Critique Thread

Go!

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Other urls found in this thread:

pastebin.com/LVaZprsf
drive.google.com/file/d/1bp_uuI1pC_H410RIA2ggo1J5V-vstXnZ/view?usp=sharing
pastebin.com/mGBycLmg
pastebin.com/N0E0Ywvq
pastebin.com/MhXEZJYJ
pastebin.com/a2UMsQCv
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Muerte
vocaroo.com/i/s1cOg1m3VAt0
my.w.tt/y6lZ5gapvX
verbumlogos.blogspot.com/2018/01/degas.html
twitter.com/SFWRedditGifs

...

?

A poem, because, why not?

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Very well written
Engaging, proper punctuation

Rate my page 1 please.

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It's sweet, I don't like the style but the last paragraph made it fine, it was well written in its style

I hate to ask, but was this a sarcastic comment?

Thanks user.

It barely seems like prose tbph

Thanks again for the feedback, user. Honestly don't know what to do with the plot right now. I wanted to make a Bandit the main protagonist and see where I go from there. I'm not sure we have too many of those out there.

Yeah who is the intended audience?

Fantasy readers, I suppose. Or maybe just anyone. It's not too mature. Any violence will be often limited to monsters, and sex in the will be a no-no despite it's background references (like rape - how the protag came to be.) Also no gore, I hope, or at least anything explicit.

The story will be like The Hobbit, I imagine. A small story of adventure, culminating in a big final battle with a lot of armies. Small book, I hope; around 300 pages.

The hobbit was interesting as it took biblical aspects and pushed it into his own fantasy

You can do it bro

>-were +had been
>After later
ehh, I haven't edited it
you must be pretty OCD since I hadn't noticed anything
I'll give it an edit then

>Edgar could count everything he knew about Stowchester Park with one hand. Big brand supermarkets with their florescent lights. Row upon row of identical working-class housing. Empty concrete roads, roundabouts, turnings, all ugly-orange under streetlight. Bins...brown bins...green bins...blue bins...black bins. Whilst he was indifferent to these things during the day he loved them in the dead of night because they felt like they belonged to him and him alone.

>Edgar could feel the chill of the night air from the porch window glass. He thought about going back inside but the prospect of waking his family stopped him. One click of the door latch and his dogs would bark and come charging down the stairs. Instead Edgar sat counting the raindrops on the porch glass. He knew that he wouldn't finish counting them all but he tried anyway. There was a lot of things that were left unfinished with Edgar. He had been meaning to get his scruffy hair cut for weeks, he was dressed in clothes he still wore from when he was fourteen. He knew he just wasn't the kind of person who was proactive about these kind of things. Finishing things was good if you had right motivation. Being twenty years old he still felt comfort in knowing that he had more time to learn how to be motivated, somehow, from somewhere, something, or someone. Edgar and his best friend had always shared the same nihilistic worldview, which was what made their friendship ignite like fireworks when they met at sixteen years old. Edgar didn't yet know they were out of time. That this would be the last night in a long time, possibly ever, that he would share with him. Edgar didn't notice he had stopped counting the raindrops.

I would flex your punctuation btw like you can tell some stories within stories w it since ure good at bringing it all together

Didn't got anybody else? Are you trolling?

that one's on purpose

I mean you could use the type of grammar but you would shut off a lot of readers

It's really weird dude
>N.Y. had the five families. Working their evil.

Is this supposed to be a comic book?

>The sounds of anal sex continued

Have you had sex before?

>Is this supposed to be a comic book?
It's a flashfic written in comic book style.
>Have you had sex before?
Yup

This isn't really a good piece to share. You should add dialogue. Also does the second paragraph follow the first? They seem pretty separate. The first seems like a flirt with stream of consciousness but there was nothing around it to see if it had its effect. The second really was doing nothing to judge

What does the sounds of anal sex sound like?
Like it's goofy in some parts and then you introduce sex and it comes off like a manchild wrote it

Just a small snippet that I haven't edited yet. Would very much appreciate feedback on my prose, negative or otherwise

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That's why you don't generally describe sex as it's corny.

looks good,your ready to be published

some shit I didn't think i'd share, I'd make new shit but I don't feel like making something under the stress of having to show it later.

kind of a journal, kind of fiction

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I didn't like the passive descriptions which went on for us to find out this wasn't even relevant
After first paragraph was good I was hooked into what the character was doing. The writing style isn't as engaging as I'd like, again really passive but the end was good and I was interested in going into the next one

Thanks
Noted. Thanks for the feedback, user.

Thanks user.

It's like you're writing to show off and it's not really engaging. Also how is being condoms prosaic?

I really appreciate you taking the time, thanks user. Would you say the snippet's passiveness was a matter of personal taste for you or a legitimate concern? What steps should I take in order to adopt a more active writing style?

>a large thunderous crack

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>my nerves rendered listening to music impossible.
Sounds clunky

I'm surprised that this was your take, as I wasn't planning on showing anyone this. Also I figured everyone had to buy condoms at least once, nothing special unless you're a virgin like... eh... my main character yeah.

What can I do to improve?

hey guys rate my latest page, ignore the filename haha

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It's not bad it just seems like a book written a century ago. Engagement today is different from them
That being said you write well, I would just change first paragraph to something relevant, do you have something including dialogue?

Just read more and don't focus on sex and try and see what is engaging. The author should be like a a disinterested tour guide to your world. The story should pop out either wittingly or in a cathartic manner. You're a good author when you can write on any subject and make it engaging so don't try and use any fail safe plots

well I regret this immensely. last time i'm just pulling shit from my diary to post these threads.

okay thanks

I've been writing a book about an isolated and lonely lawyer getting trapped inside a Mexican restaurant. The chapters with the lawyer have footnotes of arbitrary shit and endnotes(that google drive turned into footnotes) about the characters he doesn't bother talking to. The other chapters are about a group of drunk punk degenerates who eventually also get trapped with him after leaving the bar at 2am. Thinking about a latino occult or something and a corporate lawsuit mystery being the solution to them all leaving. Bullshit about friendship and other people kinda stuff. Google drive says its 45 pages but word shows it as less because of formatting problems with the footnotes. There are also ramblings/notes/wip at the end, its not really all that cohesive or finished yet. I'd just like to know initial thoughts I guess. Is the style ok or am I just shit at this whole writing thing.

drive.google.com/file/d/1bp_uuI1pC_H410RIA2ggo1J5V-vstXnZ/view?usp=sharing

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>Engagement today is different from back then
This might actually be the thing, I've been reading older books as of late. Got any recs for more modern fiction?
As for dialogue I guess I have this, this is from a story I haven't touched for the better part of 2 years though, so it might not be very indicative of my current writing style.

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On July 11th last year, before he tried to drown himself, the Brit booked a table for two at La Désespéré and ate there alone. When I spoke to Monsieur Renard- a little pressed Frenchman who, in the footsteps of Alciatoire, had combined with great panache his native land’s gastronomy with the teeming Florida sealife- he was unsurprisingly brusque. The ‘Englishman in question’ had insisted on the table for two, despite La Désespéré’s many single stools catering to the solo gourmands keen for a cup of lobster bisque or an out-of-season brandade de morue. Not only a table for two, Monsieur Renard informed me with pursed lips, but the best table in the house: on the seafront courtyard, perfectly framed in the dusk against the brilliant balmy sea.

