures me
And this screen
Wastes me.

I long to enter the bodies
Of these patient old men.

[Anonymous No.10938643]

>>10938629
I like it, as a poem and the cute millenial sentiments. Most old men are enduring constant chronic pain though, in case your sentiment is coming from an honest place.

[Anonymous No.10939094]

You Have To Suffer

If I take a wise woman who knows all the facts of light,
who is nonetheless colorblind,
and grant her sight,
it would seem she still learns something new about the world.

War, famine, poverty,
pestilence, liquid mercury;
machinegun turrets, grayscale screens,
dark rooms with silver lights.

There are things I know for a fact,
which I cannot remember,
but what I do know is that
you have to suffer.

Too edgy? I'm normally not confident ending on a rhyme, much less the title itself. I was also tempted to capitalize "you" in the final line. The capital "To" in the title was deliberate, but I don't know how well it worked.

[Anonymous No.10939121]

>>10932728
This is the Monte Python character Mr. Creosote, of the sketch "Wahfer Thin Mint," et. al., and the character of Bombardini from Broom of the System, who aspires to eat the entire universe. Now, as a woman. For all the verbosity, numerous opportunities for humor or grotesquerie are missed. "Plethora." -> the side effect of her efforts smeared greases, fats, condiments and crumbs on her tablecloth in accidental designs like a Jackson Pollock masterpiece.

And of course, why, and to what end.

[Anonymous No.10939126]

>>10935593
I'd switch rolling and green. The process of building the image would be more entertaining that way, from a reader's perspective.

[Anonymous No.10939168]

>>10938629
I have mixed feelings about the structure. What I really like is how we get spurts followed by those nice final two lines, it's really fitting, but the way the poem flips from detail to detail makes me sore. Better ordering or closer relations between lines might help. Great ending.

[Anonymous No.10939212]

>>10938629
This has promise. The second, third, and fifth stanzas are all very good. I'd rework the first and forth.

>>10935593
I like it. Keep posting.

[Anonymous No.10939239]

>>10934496
I'm wondering if you really want to challenge Larry McMurtry or Joseph Marshall at this stage of your development. The process of reading in to your area of interest is not just to see what has already been done, but also to discover how high the bar is to doing it again.

[Anonymous No.10939264]

>>10937819
>>10937822
It's goofy. It reads like you had fun writing it, which made it fun to read. As long as the whole story isn't written like that and it's just a silly little detour I could dig it.

[Anonymous No.10939270]

>>10932992
11/10

[Anonymous No.10939275]

[Anonymous No.10939300]

Davarious walked up to the counter. He motioned towards the cigarettes and said, "Yo can I get some of dem Newport shits nigga"

[Anonymous No.10939338]

>>10939275
nice

[Anonymous No.10939375]

>>10939300
This is painful to read. Street nigga like Davarious would likely seek to purchase singles or "loosies".

[Anonymous No.10939388]

>>10939300
Newports are for soundcloud rappers. A distinguished nigga from the streets like Davarious would more than likely be a Parliament man.

Also this >>10939375

[Anonymous No.10939437]

i saw you first in broad daylight, a
sight you weren't, and impolite,
your make-up thick and face unlit,
you hardly spoke and didn't fit
well into those clothes you wore,
your words fell clumsily out your jaw,
and yet we did, did we not
come back to this overgrown cot,
and in the dark fake light of bulb
you reflected everything unsulled
by biased sky and silly sun;
your skin a perfect reflection
of your arcanus spiritum.

>>10933892
i like this

[Anonymous No.10939455]

>>10933892
>buttering up the living CEO of Oxford University Press

cheeky monkey. Is this from LITIMAG, or Spleen?

[Anonymous No.10939507]

Well since we're all saying nigga, here's my attempt:

So I'm in the hall with this dude and he's all long-like, lumbering around. He ain't that tall, but he just looks like it. He looks like that chick crawling out the TV from the movie Rings, you know? Some kind of albino nigga, and this albino says he wants to fight me cause he hears I've been talking some shit on him. Now you know at the time, I'm thinking Who'd he hear that shit from? but in hindsight, I probably was talking some shit on him just because. I didn't know that at the time though, so I put my hands up and told him that this was all a big misunderstanding, and then this nigga pops me in the cheek for it. It stings, bad, but then I realize that's it, it just stings. I look back at him and I realize this nigga has never hit a man before in his life.

He hits me with another pop-pop-pop and this shit is starting to fucking sting. Shit's humiliating, like having your momma whip your ass when you got people over, and I got friends watching me so I ball up my fist and go to slug him and this nigga slips the punch like he's Mike Tyson or something and pops me right in the cheek again. And I stopped there for a moment there with my arm out in disbelief, and I thought to myself, Is this nigga really gonna make me cry? Am I just gonna cry from having this nigga pop my cheek like that a few times?