Despite attending alone, the Brit was still permitted to use the table. Dressed finely in a Navy suit with an open silk shirt (a Brioni, says Renard) and carrying a leather briefcase, he may well have been an influential critic or a traveling businessman from the proprietor’s native Europe. Yet it wasn’t a desire to appease a critic or appeal to big money that led to his granting the seafront table; with a Michelin star already under his belt, Renard was no sycophant. No, it was pure professionalism. His soul, I think, only existed in 21st-century Florida due to tragic temporal displacement, truly belonging to that great stock of French culinary artists that flourished after Taillevent’s Le Viandier. The gentleman had booked the table; the table had been prepared for him with great love and care, and Renard would rather lose ten seafront seats than break with his own principles of propriety.

Kk I like your dialogue

Apathy by Paul Nielan is really funny
John dies at the end is a fun read
I liked some things in the story of my teeth

They're not great books but they're easy and modern, besides that idk that much modern fiction

Great prose and I'm interested in the story from the first line. I had to google a few of the French terms though- maybe change it to 'french foods' rather than naming them, and ditch the part about le viandier which I had to google to properly understand. you don't want readers to get lost

Nice simile at the start... and you bring it back at the end which is lovely. I like the poem and think it's very evocative and well written, even if I don't know what is happening too well.

>Mine
You let out a big fat whopsie when I slid my chode into your upturned rump and you flicked your tongue as if a snake in the sun, basking for the energy of my testes.

You dirty little strumpet, you, you, you, who went goo-goo-ka-choo in my bed the other night. Then hid your face into the covers while I got on all fours. I licked out that cavernous grief-wracked gate and you trembled at my polyglotted tongue on your hole.

Then I pulled you towards me and shoved it as far inside your bottom as your body would let. You took ten whole blows from my engorged phallus and wept when your arse gave out several successive succulent sulphurous explosions like the RA let off in Derry.

My semen mixed in that hairy bunghole where only the dead men wait for the ferry in the riverine edges of your colon.

The first comma is unnecessary, the second one should've been a full stop, and the third is unnecessary. In fact, and someone correct me if I'm wrong, but you almost never use commas on the first use, if ever.

Liking the Dragonball-esque feeling at the beginning.

Thanks user. Do you think the French really needs to be changed?

Bump

Maybe I’m just a brainlet but the most of the first paragraph flew over my head. It’s complex writing all right, and turns even the most mundane of everyday situations seem like a poetry-slam society snapfest.

Is that a good thing? For possibly unsmart people like me I can’t even read it well. But perhaps I’m not it’s audience.
It’s certainly descriptive about the MC’s internal perspective.

Thanks for the feedback, user.

On the street, mothers sobbed.
They cared not to hide their sorrow
from their little boys and girls.
Fathers stood and stared blankly;
Into the horizon, maybe thinking:
“Was it all for naught? was it all for this?”

Oh how sweet the suns gray rays tasted that morn
how everyone shed their notions like scales and skin
of respect and civility; and of civilizations bonds
as if struck by a hammer of mortality,
beating us against the great anvil
smelted and scorching, we were reshaped.
in the great fumes of the furnace

Summer lillies danced in the larking wind.
As i stood on the edge of society, gazing
at the crater left of the world.
I felt myself invigorated, my last hours
were full of hope; to know.

Orgies and decadence on the streets of paris.
praying congregations in the vatican, cursing god and soul,
gulping down holy blood; pissing
in the corners of the shrine.

i had dreamed, to stand at the edge of the world.
i thought; the wind would blow cooler and harder
than any before it, and the droplets of rain;
would be like a ocean in itself,
Ah poor drops of rain, birthed from the great cloud;
only to fall, to turn into nothing,
Are you saddened by this? little droplet?

Ah, the wind blows cooler, the raindrops caress
my emancipated shell,
No gods, no purpose, no future.
But my heart is so full of love, it can burst apart.
My love! it could fall from the sky like droplets
My love! it could divide the oceans!
My heart! it burns with the fire of a dying sun,
one last animation of splendor!
before flickering out, and all turns black!

I feel like i am falling, falling through the crust of the earth
planets falling, people falling
children cry around me
mother dies like flies
fathers ground to dust.
My radiant crown light up the darkness!
only to show me more darkness!
What beautiful, beautiful darkness!
I am your friend!
Ah, here come the chariot!
Euos! Phlegon, Pyrois and Aethon!

What word processor do you all use for your writing?

pastebin.com/mGBycLmg

Feedback?

>
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

how seriously do you take yourself lol

>The sycophantic toy store clerk told his apprentice that she was richest woman in Dublin and sent him off to bring the item from the basement vault.

show don't tell, we know he's sycophantic

>The loaded lady

just no

>Oscar played with a wooden toy dinosaur and dropped it by accident.

oh did he do it by purpose? clumsy way of expressing yourself anyway

>The clerk didn't pay no mind to them and only showed concern about the item.

why is the omniscient narrator talking in slang?

>The clerk unveiled the object revealing a stunning show of craftmanship: it was a music box of outstandingly careful details.

show don't tell, describe the crafsmanship, what's it made of

>that no one could ever replicate it like the music box did.

clumsy

>As the richest woman in Dublin was convinced she was right she gave the man a chance to do so,

punctuation

it's ok.

Its shit, honestly. The writing itself is simple (in a bad way), rushed, devoid of any emotion or tension, the descriptions are asinine (the eyes are either forest green or emerald, not both, and what the fuck does summer smell like? What is aggressive squint?) and overall its cliched and boring. It's just bad. I dont know why the other anons are blowing smoke up your ass, but it's just flat out bad. Your writing is not "good", its 10th grade creative writing level, aka "legible". If I had to guess I would say that English isn't your 1st language, but that's not the only reason this is bad. The narrative is shit, I dont have a clear idea of who the characters are at all, the pace is non existant, the list goes on.

I'm not trying to be mean, or to be the "ebin edgy cynic poster", I'm just being honest with you. Actually apply yourself.

>>the loaded lady
>just no
What's wrong with using an adjective coupled with a noun, champ?

pastebin.com/N0E0Ywvq

I like it
Maybe you can read this, I've been trying to get feedback on it for a few days now but haven't got any, it's only ~2500 words

it's cringe, why "loaded" lady, just say rich or something, the alliteration makes it childish as well

I see - never noticed the alliteration. So that's what it was.

Updated version: pastebin.com/MhXEZJYJ

It's a bit sudden isn't it? Also the fact that Bjorn gets whacked from behind and then does nothing. Did he fall down? Was the sheriff pointing a sword at him? Was the sheriff on top of Bjorn so he couldn't move?
All in all, it's alright, but there's room to improve.

wrong link:
pastebin.com/a2UMsQCv

Sorry about multiple posts I'm ocd I guess. Next time I'll edit b4 asking for feedback..probably.

>You are currently not logged in, this means you can not edit or delete anything you paste.
Nvm I'm retarded I guess. I was a guest user which is why I couldn't edit. So no need for multiple posts on crit threads and I can still edit. Heh. Ez.

Reminder that if you want someone to critique your work, take care to critique a few others in the thread. There have been a couple I would have commented on had they done so for others. And expect to receive the sort of critique you give- 'its okay' or 'i liked it' without any specific details is about as bad as no critique at all.

If I see proper critiques being given then I will give your work a thorough critique in return.

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I for example haven't written any good texts so I don't even expect thorough critique. It's hard to explain but I just want someone, anyone, to read my draft so that it won't just simply die a quick death since no one would care. And because I got mixed feelings I don't really invest time on reading long texts in these threads typically unless I promise to do so because I assume their authors don't really care about their works like me. But if it so happens that someone does like my text and says so then sharing it was a good idea. I think someone might have said they liked at least some aspect of one of my stories, but who knows if anyone here is ever sincere though. Anyhow sorry for the long explanation. Not sure if it's even needed or whatever. You don't even know who I am of these posters.