And that was that tipped me over, sent one little tear rolling down my cheek. And the guy, he sees that and I think he's gonna make a joke about fried chicken, but he just stops and apologizes for what happened like he whooped my ass or something. I get mad and then confused for a moment but then I just start laughing. He starts laughing too.

Now I didn't see what happened next because I was wiping away the tears in my eyes, but evidently he suck his hand out for a handshake and I made a pass on it. I went to go pop him on the shoulder because that's what niggas do, but that's not what it looked like. Evidently I slugged this nigga in the face and sent him to the floor like a pile of sticks, like I had to drop a match on this nigga to pay respects. I just open my soggy eyes and he's down. And my Latino friend, he steps onto the scene. He's short but he'll whoop your ass. He's like one of those bulldogs they keep in trailer parks, like you cut his legs off he'd come running at you on his arms trying to bite you. And he says Ay I think you need to go to the office and think about whatcu done Robbie. And I just did that. I went home, my momma whooped my ass, we ate fried chicken, and that's the end of the story. I hate fried chicken.

[Anonymous No.10939699]

>>10939264
Thanks for the input. It's just short sections in the earlier parts of the book. My friend told me not to get out of hand with the goofiness so I heavily cut back. Guess he was right

[Anonymous No.10939756]

>>10939094
>too edgy?
yes.

[Anonymous No.10939819]

>>10939126
You're absolutely right. When I read it out loud it sounded more flowing.
>>10939212
Thank you very much. If I create anything else I think is worthy of sharing I will.

[Anonymous No.10939912]

I met Tom Cruise once on, funnily enough, a cruise liner headed to Baja CA. Everyone on the ship was whispering and constantly talking about him, but I didn't pay any mind. One of the days I woke up late for breakfast. I got to the buffet and everything was picked through. I grabbed the tongs and went for the last solitairy piece of French Toast (my favorite). Just as I was about to place the toast on my plate in comes Tom running while clapping his hands over his head, screaming FRENCH TOAST FRENCH TOAST IT'S TIME FOR TOMMY FRENCH TOAST. He came to a braking halt right next to me, and saw the French Toast platter empty. He winced at this sight and turned to me, looking down on my plate and the piece of French Toast it held. "Is that Tommy's French Toast?" he asked me. He pointed his finger accusingly at the breakfast food, nearly touching it. I was awestruck. Speechless. "Tommy thinks you're holding Tommy's French toast," he said. He reached for my plate, but instinctually I pulled back and nearly dropped it. Tom got a crazy look in his eye, like a rabid dog. He squared up his body to mine, and with his arms at his sides, he started twitching his fingers like he was ready to make a move and pounce on me. Here I was in a showdown with Tom Cruise as the Mexican sun beat down hard on our faces, drawing beads of sweat. Slowly Tom moved, picking up the pitcher of syrup. "Can't enjoy Tommy's French Toast without Tommy's syrup can you?"
He slowly started pouring out the molasses onto the tiled floor. A maid watched on from afar in horror as she clutched a mop to her breast.
>"Now, now Tom. You waste all that syrup, you won't be able to enjoy this piece of toast will you?" I said, breaking my silence. He stopped, and gave a frustrated grunt. "Splitsies?" he proposed. Sharing my French Toast with Tom Cruise. There's worse ways to spend a morning, but my hunger wouldn't allow it."That's gonna be a mission impossible for me," I said and walked off, ever victorious.

[Anonymous No.10939916]

I met Tom Cruise once on, funnily enough, a cruise liner headed to Baja CA. Everyone on the ship was whispering and constantly talking about him, but I didn't pay any mind. One of the days I woke up late for breakfast. I got to the buffet and everything was picked through. I grabbed the tongs and went for the last solitairy piece of French Toast (my favorite). Just as I was about to place the toast on my plate in comes Tom running while clapping his hands over his head, screaming FRENCH TOAST FRENCH TOAST IT'S TIME FOR TOMMY FRENCH TOAST. He came to a braking halt right next to me, and saw the French Toast platter empty. He winced at this sight and turned to me, looking down on my plate and the piece of French Toast it held. "Is that Tommy's French Toast?" he asked me. He pointed his finger accusingly at the breakfast food, nearly touching it. I was awestruck. Speechless. "Tommy thinks you're holding Tommy's French toast," he said. He reached for my plate, but instinctually I pulled back and nearly dropped it. Tom got a crazy look in his eye, like a rabid dog. He squared up his body to mine, and with his arms at his sides, he started twitching his fingers like he was ready to make a move and pounce on me. Here I was in a showdown with Tom Cruise as the Mexican sun beat down hard on our faces, drawing beads of sweat. Slowly Tom moved, picking up the pitcher of syrup. "Can't enjoy Tommy's French Toast without Tommy's syrup can you?"
He slowly started pouring out the molasses onto the tiled floor. A maid watched on from afar in horror as she clutched a mop to her breast.
"Now, now Tom. You waste all that syrup, you won't be able to enjoy this piece of toast will you?" I said, breaking my silence. He stopped, and gave a frustrated grunt. "Splitsies?" he proposed. Sharing my French Toast with Tom Cruise. There's worse ways to spend a morning, but my hunger wouldn't allow it."That's gonna be a mission impossible for me," I said and walked off, ever victorious.