Don't like axe to breast.

Can't you just call it the Crooks, without saying the locals call it that etc. you already mentioned it's a forest road in previous para.

Foggy and damp was the scene.

Couldn't you bring the action closer. Focusing on Bjorn being hidden by the fog. and positing him in the ruins. Describing the ruins.

If you don't believe in your work how can you ever expect anyone else to? If you're expecting someone else to tell you you're good you'll be sorely disappointed when you realise you don't believe them. As a writer you have to believe you have something worthwhile to say, are capable of creating something of aesthetic value, or ideally both.

In any case I may well have read your work and thought it was good, but if you haven't critiqued anyone else I refuse to comment on it out if principle.

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Not sure what you mean

>In any case I may well have read your work and thought it was good, but if you haven't critiqued anyone else I refuse to comment on it out if principle.
I only just started writing. These are the ones I have written so far. Wish I had edited them before sharing them initially though, but now that I looked into pastebin I guess I could revisit my manuscripts and edit them on that site because for some reason it's easier to read text on pastebin than on openoffice writer. I may not be a literary genius but as of late I've become extra careful with comma splices, prepositions, past tense and verbs; I think when it comes to verbs I still use the most common verbs (get, have, take &c) too often but at least the chatty/normal prose is quick to read. I wonder if there even is a sweet spot between too chatty and too verbose as this is creative writing we are talking about after all and creativity is kinda subjective. Maybe some readers find the story either bland or creative while looking past the prose while another reader cannot appreciate the story if the prose isn't verbose enough etc. Who knows I'm just a beginner and kind of low key dumb to top it off. I'll critique whatever you reply to my pastebins with your own link though should you give me feedback and if I post again in these threads in the future.

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Hi, this is my first attempt at iambic pentameter, and in the future I will attempt to avoid rhymes and half rhymes.

Farewell my love that grants me leave for bay
A ship awaits my ride upon the main
Where men aboard the craft do spin their yarns;
Though love, do keep my thoughts upon your heart
Like planks doth keep my feet above the depth
As we go on beyond the land's own breadth
To distant cries that stand opposed our nest.

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Soiled, the stench sparkles
in the eyewashed memory of never-ending torpor—
I can't resist resistance, the days they plod.
The chorus can't put it simply,
and my dog holds me together—
I haven't a clue about diligence.
It shows everywhere. My envy of builders,
the erectors of scaffolding around town,
the globe, elsewhere—my frequency is waning,
the camp counselors quit. "You
always make it about yourself,"
my weeping wife laments, why can't I change.
My distress is centuries old, baggage
from ancient ancestors, epiphenomenal and unwavering.
The EKG cites a baseline of negative zero,
but the doctor says there's time
for hope, a naturopathic remedy for the psychopathic self.
I love her, but not much else.
I guess I'll just let myself out,
thanks for the help.

If I were to express myself sincerely,
the result would be ghastly.
A soliloquy about a decade's love-affair
with the fetishization of quick death.
The equilibrium point has slid so low,
so slow I didn't even know it was happening.
The meaning of death derived from the death of meaning,
a borrowed phrase from a museum exhibition
on anti-existentialism (that part I contrived).
With nothing to latch on to,
the vine wraps endlesslessly around itself:
Kusama's conception of infinity comes from my own,
the self-reflexive self-reflection grows the most tiresome and tedious
for the audience-entertainer himself.
I probably have cenesthopathy, an medically mysterious condition
involving the somatic-tactile hallucination of nerve-wires
tightening to the exponential high tension frequency of inescapable annihilation and doom.
The by-product is tears of terror and tears of sanity.
The global pandemic of undying war: a very current motif
in my dreams. They always come:
the hordes, the supernatural forces of nefarious intent, the delusion of import.
The value of my own life is a very confusing notion to me,
which I don't say to be edgy, but am anyways.
Just another reason the deride the vehicle I ride.
I am loath.

You need to be more consistent with how you want your prose to come across. It's stilted at times (almost comically so), and flowing at others, and I don't think there was a literary reason for this. I think this is down to you cutting off paragraphs too early, without expanding or consolidating what you are trying to say properly. This whole passage should either take many more pages to tell, or it should have a more sarcastic short tone to justify how quick it moves. There are also commas missing throughout, which isn't just a grammar nitpick, but because commas would also help pace the prose.

I really like this. It's self contained, and your prose is both lush while still maintaining focus. If I did have a recommendation it would be to just slightly develop the theme of time and passage of time a bit more so it leaves more impact.

Attached is a snippet I wrote tonight, part of a large piece (novel?). The novel is not meant to be pop-fiction, but rather a vehicle to reflect on love, time, social stagnation, metaphysics, and the philosophy of language, some of which is touched on here in very small part.

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Hey man, First Line indenting is what makes that “novel” look.

Friends and I are former editors of a journal. We launched a digital publication today, hoping to run issue 1 by September. Feel free to submit, it’s free:

sybylo (dot) com

Make a Thread

Pls help. I done even know if I've done iambic pentameter right in technical terms

started writing something about this earlier but i forgot about it.

totally understand and in general dig the pulpy/comic-booky thing you're doing here. you're on the right track with the style, nice staccato sentences like ellroy or something.

ima say be careful about a few things:
if you're trying to make your prose colloquial, make sure the things you're laying down on the page are things people actually say -- people don't say 'didn't got'.

make sure you don't ruin lines that could be decently quipy by adding unnecessary filler words. the 'or' in "there were six of them. or were" totally throws off the rhythm, and the info yer trying to convey. "there were six of them. were." the or suggests you're offering an alternative, which you're not -- what you're really doing is repeating 'were' for emphasis.

the sex stuff stuff was really off, cartoonish even for pulp. whores don't cum when gross dudes assfuck them in alleyways, not for the most part. you clearly want a violent story so i'd say write this kind of thing as violence, which it probably is, and not porn.

gunna reply to this in a sec with a thing i did

Small chunk of the first pass at the first attempt at writing something that isn't a shitpost, please go hard on it, nobody improved via coddling.. Already noticed a repetition in there (dark shape and dark field) I'll have to fix.

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Just went to it. A question — where do you publish people’s work to? Like how does this work?

There's a clunky repetition of "light" in the second paragraph. The moon is invoked repeatedly, but I'm not drawing as much from it as a symbol as the repetition would warrant. Maybe there is a purpose? if so it needs to be slightly reworked.

>four legged
Should be four-legged

Wow this is both really good, on the one hand, and feels too much like Joyce worship on the other. The rhythm of your prose is usually so good, that when it faulters ("bring down these walls and let the sunshin in" like really?) Second paragraph has a lot going on, it's a bit mysterious in this snippet (uses of German, a brief philosophical digression on light/essence), so I would have to read this within its larger whole to tell if this is great or too pretentious.

I am the post with the spooky skeleton lady.