[Anonymous No.10939970]

https://pastebin.com/NNEWKKVv

[Anonymous No.10939971]

>>10938493
>>10938512
Thanks you two, actually I didn't write that, I was editing it for anon, he's since disappeared. THe one you linked was my final submission because we had gone back and forth with edits 2 or 3 times (i kept all them and they're in this thread) for reference, heres' the original one he posted.

Buttons thumbed up to his neck taught with a might
He stomps with rhythm ,a pinching at the seams, and a clocking like the hooves, he thumps his drums.
He was a marching boy, 13 years tall.
With his innocence all used
He felt bold and mighty, like his home's old stead, and his fathers brown heavy mead.
He thumped and drummed, the young one gone
Grown had he shown, his jacket now snug, like arms of when new, and war of then young.
Now old and abused by the sound of fire
Of cannon and morter
Shocked and made mortal
he thumps on
With his life
and a vaccant startle

I like how it doesn't, as someone stated earlier about another piece, harken back to hollywood pictures of war, and isn't truly about war, but uses war as the setting for the metaphore about a boy becoming something else.... or something like that ;)

I enjoy doing edits, but not really of poetry, because i'm a poet-noobliet.

[Anonymous No.10939989]

>>10939507
Tug Notes plz analyze this!

srsly the 1 thing it was missing was "buhdow!!"

[Anonymous No.10939996]

>>10939989
Not sure what you meant by this but thanks for the reply

[Anonymous No.10939998]

>>10939989
THug NOtes*


fuck

[Anonymous No.10940007]

>>10939996
THug Notes - youtube series that offers actually pretty good analysis of clasical liture from the viewpoint of a gangsta (Sparky Sweets PHD) check it out, it's pretty hilarious at times.

Buh-Dow- Onomatopoeia for a landed punch

[Anonymous No.10940009]

>>10932346

I lay on my towel in a hot San Francisco beach. I could feel my face and body start to peel, I knew my sunglasses would lesve a mark but I couldn’t bother to ask Martha for more sun screen. I could still hear her off in the distance splashing about with the kids and knew her weight wouldn’t allow her to run back and rub some on me. But i did feel something moving about on my stomach. It was a persistent little thing and i finally couldn’t ignore it, so i lifted my head, put my sunglasses ip on my forehead and took a gander.

Just an ant. An i significant little ant, so small compared to myself. I flicked it off and yhen pinched some lint out of my belly button, laying my head back doen and scratching an itch on my hairy pelvis. I could still feel all the steak i had for lunch that John, our obese, money grubbing waiter, had brought for us before jipping us out of more cash for desert we didn’t want but were unable to say no to. The man is a natural born salesman and has a way with money, I’ll give him that.

I heard my daughter squeal a few feet behind me and burst out in laughter. She had met Muhammad, a likeable African-American local her yesterday and had spent all morning with him. “No, no, stop!!” she squealed. “He’s asleep don’t worry, shh,” i heard him say. I was still to full from my lunch to even consider sitting up to see what was going on but I did manage to lift my head up to see what my wife was up to. Jose had his hand on her lower back as she held on to his waist while he showed her the proper footing on the surfboard. She was looking directly at us and waved at me. I waved back and laid my head down again, looking up at the sun.

Shlooop
Shlopadee doo
Ca-loopda-dee bloo
Floo-floo
Walooo

Zzzzzzz.....

[Anonymous No.10940019]

>>10940007
>Buh-Dow- Onomatopoeia for a landed punch
Huh, I learned something today

[Anonymous No.10940062]

>>10939916
I liked this a lot. I enjoyed how the narrator played the straight man up until the end. I wouldn't mind reading more in a larger work as a contrast to the mundane. I can't say much else you went for absurdism and did it well.

[Anonymous No.10940085]

>>10939916
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0ngwod0wNU

[Anonymous No.10940115]

I saw a stirring in a bush and thought it most a mouse
it could not be a tiger out beside the house
and most absurd of all, a great midnight owl
its wings across the sky - for then only could one
cry

for mother to ignore - child beside her side
oppressed to fear the most - that which sets them free
no people could be scared to protest for reform
no people would ignore - mad voices in the streets
no more

and dark satanic mills are patently absurd
for love of God above - men could never kill
no earthly kingdom - no more or less accursed
all language of man - all babble and
same

just phantoms in the night - not our fault we pray
superstitious bunk - we all firmly wish away
and on the transit bus a beggar stinks of piss
he asks us all for change - all it prompts me to
is look away

[Anonymous No.10940273]

>>10938532
If you want to do it then I'd appreciate it, but it's fine otherwise. I'm a bit late with this reply obviously, so I would imagine the offer might not stand, but whatever.

[Anonymous No.10940323]

>>10940273
I'm not him, but "/lit/ is a slow board" I feel like most of us are the kinds of goys not willing to forget what we promised earlier in the day.

[Anonymous No.10940364]

“You wouldn’t like it,” He told me. We had been talking about notions of time travel. Somehow I still found myself asking him, “wouldn’t like what?”
“You wouldn’t like traveling through time. It’s been done,” he said
. “by who,” I asked.
I don’t think he ever answered.
“It’s overwhelmingly disappointing. It’s mostly like history says, but the visceral assault of actually being in the space and time and understanding that it’s all as casual as everything else…it makes people go mad. Suicidal. Sometimes they take a few people down with them, sometimes they come back acting all normal and happy, like ‘yes sir, thank you sir, I’m so glad I had this experience’ and ten weeks later, they’ve smashed out the window of their high rise, taking shots at the interstate as if they think all those cars are coming to get them, man you wouldn’t like it. Leave it at that.”
I left it at that, but only after one more lingering question.
“Why would you shoot at cars on the interstate?”
“To make something happen.”

[Anonymous No.10940426]

>>10940323
>"most of us are the kinds of goys"
>Oh god, here come the /pol/ posters
>no /pol/ posters
>damn, /lit/ IS a quality board
>post this
>Oh shit now I'm the /pol/ poster

[Anonymous No.10940461]

White-wood sky sinks in the badlands
of some forgotten south-dakota,
not much water flowing over the hills
anymore. That there sun chandelier
you see, into the sediment dear
Auld Lang Syne come awaken me.
I know I know it's Dorian over taking me
I'll soon depart from the empty street
as the swallow nested towers cowardly cry.
A rattlesnake opera bit down on me, sounding
a bit colloquial, they don't dream, they don't smoke
in South-Dakota, coming, approachs a Coda.
would I run, too, if I saw me?
Two step to drip the mirror reflecting
the room--maybe I've crossed all
the wrong rivers and halls, a costly ode
to a traveller lost back in the Fall. But, a spring
in the step to Ludwig von Lennon and an
ankle trip sends me into an inquiry
regarding the whereabouts of a missing
décolleté that my mother used to wear,
back when water flowed over
them dusty mountains.

[Anonymous No.10940494]

>>10940364
“You wouldn’t like it,” He told me.
We had been talking about notions of time travel. Somehow I still found myself asking him, “wouldn’t like what?”
“You wouldn’t like traveling through time. It’s been done.”
“By who?”
“It’s overwhelmingly disappointing. It’s mostly like history says, but the assault of actually being in the space and time and understanding that it’s all as casual as everything else…it makes people go mad. Suicidal. Sometimes they take a few people down with them, sometimes they come back acting all normal and happy, like ‘yes sir, thank you sir, I’m so glad I had this experience’ and ten weeks later, they’re smashing out the windows of their high rise, taking shots at the interstate as if they think all those cars are coming to get them, man you wouldn’t like it. Leave it at that.”
I left it at that, but only after one more lingering question, “why would you shoot at cars on the interstate?”
“To make something happen.”

>I carved out some parts to make the dialog flow better. Hope it helps.

[Anonymous No.10940511]

>>10940494

Thankyou anon! that reads so much easier!

[Anonymous No.10940781]

>>10939121
>implying this isn't a fetish piece

[Anonymous No.10941221]

Two sisters walked a steep mountain, venturing foot after foot on rocky outcrop and snow. Nearing the top their breathing grew heavier and their legs ached with a numbness and when they finally reached the top they reached a harsh precipice overlooking a vast wasteland of concrete skeletons towering through the clouds.

Sitting on the ground with their last remnants of firewood, one tried to spark a conversation.

“We finally made it”.

“Yeah”.

Soon they were asleep and the night was silent but for wispy winds and the serenades of angels.

The next morning they clambered down the cliff face supported only by frail ropes and dead shrubs. Their hands shivered but eventually they reached the bottom where small houses sat in quiet desperation. Wandering through these remnants filled them with an air of mystic loveliness and winds swept through the narrow corridors of this damnable mecca whispering like ghosts of a distant past.

“What’s this?”

“A doll”.

What’s a doll doing here?”

“Maybe its owner forgot it”.