I don't think the "is like" part really works, I know it's about consistency for each verse, but I think you should find a more direct way to compare things without sounding so basic.
I think the third paragraph should be moved to the top, the first two paragraphs are obviously describing a thunderstorm, but we don't know that the character is in it until then, so we don't much care about the storm being so glorious. It also helps build tention about him splatting on the ground.
The stupid action at the beginning would work better if you put as much effort into the non dialouge parts as you did the rape scene. I like the idea of a
>nothing personal kid
type story, but you need to execute it properly, and it looks like you can write smut at that level, but not the more interesting part.
I think you need to describe more than tell. I think I finally understand it. Don't tell us he hasn't worn different clothes for 6 years, but show us that he wore a tattered band shirt with holes in it that was out of style.
For some reason (not sure if I can articulate it) the description seems to drag. I don't know if it's because its passive or because it's not a description from the characters position. The character doesn't even seem to care about where he was, only the thing he was working on.
The repetition and alteration aren't working. It works as a mental rambling free flow which works great, but I get pulled out of it when I see these little ticks that make me realize I'm just reading something. I don't think you need to use parentheticals, the writing is so shotgun there doesn't need to be asides. Why does he keep feeling things? Show me what he feels, don't tell me he feels.
Wouldn't you describe that he heard something first before it's spoken? (I'm not sure on that). I would like at least 1 descriptor of Amaya somewhere to either let me know, or remind me of what she looks like or what she is, even some minor detail about her can let me build up something in my head, otherwise she's just a coffee cup.
Donde esta la biblioteca? loljk I enjoy it but I don't want to bother looking up french terms so my brain can't process the style when it's stuck on words it doesn't know.
I don't know much about poetry, but make a decision on whether shit rhymes or not. Is it prose or not? I enjoy it though when this internal fight for power isn't distracting me.
I write with pen and paper when I'm out. Microsoft word when I'm at home. Google docs when collaborating with someone.
>I have never read a poet whose all works were stellar.
>I have never read a poet whose works were all stellar.
What program/website is this?

Initially to the site, plan is to select the best for print January 2020. Only matters if we gain a following. Tell your friends.

>What program/website is this?
pastebin
loving its font & background

I don't know much about poetry, but when I did theater, reading it aloud was the key to figuring out why Shakespeare was so lit senpai. Have you read this aloud? I just read this aloud and it worked 90% of the time, there were one or two places where it like pauses too long or too short. But it definitely gave me some chills.
I liked this, but I think a bit more direct connection as to the house's representation of his lost family would be good sprinkled in the first paragraph's halfway point. it becomes patrick bateman esque and narcissistic until you realize oh shit this house has meaning. That probably wouldn't work. What do I know?
I'd replace human being with person, otherwise it seems repetitive. The second paragraph could be "suddenly I saw a dark shape, slowly moving across" that may not work because its fast and slow in the same sentence but I don't think there's any tension in the "I saw it" by itself. We already know he's frozen looking at aliens or some shit. "I believe i saw what I presumed" needs to be one or the other mang. But it was spooky, I enjoyed it otherwise.

Thanks anons, will keep this in mind tomorrow when I do a second pass.

I keep looking over this short thing and it just looks off to me. I feel like there's a lot wrong with it but I can't quite figure it out.

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The first sentence tells instead of shows. If you can incorporate the fact that it's an apartment into the second sentence it would be fine, the description is strange, I don't need to be told it's strange. She doesn't need to retort, if she does, then you should detail the other little nuances between their lines of dialogue. I dont need to know he was good at making out detail, show me he knows detail.

Have you outlined?

Thank you, I wasn't even thinking of half of that. But the beginning paragraph was bothering me. Thanks for the advice.

No

Was the screenplay the original format or this?

Thanks for the response, I definitely see what you mean about parts sounding a bit off when read out loud

funeral hangover story
as for the critiques i have to dish out all i got to say is that op's story needs some serious work

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Well first off, this is a story for ants.

get your contact prescription filled

More if you're curious.

I'm getting on it, and yeah thanks for telling the truth, user.

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I don't think you go into enough detail about how painful a hangover headache is, as opposed to the body pain resulting from banging yourself into things or people. It's as if someone cut your skull open and soldered a cactus inside your brain and forgot to sew it shut.

Also something else I've been working on. A Sci-Fi story this time.

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Change "Though" with "Through" and get rid of the comma in that sentence. Otherwise I liked it. Really descriptive and personal.

Thank you very much, I will adopt your change

to Instagram with thee

>Kaleidoscope
Maybe I'm just not the audience for this, man, but I think it breaks the flow of reading and enoying something when you have to start breaking out dictionaries for descriptions.
Again I could just be a brainlet so you can disregard this as much as you please.

>A little run down and lived in sure but
Put "sure" between two commas.

>"The House"
Is that what the whole world of this novel is called? Or like a slang word for it?

>the right building Liz?
Put a comma before Liz.

>retorted
You should be careful of replacing the word "said" too many times with colourful descriptions; it's a good way for publishers to figure out you're amatuer. I can see you repeated this too with "John replied."

>she didn't have ten silver
An "s" at the end.

It was certainly colourful (thanks to the descriptions) and the dialouge was alive and beating, full of spunk and personality. Keep it up.
Not my genre I don't think, but keep it up for someone else!

Didn't like it?

>Maybe I'm just not the audience for this, man, but I think it breaks the flow of reading and enoying something when you have to start breaking out dictionaries for descriptions.
Again I could just be a brainlet so you can disregard this as much as you please.
Yeah I think it's not too bad but I see where you're coming from

>Is that what the whole world of this novel is called? Or like a slang word for it?
Yes the whole world that the story takes place is called "The House" Earlier in the story I explain that.

Everything else thanks, I'm always happy for advice. Also you thinking my dialogue is good at all makes me really happy. I used to suck ass at it and to hear that I'm atleast not bad is really nice.

I messed up on one of my things in my response there sorry

it's basic af
like Instashit

Thanks for the honesty, user.

Tossing out a feeler for my heartbreak poetry. Means a lot to me but not sure if its garbo

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>...out of their tear-filled eyes. War is so cool.
Is this read to be published? By published, I mean written in nice handwriting on a nice piece of 52gsm, 5mm dotted, cream tomoe river paper, folded up into a paper airplane and thrown at some middle schooler at the mall.

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thanks friends, i'll try to do better

Honestly? Its gay and beta as fuck. It may sound harsh, but you need to get over this female worship shit asap.

>pining after a particular woman
beta
>lusting after abstract pussy
ALPHA

Have you ever been in a relationship?

Your sentences run long and end up being paragraphs. Clean it up and lean less on "he" and "his" so frequently. Restructure around it.

>Veris lept out of bed.
Should have been the start of a new paragraph.

>Long hair was a liability in combat.
Ah a woman fighter, eh? I see we've entered a fantasy story.

>Taking a shower and THEN doing a workout.
What a waste of water.

>was always overcast, a faint haze hovered in the air
Replace the comma with a full stop.

>Graffiti covered the tunnels of the subterranean complex, She kept her eyes fixed forward
Again a full stop instead of a comma.

>She hopped over the outstretched legs of a drunk at the bottom of the steps, she wasn’t sure if he was sleeping
For a third time full stop.

>and the traffic above was simply insane, acceptable if you didn’t mind traveling ten kilometres an hour
Lucky last now -- full stop. Your work is plagued with these. Here's a tip: if you can say the sentence backwords and it still makes sense, then the comma is fine. For example:

"My Mother wants me to fetch milk, eggs, and potatoes at the market."

"Potatoes at the market, eggs, and my mother wants me to fetch milk."

Stopped at paragraph 13 because I have other things to do, sorry. So far it seems like a Super Hero story set in a cyberpunk setting. Which is cool and all but I'd rather it be a dude protag.
So far it has painted a grimy, dirty look into a suburban hellscape that is both dead and teeming with life when the night hours fall. And that's good.