As they journeyed along the structure grew taller and taller and supplies grew more plentiful. Once they stopped at a colossal, stained glass structure. The windows were cracked. The floorboards were mostly rotten and there erupted a sprawling weald in the centre complete with colourful birds and cheerful insects and docile fish. The sun shone through all this through the caved roof and vines and moss grew on an iron cross at its very centre. What the structure once meant; nobody would ever know or care anymore.

“Where are we headed anyway?”

“To where fish can fly and where people are happy and where the earth is neither hot nor cold”.

They then were on a boggy river near a bridge which collapsed at places. As they crossed it it seemed to break under their feet and they occasionally fell and picked themselves up but nearing the end sat a big bearded man with a deep hood covering his eyes and a tattered cloak covering his body. At his side was a rusted dirk so frail as if to shatter upon use. His hands were cupped and stained and he seemed to ask for something.

He was offered some food but he pushed it away. He was prompted many times to talk but he never answered. He just gazed at them with his dead-fish eyes so they left him.

A melancholic, dolce tune came from inside a red-brick ruin. A grown woman sat on a piano stool, playing an untuned piano.

“What are you playing?”

“Pavane pour une défunte”, she said and paused. “By Ravel”.

“What does that mean?”

“Its French for “pavane for a dead princess”.

“What’s French?”

“I forgot”.

>I tried to write like McCarthy

[Anonymous No.10941384]

I had to write this for my high school history class. It's about the sinking of the USS St. Lo. Tell me what you think.

>I guess the time has come for me to write to you again. I guess you have gone neurotic wondering why I haven’t written you since September. Fair enough. I have been busy, to say the least. The press really doesn't let you know what’s going on out here. I have too much to talk about and too little paper and energy to write it out for you. I’ll give it to you straight: I am coming back home. For good. My leg is all mangled.
On the 25th of October, when I was eating breakfast, all at once, General Quarters was sounded and a rukus broke out. Jap ships had been spotted by a scout plane, and they were coming straight for us. So, I did what I always do: I ran up the aft-side stairs, and made my way over to the starboard side flak guns below deck. And then, I stood at attention and waited, along with the other men operating the guns. Planes kept on taking off and heading into the fog. I could see the Jap ships coming in on the horizon. Without any warning, the destroyers starting laying down smoke screens, and our ship started moving east, going around in this sort of zig-zag pattern. The Jap ships all at once became visible, and then I could see our boys going in and giving them hell-rockets, bombs, and torpedoes. But after that point, to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t keep track of anything. The air was filled with smoke, which all but made defending against any potential air attacks impossible (there were none, thankfully). We just sat and waited and hoped none of the shells flying overhead hit us. After about four hours spent shrouded in darkness, the CO exclaimed that he heard over the coms that the Japs had retreated north, and that we were free to go back and finish our breakfast. I wasn’t hungry anymore, and decided to just have a sit and look at the ocean. But then, I heard guns firing and sure enough, General Quarters was sounded again. Everyone started sweeping back i , and this time, we knew we were going to have to shoot some planes down. A dog fight was going on over our head, and it was slowly getting closer and closer to us. Then, out of nowhere, a Zeke came in from the aft side towards the starboard side, and we opened fire on him. I swear that I saw something light up, and just after that, he disappeared up and over the deck. After a brief second of relief, we were shook by a deafening bang, which we assumed was caused by a bomb dropped by the Jap right before he plunged into the ocean. But, then, we heard a loud bang, followed by frenzied screaming and a plume of thick, black smoke, which engulfed the side of the ship I was on.

[Anonymous No.10941388]

>>10941384

>From here on, all I can remember are a few blurs of lucidity. I am not sure if there ever was a call to abandon ship, but me and the CO went down the stairs, only to end up in a hallway that had been engulfed in flame. Scores of guys were hurling themselves into the ocean, and so I made the call to do that as well. My next memory is aboard a life raft, with a tourniquet right below my kneecap, and a pain that I can only describe as being similar to pouring cold water on a sunburn, but continuously. When we came to the rescue ship, they had to lift up with ropes. I couldn’t walk at all, let alone climb! I really have only the bits and pieces of what happened to me. The doctors say that something must have stabbed my leg when I jumped into the water. They really aren’t sure what it was. But, they do know that I can’t walk for the time being. I miss home so much, and I just want to get out of this infirmary, whether it be on crutches or in a wheelchair. They tell me we just left Palaus and are headed back to San Francisco for repairs, and a nurse told me I would be transferred to the Naval Hospital in Oakland from there. I am not sure if I believe that, but I don’t see why the Navy would need me around any longer. I will telephone for you once I get ashore.