Best to post your stuff online, friend. You can't always read people's hand handwritings.

>...out of their tear-filled eyes. War is so cool.
I don't recall seeing this in my writing.

i was just too lazy to type it out.

idk where else to ask this, but is this an independent clause?

"Raised his iron hand in brusque salute."

Anyone?

Is that Mary in your picture? Why is she dead?

I'll do what I can about your work if you make a comment about this See these? Those were mine.

Santa Muerte is a minor cult in Mexico worshiped by drug lords, criminals, and minorities. It’s like if the traditional personification of death was a female saint.

Sounds like it could be blasphemy, lol. I hope the Church don't mind. But yeah I'll take a look at your work. I just hope you can reply to mine even if it ain't that big a feedback.

I got to everyone earlier, I’ll do another round soon

>Santa Muerte is a minor cult in Mexico worshiped by drug lords, criminals, and minorities.
No, it's not, what the fuck are you on?

>It’s like if the traditional personification of death was a female saint.
That's what she is, you daft bastard. Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte, she is associated with healing, protection, and safe delivery to the afterlife by her devotees, which are ten to twenty million.

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Well you could've meant like a cult of personality I don't know. Sorry. Must've missed the reading.

Is it okay to have 1 page before your story that is just exposition? I was thinking of making a page that just as quickly as possible explained what the world was because it's a little hard to understand at first.

20 million out of 1.2 billion sounds like a minority of Catholics.

Do you have any additional reading or anything on the subject? I don’t want to come off as even more incompetent.

Whoops sorry, wrong user. I mistook you for the other guy.

Oy Vey

Hello everyone! I would like for you to all read some excerpts from my autobiography ;)

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Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
Drifting thought the wind
Wanting to start again
Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin
Like a house of cards
One blow from caving in

Do you ever feel already buried deep
Six feet under scream
But no one seems to hear a thing
Do you know that there's still a chance for you
'Cause there's a spark in you

You just gotta ignite the light
And let it shine
Just own the night
Like the Fourth of July
'Cause baby you're a firework
Come on show 'em what your worth
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
As you shoot across the sky-y-y
Baby you're a firework
Come on let your colors burst
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
You're gonna leave 'em fallin' down down down

You don't have to feel like a waste of space
You're original, cannot be replaced
If you only knew what the future holds
After a hurricane comes a rainbow
Maybe a reason why all the doors are closed
So you can open one that leads you to the perfect road
Like a lightning bolt, your heart will glow
And when it's time, you'll know

You just gotta ignite the light
And let it shine
Just own the night
Like the Fourth of July
'Cause baby you're a firework
Come on show 'em what your worth
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
As you shoot across the sky-y-y
Baby you're a firework
Come on let your colors burst
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
You're gonna leave 'em fallin' down down down
Boom, boom, boom
Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon
It's always been inside of you, you, you
And now it's time to let it through
'Cause baby you're a firework
Come on show 'em what your worth
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
As you shoot across the sky-y-y
Baby you're a firework
Come on let your colors burst
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
You're gonna leave 'em fallin' down down down
Boom, boom, boom
Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon
Boom, boom, boom
Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon

>Do you have any additional reading or anything on the subject?
I do but it's in Spanish, and the English are all sensationalist,

She used to be a dude apparently. Awkward.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Muerte

I've been out of school a long time, and I've realised, I can't actually write anymore. I just get this mental block whenever I try to write something longer than an email of a paragraph or 2. are there any free online courses I could do?
>tl;dr help I'm retarded

Yeah, and Santa Muerte is a syncretized version of the Aztec goddess, Mictecacihuatl, who was Queen of the underworld and wife to Mictlantecuhtli, who was, you guessed it, King of the underworld.

There’s a YouTube video about a stick figure buying a gallon of milk, where the narrator keeps expanding the story. It’s pretty great.

Can you do poetry? Or a short story?
Post it here and you''ll get critqued for it. It might not be good and you might get upset but it'll be good for you to grow.

Also if you want to write something -- just ANYTHING on paper, think of something that inspires or troubles you -- then let the pen speak the rest.

typed a little something else, as I might make a novel one day with a YA concept (and perhaps style) but with literary themes and all that. tear me apart once more

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Bumping one more time because the two criticisms I've received so far were very helpful

Also you could watch Sanderson vids on Youtube. He's a popular author who did a lot of fantasy books and all his Uni classes are up on Youtube for free.
Enjoy.

Okay finally got to this. I can't wait for that review of my Sci-Fi piece once you get to it.
:)

>They had justice, but he had the law. He just had to find it somewhere.
The next words "Austin sat at his
computer" should've been the start of a new paragraph.

>The appeal was due by five, and the associate previously assigned to it was fired a week ago.
The comma wasn't necessary. Some of my own older works might have them but I intend to fix them as I see appropriate.

>The poor soul hadn’t started on anything other than a few preliminary Westlaw 1 searches.
I can already tell this may not be my genre -- I couldn't understand a lot of what you said.

>Austin loosened his tie.
Should've been a new paragraph starter.

>It was golden with a gaudy paisley pattern, though
Commas aren't necessary on almost every first use. Someone correct me if I'm wrong.

I like how the references to old technology and fitting them with respected customers colours the personality of the MC. He never states what kind of man he is; its written for him, through action, not talk. Maybe something I could apply to my own writing. I noticed this the first time when I saw the sentence "He worked better in the dark," intriguing us to think of him as a shady chaarcter --- or maybe I'm just going schizo over here. Who knows.

By the end of the first big pragraph I figured this might be some kind of secret agent story? Or maybe an Office or Court Drama? If so it ain't my kinda genre so I might have certain biases in this review.

>Similar to Google’s search engine, but used
Again the comma.

>Westlaw is a web based legal research service provided by the Thompson Reuters
Corporation. Similar to Google’s search engine, but used to research cases, law journals, and other legal publications.
2 While most computer users depend upon Microsoft Word as their word processor, some
in the legal profession prefer using WordPerfect by the Corel Corporation. WordPerfect was released before Microsoft Word, but soon Word was bundled with every copy of the Windows Operating System, forcing WordPerfect to specialize to niche markets, one of which being the legal profession, offering formatting and macro features.
Is this a novel or a brochure? Yeah I joke, and I get some people are into that stuff, but I feel like MAYBE the details were getting too technical with that. Again for some people, like those who are into hard Sci-fi, I imagine, don't mind a lot of technical details. Me -- I prefer getting right to the action.

There you have it. The first page. It just ain't my kinda genre so I'm not sure I'm reliable for pushing past further. It might actually be worse off for you if I kept commenting further. Sorry man.

Any sort of feedback would be appreciated. Thanks :)
It is completely and undeniably selfish though. You really cannot defeat that worry. Your need to soothe and save face is ultimately about no one else but you. But this realization does not end the calculation. You truly care about her wellbeing. At least when her presence flits past your mind’s eye, that is. Whether it be propositionally or imagisticly, the spaces she occupies are entirely inconsistent. And you do feel bad about the way your treated her. The continuous ghosting, the condescension, the leading on, it haunts you. You cringe upon recollection of such behavior.

It is so impossible to divorce your desire to soothe and to grovel for forgiveness from your own past acts. Those past acts, the ones that seem so impossible to stomach in your current state of moral sobriety, are the exact ones that you now need to recall to motivate your present desired action. Your pretenses have collapsed. But is the desire, which coerced you to lead on and ignore-when-convenient, the same one that now pushes you towards repentance?

You still skip that one Neutral Milk Hotel song that all the hipsters played in college. You still skip Gymnopedie No. 1 too. She did have an admirable taste in music. And she was appropriately jaded about showing you that one Neutral Milk Hotel song. It showed her possession of an important level of social awareness. But there were the other things too.

However, you do not want her to second guess and painfully relive particular moments, moments which she will inevitably and perhaps subconsciously grasp to as the explanation for why you ultimately treated her the way you did. She shouldn’t change. Well, not anymore than you or your friends or her friends, maybe less than her friends. But you know that texting her and explaining that now you see the error in your ways and that she is really great and you regret acting the way you did and you wish you did otherwise and how you hope that things really go well for her and how you’re sad you didn’t realize this before she left town is really just to make you feel whole. You wouldn’t be disappointed if it made her feel better. In fact, you hope that she feels better. But this whole groveling activity is about how you acted. You cannot believe you would do such things. And the thing is, she knows that too.

Fiction is so gay. It’s all been done before with prose that’s not vomit-inducing. All the themes have been explored. There’s literally no point in writing fiction unless it tackles modern/future issues

Why not make something up, user? Like good ol’ Dr Seuss.

The character is edgy and interesting enough that he carries the whole first paragraph on his own. Are they all from Boston or something? Gettin' real guido vibes from here.

>Kicked Frankie Creighton somewhere, I heard an "oof"
Lose the comma. Put a full stop. Around this point I can kinda tell it ain't my genre so my review will be short sorry.

>like a vulture slamming into a window
You must have a powerful imagination because I don't know you can get that from "oof."

>"You're a big guy Barty!"
Comma before Barty... also For You.

>squirming on the hot pavement, trying and failing
Lose the comma. Last time I'll say this.

>positi on
Yeah I bet we all get these 'space" mistakes every once in a while. Or maybe its just the font I'm sorry.

>As god is
Which one? If you make it capital G it's easier to pinpoint which religion you're talking about. But who knows maybe I'm just getting too autistic about this.

>min ce towards me
Again, lol. Also "mince towards?" Do you mean like he's shredding glass adn the glass is making a mincing sound as he steps on them?

"Perhaps you should come later,"
Whenever you have a chance to say who is speaking state it at the earliest that is connvinient to you. Because the audience will have to read your whole line of dialouge to figure out who said it -- and all the personality and gusto such a character would have said it in tone of. So re-word this whole dialouge to:
"Perhaps you should come by later," said Leroy, "you still owe me. Perhaps a little indentured servitude. Did you not know that my dad was out today?"
This way the audiences KNOWS its Leroy early on who says it and thus associates this whole line with the way they know Leroy would phrase it rather than have to go all the way back to the start of the sentence to re-read it because they didn't knwo who was talking. Same thing for the next dialouge.

Got half way. It ain't my genre so I was probably biased in this review and going further will jsut be too much for me and may end up being a detriment to you for whatever I comment further. Sorry.

When you're angry your eyes squint.

I need a crash course on commas, you aren't the first person to point out how shit I am at them. The "mincing" part was the MC jabbing at how Leroy is gay. Thanks man, I'll keep these in mind.

Oh and I forgot to mention, Libre Office doesn't handle my favorite font (Georgia) well at all, I might change word processors.

>And then I crosses a woman.
Felt abrupt but maybe that was the point.

A little long but the loving glow mostly didn’t die out on me through the poem. I get that he’s yearning for love and describing the agony of being without it — but honestly, some parts like the 2nd - 4th paragraphs felt a little simple, uninspired. Maybe not so much the descriptions but how they are phrased.

Decent attempt I suppose.
2.5 / 5

>I need a crash course on commas.
Check the very bottom of

holy shit, big if true

Seems like a revelation now doesn’t it?

Is that book for autists or something?

hack technique, good example tho is the 40k one

you basically want something like this

It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.

Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

The first portion reminded me of Auckland city lol. It’s pretty grey and moody here and the nights are oft quiet and kinda spooky.

I would suggest perhaps breaking up that huge wall of text into more digestible paragraphs, beginning the first split from “Instead Edgar.”

>He had been meaning to get his scruffy hair cut for weeks, he was dressed
Get rid of the comma. Put a full stop.

Nothings happening so far but I guess you replaced that with character building. It started kinda dull. Pretty descriptions are cool but I reckon (and this might just be my biased opinion here) it’d be good if you followed them up quickly with plot — and not just “plot,” per se, but escalation — something to get the blood pumping and the nerves kicked to keep reading, even on a slow-burn beginning like this.
Even slow escalation is still escalation.

You could do that — but why not have the characters do something WHILE they’re spouting exposition, preferably while escalating the plot to keep the reader’s eyes on you.

Throwing out this small piece of exposition I wrote for a fantasy novel that's been going around in my head for the past few months.

Attached: writing sample.png (705x499, 145K)

>it was a dark and stormy night
>protagonist wakes up in the first scene
It's a no for me

>there were a myriad of sounds...but the sounds...were the sounds

The first comma should be within the bounds of the speech mark, not outside. And the second comma is unnecessary. Most commas on their first use in the sentence are unnecessary.

“Until a few quick thuds on the ground confirmed Towden’s success” would have been better. Of course if it ruins the flow of your writing so far feel free to not take this advice.

What is your book about? Does it have any messages?

Break it up in paragraphs please.

terrible

First time trying to fit text chat into regular writing. Probably going to change the font for the text chat to something else as well, any suggestions on a font?

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Threw together this opening because I'm trying to get into the habit of writing more.
I don't need anyone to tell me that it isn't good, but rather how I should fix it.

Attached: somegarbage.png (1366x768, 227K)

>Facebook
>Twitter
>Cartoon on YouTube
>Wiener
LMAO

What's wrong with vienna.

Can we see what’s on your twitter feed?

A tweet with a pic takes up the entire damn screen

Just take several pics you lazy bastard

They most certainly do not.

Fiery red hair is kinda redundant. The description of the men is kinda muddled. Why use semicolons? Wouldn't the Sheriff shout that if he's exclaiming it? Why hit return right after? I think your use of said repeatedly instead of something a little more dramatic could be worked on. Like for the back and forth I don't think each line needs to tell me he said. A change of scene like that should have more a marking than one space, at least to idiots like me. There are now multiple times where the sound is taking physical action, it's attempting to be interesting and descriptive, but I end up imagining a cough growing legs. If there are multiple imperial courts, then you wouldn't capitalize courts. You also may want to call them barristers to fit the fantasy setting. Ellipsis aren't really necessary either. Murderer, not murder. More semicolons. Your use of fillers like 'look' or 'you see' could be cut too.
QUADS.
twenty-nine would have a dash in it. More semicolons and elipsis. Nice em-dash. There's quite a lot of one sentence long paragraphs. She'd seems a little casual. Okay now there are a lot of em-dashes. Expectations are never always so sure to be met? "for on that day" is very traditional compared to the previous casual language. How is the man strange? Show me don't tell me. Oh look, then you tell me, but he doesn't seem that strange in the setting. Don't use phrases like of course, I don't know that shit and it insults my intelligence if you think I do. More ellipsis. More em-dashes. I point these out because they become crutches when used this many times this consistently. Is his name the Bargainer? Is her name the Girl? I guess it is his name. So man returns.
I would vary the last 4 lines of the first paragraph. They all start with The and it becomes rote.
I can't read sideways.
The tense of your voice changes from present to past? Present tense makes me uncomfortable, otherwise your descriptions are fun.
>youre a big guy
4u
I don't really have anything to say to this. It progresses and shows, I'm not really sure what the point is? He's sneaking into a place and then nostalgias about getting high?