Your Friend,
Seaman Joe Schmidt

[Mario Kart 8 !!m3ttBiN2yNc No.10942633]

"Damn, now that's a big wang" exclaimed Professor Arthur Royce. "The wang... it's humongous we have never seen anything like it." We fixate our gaze upon the deep, in search of a greater truth. This is what awaits us. From where did this phallic monster come from? We cannot describe it using human words, it's SO horrifying. What the fuck is up? This world of ours, what the fuck is up? You mean Earth isn't just inhabited by humans like us, but monsters like THAT!? Woah! Sugoi desu ne? The professor and I could only watch in horror, aghast at the otherworldly sight of the largest penis of all time. What felt like centuries had passed. Actually it was only forty seconds I looked at my watch. Suddenly the monster let out a high pitched screech, like the sound your mom makes after I repeatedly punch her in the face. W'aan-a'gzuththau's towering stature began to gradually shrink. What was once an entity of size beyond measure meekly peaked out at us from the distant sea. I can never forget those guttural bellows. SHRINKAGE! SHRINKAGE! Did it just say that? SHRINKAGE! My mind draws a blank. I sit in my room. It's been ten years since that huge dick came out of the ocean. What happened? Where's the professor? Wait a second.. this erection isn't normal. Heh... guess some things in this world are too f**ked up for us homosapiens. Now excuse me, I have to masturbate.

[Author's Note] - It came out of the ocean. Yeah, it's pretty huge lol.

[Mario Kart 8 !!m3ttBiN2yNc No.10942658]

>>10942633
The title of this short story is "The condom over Dick."

[Anonymous No.10942662]

>>10942633
lovecraft? call of cthulhu?

[Anonymous No.10942666]

>>10942662
Yeah I'm just shitposting.

[Anonymous No.10942737]

>>10942658
We fixate our gaze upon the deep, in pursuit of a greater truth. Insight. The true nature of our reality. Those who seek it, may eventually find it, but is man worthy of all truths? Inescapable horror awaits us all.

"Damn, now that's a big wang. It's HUMONGOUS!! We have never seen anything like it..." exclaims professor Arthur Royce. From where did this phallic monster come from? We cannot describe it using human words, it's SO horrifying. What the fuck is up? This world of ours, what the fuck is up? You mean Earth isn't just inhabited by humans like us, but monsters like THAT!? Woah! Sugoi desu ne? The professor and I could only watch in horror, aghast at the otherworldly sight of the largest penis of all time. What felt like centuries had passed. Actually it was only forty seconds I looked at my watch. Suddenly the monster let out a high pitched screech, like the sound your mom makes after I repeatedly punch her in the face. W'aan-a'gzuththaucha's towering stature began to gradually shrink. What was once an entity of size beyond measure meekly peaked out at us from the distant sea. I can never forget those guttural bellows. SHRINKAGE! SHRINKAGE! Did it just say that? SHRINKAGE! My mind draws a blank. I sit in my room. It's been ten years since that huge dick came out of the ocean. What happened? Where's the professor? Wait a second.. this erection isn't normal. Heh... guess some things in this world are too f**ked up for us homosapiens. Now excuse me, I have to masturbate.

[Anonymous No.10942756]

It was hilarious, really. Every time someone talked about revenge they mentioned how empty it left you, how it could never satisfy you. The fools in the great forums talked of how it was better to forgive and forget, to let the burden of your anger fall from your heart. As far as she was concerned, however, she had never felt more alive. The blood slathered knife lay in her hand - blood dripping onto the floor with a musical plink, plink, plink - and she realized she had been staring at the corpse for at least thirty seconds. She couldn’t help it, of course, it was like her heart was singing, like the most appropriate ending to the story of the slimy goats-daughter on the ground stacking slights against her until they toppled to the ground and crushed her underneath.

[Anonymous No.10942870]

https://pastebin.com/GqkGVFQY (embed) if anyone could give this a look, i'll read theirs straight after. Just need some actual feedback

[Anonymous No.10943771]

>>10942870
>https://pastebin.com/GqkGVFQY
Where is the punctuation for dialog? Just because it is in French does not mean there shouldn't be quote marks. Capital should be capitalized if it is the "capital city."

The first person narrative is relying a lot on "I" to move forward almost every sentence. It makes the work very plodding.

Try reading the first couple paragraphs and say the "I's" out loud every time and you will get what I am saying.
>here is mine:
The car was driving fast underneath a highway as the sun sank, Gluos’ phone rang. It was General Labay, Gluos accepted the call but waited, the car was silent as it rocked. During political transition, when called, it is best to act hostile. LaBay spoke first.
“Where are you?”
“In what capacity do you wish to know?”
“As a concerned cabinet member, what are you doing?”
“Can you reach the Minister of Defense?”
“I do. What is XX Company’s position here?”
“How can I know my position?”
“Just tell me who to bomb.”
“What is self-reliance?”
The line went dead. Gluos said, “at least we have the air force.”
After parking underneath an overpass, Gluos got out, slammed the door, ordering the car to do a loop of the block. The Speaker was smiling.
As distant engines echoed off concrete and asphalt. Assistant rolled down her window, “don’t leave us here with this creep.”
The car squealed off, Gluos’ connections cut out one by one. All he could see was a sliver of orange light between buildings and roads with engines roaring, as a motorcycle gang accumulated.