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I indent and italicize with a return before and after.
what the fuck am I looking at

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Which sentence is valid?
>"His teeth were made of wood, and fit badly"
>"His teeth were made of wood and fit badly"

A friend also said he had trouble understanding what was going on, and if the screenshot included a little more it would be clear

Wouldnt returns before and after add a lot of dead space? Or is it more cause its technically dialogue? Ill give it a shot though, got about 3/4s a page of chat and it was looking a bit blocky.

Any suggestions with the text?

The second it is listing 2 things.
>His teeth were made of wood.
>His teeth fit badly.
If you had a third thing you would use another comma for a list.
>His teeth were made of wood, fit badly, and cost a pretty penny.
Your first example presupposes the second hanging clause is a complete sentence, but it isn't.
>Your first example presupposes the second hanging clause is a complete sentence
>It isn't.
See those are two complete sentences combined by conjunction.

I do that to show one text message, I wasn't using it as dialogue between two people back and forth. If it was prolonged I would still do italics for text, but right justify the character whos phone you are looking at's text and right justify the other persons text with returns only being before and after the chat dialogue is over.

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Reminder to submit your stories to sybylo.com for the upcoming issue.

Thanks for the reply. I'm trying to learn about punctuation via reading, and I read the first sentence in GRRM's ACOK and thought it weird.

HPEU story.
Late night rush at Daily prophet.
"Tom, is he really dead?" asked Sam.
"Those are the reports coming in. I am waiting for a confirmation from the professor. If he says the dark lord is dead, then he is." There was considerable doubt in Tom Sawyer's mind. There have been many such reports of Voldermort's death since he took over as Editor of Daily prophet.
"An owl. Is it from the professor?" Sam could barely maintain his composure. He wanted to grab that letter and read the truth. Was you know who really dead?
"Voldemort is dead. Print it." tom commanded ,with a tone which felt foreign to him, barely holding his tears. He never thought he would live to see this day. His brother died as Voldemort ascended, one of the countless many.
Voldemort was dead.
Daily prophet printed the statement they received from the ministry on the front page.
"Tom Riddle aka Lord Voldemort is dead. He attacked the Potter family in Godrics Hollow last night and met his demise there.
Lily and James Potter are dead unfortunately. The baby boy is alive and is under ministry's protection. Ministry is cracking hard on the remaining followers of voldemort and will soon capture them."
Tom sat on his chair with a cup of tea lying cold on his desk, as he watched the sun rise. Night had ended.

The wizard world stepped in light reading the hope delivered to each house with the prophet. By noon, news of voldemort's death had spread everywhere.

Tom was still working out the details. All of his reporters were outside ministry, trying to get hold of any piece of information they could possibly get.
He was piecing together everything, all pieces of a jigsaw puzzle which would reveal a complete picture, a picture which would then expose all the secrets the data was hiding. Separating trash from genuine information was a skill which Tom had mastered over his long career. He was deep in work as Sam knocked the door of his office.
"Tom? Did you hear about riots in Dark alley?" Sam inquired.
"What? What riots?"Although Tom asked, but he knew. He knew that all the repressed anger would manifest into something ugly.
"All the shops owned by those who went to Slytherin were hit hard in Diagon alley too. A mob attacked every slytherin man they saw."
Tom dropped down to his chair. His table top was covered with reports about Voldemort's death.
"Is ministry doing anything to stop it? Sam, please go to diagon alley and document everything you can. Stay safe." Tom sensed Sam's hesitation but he ignored it. Sam was an assistant editor but Tom needed all the hands he could.
"I don't think we should report it". Sam said it without any malice, an almost cold voice as if a dead man rose up and started speaking and the shock on Tom's face was opposite to Sam's distant warmth.
"Not report it!!! Why?"
"People deserve this ,Tom. These assholes have lived far too long without any consequences to their actions." Color returned to his voice and his words.

Gotcha. Shouldve made it more clear, but this is actually for text IM chat like you would have on Discord or something.

Would you still do the same then?

If it's between two people yes. The text message format is the easiest way to designate between two people. More people text than talk on discord or IM where its just one long stream.

The book is about a planet that's 99% covered in water. It takes a Game of Thrones approach to jumping between characters. The plot is very much a work in progress. One important message, especially for this character, relates to human isolation.
It's just part of an early chapter that contains a small paragraph of action, a paragraph of world-building, and a final one for character-building.

June; he turned 21 on the base at Fort Bliss
"Just a day" he said down to the flask in his fist
Ain't been sober since maybe October of last year
Here in town, you can tell he's been down for a while
But, my god, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles
They all love him -- still, he has reason to doubt it

But you can't jump the track -- we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, child
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe

2 AM; now she's calling, 'cause I'm still awake
"Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?
I don't love him."
Winter just wasn't my season
So we walk through the doors -- so accusing, their eyes
Like they have any right at all to criticize
Hypocrites! You're all here for the very same reason

But you can't jump the track -- we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, child
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe

"There's a light at each end of this tunnel!" you shout
'Cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
With the things that you've done, and the places you've been
And the mistakes you've made, which you'll just make again
"Can anything turn it around?"

But you can't jump the track -- we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, child
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe.

What are some goos resources that will teach me about effective plot, characters, and story telling? It's surprisingly hard to find a good internet resource on the subjects

Way too angsty but this is Yea Forums so what can I expect. I don't like the setting. I don't like the archaic word choice and flow. It feels like it was both written in 1909 and 2009. You capitalize "i" sometimes and sometimes not. Few other syntactical errors distract from the poem.

Also, this is what I would call pretentious poetry—it uses sophistication and psuedo-sophistication to write about basically nothing important.

again, too much angst and not well described. terribly cliche about dying suicide over a girl. its not romantic or interesting and honestly its boring, and has been since romeo and juliet was written.

this actually flows nicely, and while it does have a sense of angst about it that usually marks a cringey poem, it actively makes fun of itself so its never too heavyhanded. I think if you were going for the image of an angsty teen who would write something like this, I would work more towards bringing that out. If this is personal poetry I would suggest getting a cat.

It should have ended at "then it occured to me that I stood in front of her other"
the rest is not needed. The ending is especially bad.

Was actually about to say this was good, but 4th line down I realized it was a song.

cont

Shame. Last time I came here looking for poetry I found some really amazing stuff. Guess all the poets left.

Here is my submission:

Emily Dickinson was my Running Partner

I saw her in the Nike shop and
we talked until we left, and then
we went running to the ocean
we went running to the sea.
we went running in the mountains—
we were running with the breeze.

And we ran within the city,
we ran beneath the trees,
we kept on running as if
we'd caught a running disease

And when I stopped to catch my breath,
She stopped too. She Stopped for Death

I liked this far more than I care to admit, Mr. Stinky Cheese man.

>angsty teen

Unfortunately I'm 25

The bottle and the damage done,
Pour one out in the daisy fields.
For the poor, poor brothers;
Who fell in the same place you stand.

Your feet, dirty and muddied, sinking
into the stench of tar.
flies sitting on your eyeball,
the buzzing sounds like television static.

To be truly alone is to be alone
when you are with friends.
The sinking of the chest, lungs
compressing in the vacuum.

Never alone, with your greatest brother
You walk arm in arm, skipping across
The sun lit streets of paris,
He brings you joy, pure and distilled.