[Anonymous No.10943861]

Temples, castles, towers and palaces,
The marmoreal beehive and the stony gardens
Of civilization will all dissolve
In slime, the heavenly vault and the winds –
A farrow of acrobatic foxes
Of breeze – in perpetual solitude, silence
And night will freeze,
And all of our clans, the empire, the sun
Will, in the desert country of the shells,
Anchor in collapse and oblivion.

[Anonymous No.10944283]

The first 'lil chunk of a short story I'm workin on. Looking for critique on the prose

“Get outta my bathroom you fuckin’ junkie!” Naser shouted with the usual vigor. He was banging on the door so hard the hinges were rattling now. Ron was propped up against the black and white bathroom wall, tucked between the toilet and the corner. His dope kit was spread out on the grimy floor. Burned spoon, still dripping needle, purple Bic lighter, empty plastic baggie. He’d already shot up and was thinking it was about time to go. If he lingered any longer Naser might actually fuck him up this time. He braced his hand against the wall and slowly pushed himself up. He stumbled a reflexive half step towards his kit and toppled over when he bent to pick it up. The thud of his shoulder bouncing off the tile floor got Naser riled up all over again. The door shuddered and jumped as it was struck by the large persians boulder fists. “What the fuck are you doing! I swear to god!” Ron rolled over on his side and slid his arm across the floor towards his stuff. He put his hands over the spoon and needle and contracted the weakening tendons in his hand into the most compact shape he could make, which resembled something like a bird's talon. He slid his arm back down the tile and slowly lifted the hand to dump the stuff in the pocket of his leather jacket. He was able to accomplish the feat with the dexterity of a Mack truck and the strength of a toddler. He lay on the floor for a few more seconds gathering his strength and then got up and hobbled his way to the door. The second the lock clicked open the door was swung back so quickly the gust it generated almost pulled Ron through the threshold but when that didn’t get the job done Naser did. He grabbed Ron by the collar of his torn-up leather jacket and yanked him in close. He didn’t say a word. Just held Ron there and cut into him with his eyes through his thick glasses that were gleaming with fluorescent light. His big nose puffed clouds of hot air that slid off his square jaw and onto Ron’s forehead. He turned around and shoved Ron back a good 3 feet almost sending him careening into the chip rack of the Xpress Mart. “Get the fuck out of here you piece of shit! You’re lucky I didn’t fuck you up this time!”

[Anonymous No.10944357]

>>10943861
I like it except the part about 'sliime' and 'acrobatic foxes'. I suggest 'mud' instead of 'slime'. I appreciate you not using the word 'dust'. I don't even know what the thing about the foxes even means.

>>10943771
The conversation seems a little non-sensical. If the cabinet member is coordinating a coup, he should be more insistent on knowing where XX Company is and how does the General not know the Minister's number if he needs to know who to bomb and the Minister is calling the shots?

[Anonymous No.10944461]

>>10944357
so it might need seom context, the minister of defense is the one couping, the guy calling is the air force commander and wants to work with XX Company, who is answering the phone. I am aiming for it to be unclear though because the character answering the phone is assuming it is being listened to and can't trust anyone yet.

[Anonymous No.10944694]

>>10944357
>I like it except the part about 'sliime

You know, I am not a native englush speaker, so I translated the passage. But I love words like ooze and slime. The complete excerpt would be this:

FIRST GENERAL: I have here with me letters that are still wet,
Letters from spies that I have sent to the coastal
Cities that report seaquakes and maritime pandemonium,
Gigantic waves and earth tremors.
They say that the salty fertility
Of the sea has frown into a broth of hate, heartburn
And convulsions, that the mating of the waters and the wind
Have shouted a brood of titanic
Leviathans, riding mountains
Whose crests of foam bite the clouds,
As if they desired to disembowel them
To gain access to the orchard of candles of the stars
And drain them as if they were gleaming candies,
Sucking the honey and the silver sugar
Of light, silencing the fire and condemning
The whole world to eternal night. Against the coast
The typhoons have spurred their green steeds,
Colossal hippocampi roaring tsunamis.
The letters say that the elderly that in fisher
Villages and harbor cities
Have live for their entire lives have never seen
The sea throw himself with such bestial fury
Against the seashore, against the rocks, cliffs and beaches;
That never so many seaweeds, so much foam,
So much rheum and bile of the abysses
The waters have vomited thorough the coast.
It is as if the ocean desired
To devour all Japan, disintegrating
With salty saliva and foaming
Mastication the rocky vertebras
Of the archipelago where the sun has his nest.

SECOND GENERAL: I have heard similar news: panic
Spreads across many areas of the nation.
Nature and chaos have copulated:
Thus it is croaked across the villages
By old man, homeless, lunatics and prophets
(Those people that, in the art of injecting wisdom,
Contorted logic and illuminated insanity
With wild words that bite us
Are usually brothers). Some fanatics
Say that Japan, rotten and corrupted,
Like a giant corpse, will wreck
In the ocean, and our beloved earth
Will not see the crystalline cheeks,
The violet face and the smiling
Gaze of the serene skies ever again.
Temples, castles, towers and palaces,
The marmoreal beehive and the stony gardens
Of civilization will all dissolve
In slime, the heavenly vault and the winds –
A farrow of acrobatic foxes
Of breeze – in perpetual solitude, silence
And night will freeze,
And all of our clans, the empire, the sun
Will, in the desert country of the shells,
Anchor in collapse and oblivion.

>>10944357
>I don't even know what the thing about the foxes even means.

I wrote that a long time ago. The acrobatic foxes are the wild winds, jumping, hopping, snarling and nibbling from north to south, from east to west.

It's an exagerated simile. I would cut it off today, maybe.

[Anonymous No.10944720]

>>10943771
oops it didn't format properly from the word doc but ty. Quick q, what did you think of the second part, i'm thinking of getting rid of the French. It is obnoxious and unnecessary.

I feel the first couple of sentences could be made shorter.
>The car was speeding underneath a dying sun.
>Gluos' phone rang.
>It was General Labay.
>Gluos accepted the call and waited.

The structure of your sentences doesn't match the style of your writing. Try using shorter clauses which will help emphasise the situation.

[Anonymous No.10944820]

>>10944694
I actually really like that entire poem and catastrophic/ oceanic theme of it. If I wrote it I might substitute some words here and there but I really dig it. Is there more to it?

'Slime' makes sense now, in the context of a tsunami fits along with words like saliva, bile, rheum, ect.

[Anonymous No.10944900]

>>10944720
>https://pastebin.com/GqkGVFQY
Not sure where the second part starts, but I will say that paragraphs #74-76 say pitiful and pity too much, also detecting very low key undercurrents of 4chan in the characterizations, but that is probably me projecting. Is this chick a trap? Is the protag a virgin? Is this just going to be one mind thinking too much about what is going on around him? This is what most stuff posted here seems to be like, but it might be the zeitgeist of a decent sized market...

As for the french, it's cool, it can be read with effort. There are probably rules in doing multi-language writing, that means there is a right way and wrong way of doing it. So you should make sure you are doing it right. But it better serve a purpose to the story. You're alienating a big audience and shooting yourself in the foot by complicating everything, so it better have a fucking great impact.

Thanks for your comments, ruthlessly shortening everything has been the goal of the entire project so you're on the mark.

[Anonymous No.10944990]

>>10944820
>I actually really like that entire poem and catastrophic/ oceanic theme of it

Thank you :)

>>10944820
>Is there more to it?

Yes, much more. This comes from a 700 pages play I wrote (a tragedy in 5 acts, using blank verse, prose, rhymed verse and some minor songs).

I published the thing last year on Amazon. I did not even bothered to try and look for an editor, because I know that they would never take the risk of printing an out of style play.

My inspiration is Shakespeare (I guess that it's clear from the excerpt I posted, the metaphorical language, the artificial way of speaking, the blank verse - altough in English it becomes free-verse, without metric).

I published and used Facebook to advertise, but so far no reviews on the Amazon page.

The original is in Portuguese, by the way.

[Anonymous No.10945752]

>>10944990
Post the original, hopefully some Portuguese people can comment on it.

[Anonymous No.10945927]

>>10940062
Thanks. I wrote it as a shitpost for /tv/. Had to abbreviate the ending because I hit the post character limit earlier than I was expecting. It was fun to write and it excited me to write more

[Anonymous No.10946039]

This stream we’re on, we don’t know where it goes. The scariest part had nowhere to hide, we lost our paddle. No control. But the current eased, and suddenly you realised you had never seen water so clear. And the songs the birds sing was never so beautiful. Next thing you knew you were looking for the bank. But before your feet could get to land, the current took you again. This time you let go, let the river take you where it wants, do as it wishes. Some have drowned, you know. Some have never been seen again. You let go. It takes you.

[Anonymous No.10947815]

>>10946039
No

[Anonymous No.10947899]

Please be honest!

[Anonymous No.10947908]

>>10947899

[Anonymous No.10947911]

>>10947908

[Anonymous No.10947920]

>>10947899
>>10947908
>>10947911
This is meant to be read in order of post too.