The joy of the world, you are great.
The greatest man who walked these streets!
The comfort and courage.
He who is friend to himself, is a friend to others?

Another morning, vomit and blood
The corner in the roof, where the walls meet
Has never looked so interesting
all other things, pale and fall into the great mist

My mind has mist inside it,
My person, my soul is parodied.
I am him, why must i be him?
The fires rage on, plastic everywhere.

Damn it! Damn it all to hell!
Damn it! Damn it!
Hate is an unrelenting flood,
coursing through the veins,
the love of the disgusting, the will
to damage and to destroy the beautiful.

Rage against the mighty heavens,
ravage and vandalize the great stairway!
All rage, the burning soul
I am Ares.

stride the tallest peak,
burn the mighty roots
drench the towns,
know the call of the guillotine

It always rumbles,
The never ending shaking
How could Zeus, God in heaven
Place such an enduring tether,

Always tethered, to the sneering
Jezebel behind you,
giggling at your idiocy
at her heel, a whole carnival
of dwarfs and hairy ladies,
doing their circus routine,
while jeering and laughing at you.

What a pathetic creature you are,
The joke of the world.
You are the only clown,
who isnt in on the joke.

Never alone with your greatest brother.
You lie in the streets, covered in vomit;
Slowly dying, laughing.
But atleast you are not alone.

The carnival passes by.
You stop, but they keep rolling forward.
Ah! Peace and quiet,
After so long, finally rest.

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The Bargainer and Bjorn story guy here. Thanks user. I assume you were the skeleton lady user?

Sorry dude I’m Asian. Hard to see stuff.

Bit too archaïc for me. Unless that is intentional ofcourse.

As long as you can separate the speaker of the poem from yourself, you're good.

I'd remove the "then" from the first sentence and swap the comma for a period. I think that hits somewhat harder.

I know it's not very good but I want to become better, and this is the best way to achieve that.

If ye think that the leaves of brown and green
Will so quickly submit unto man's ways
Ready your guard against the god unseen
For Pan shall grow stronger as the red slayer slays

this is a dope ekphrastic poem. good job.

I am! Sorry if my crit was a little rambly. I try to go for content, but get distracted by things like semicolons. I try to give everyone at least a little feedback, I hate that feeling of refreshing and not having anyone even look at something I put effort into. I'm proud of everyone in this thread.

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thanks dog.

I was thinking either a history lesson to one of the characters, or just completely removed from the story, just a page of exposition before the story even begins to just set up the world

Rainsick,
Each leaf sinks
Into its sweetness.
This night,
As night itself,
Yet flounders
On the butcher’s board.
The risk of awakening
Vaguely sank the sea.
Even these petals
Have yet to turn red.
Nothing is firm
But the largeness
That goes on.
We’re agnostic
As the stars which,
With good reason,
Have grown dark.
They’ll cut their soles
On all that purely lasts
Once Time has died.

this doesn't do anything for me m8. its too vague and general to really capture a mood.

step back and ask yourself "why did I write this poem".

into ermetismo, bro

>paragraph

I know exactly why I wrote every word of it. There are a few themes and motifs interwoven: water, death, night/darkness, time, plants, cutting. It's only a first draft, so I'll definitely work on it more, but I do have a strong conception of the direction I want for this piece. I might try combining some pictures and sentiments, and/or establishing a more regular pattern in which they come and go (such as "plants follow water, night follows plants, etc." and cycle through them, or some other form of structure).

Like the wales that sang; on the beaches rotting
Like mothers who; put fear into their children
Like the kangaroo; who jumped to far.
Like the lonely jew; who did all he could do
Like a burn blister; it trembles like a rabbit.
The rabbit; foxes got the best of him.
Like a puff of smoke; radiating out the pipe.
Like Great big oil tanks! Like Dead whales.
Like Not singing anymore?

Explosions! Palestine children!
Napalm and Rape!
Oh the poor girl in the glasses.
Or what used to be glasses.
Or the man shitting himself in the gutter.
Or the man who lives in the suburbs.
Or mediocrity, over the hedge there is fun!
Mowing the lawn. Mowing the lawn.
Or working for pennis, working for pennies.
Floods in Sumatra! We want money!
Revolution in Sudan! We want money!

Opinions?

How do you know where Ulmannstraße is?
Either you also live in Wien, or you googled it like a loser.

I have become very fond of flights from the East Coast to the West Coast for how they climb up into the sky and hurtle after the sun, extending sundown to an hours-long spectacle. Just after takeoff, a late-spring Philadelphian dusk burns a great arc, a red border of the sphere of the whole sky. The wheat bellies of low clouds recline on the twilit blue earth, here and there filling glassy rivers with clear gold light. But! A finer view from higher up, rising above that layer of terrestrial clouds, into the sky of skies. Up here looking down on sunset! With clouds above and below, a cousin of snow blindness casts this domain into the realm of abstraction. The edges of those plump fists of cotton below steadily turn from blue to wary purple and finally to filaments of ruby. Great molten sheets and glowing tangerine veins rise like steam, bursting through fissures from this translucent sea of vapor. Rich seams of aerial magma. Round titans the size of cities glow like red lanterns. The cumuli recede as we pass over the Midwest where sunset makes its last stand as a simple horizontal band which rises from a carroty hue to oily tourmaline to the pure blue vacuum of space. The last thin tracts of ruddy air unhurriedly march on West, depositing—in nerve cell chains—twinkling orange errata on the dusty black earth.

Cool. I didn't get any of that as the reader. Try trimming it down to only 3 themes maximum. Any more than that and you risk being so general that you might as well have just used fridge magnets.

Someone has been reading Ginsberg lately. It's decent. Not sure I like the random capitalization. The line about the girl in glasses is hot as fuck though. Keep writing.

Want to revise this critique. This is a really good poem. Good work.

Following the show don't tell, can I use dialogue to do that? And how much dialogue is too much? Is having an exchange of 6-10 lines too much without some descriptions or narrative?

I will try it. I'm ESL (io sono italiano) so maybe this is a factor.

Write it in Italian if it's more comfortable to you.

>terribly cliche about dying suicide over a girl

That's quite an inaccurate read of what it's about

Doesn't change that the poem just isn't that good. Basically flatlined when he started talking about EKGs

This prose sounds poetic and I feel funny

Bump

>human isolation
I hope I don’t offend you but are you asking this because you relate?

Also the concept of a medieval version of Waterworld sounds interesting, user. Hope it turns out well.

How are you supposed to properly discern if it's good if you can't even get a basic idea of what it's about? I'd be much more receptive to your critique if it were clear that you understood the poem

>suicide over a girl
Read it again. Carefully this time. The suicidal ideation is despite her, not because of her.

>axe sharp and ready to cut a merchant's head.

First sentence and it's already bad.

Suggest something user. How would you do it?

Hoo boy, there are some pretty vicious anons in this thread! Let me just post this abandoned story of mine, and you guys can start tearing it apart for me.

Attached: ForestMeetingUntitled.png (1368x770, 129K)

Not him, but
>Bjorn stalked the ruins, his axe close at hand.

No mention of what he's going to do with it, as you're intending to show he's a bandit in the next sentence.

I apologise for not being more specific, but the conversation itself doesn't seem natural; more like transparent exposition directed at the reader.

More specific complains would be the use of things like "Well," or "Alright," at the start of sentences. It's rather irksome, but it may be a personal preference.

My kidding around aside, that's genuinely insightful of you. Thank you. I've abandoned this story for now, but I'll keep your advice in mind when I write others.

I liked it in general, however, I think it could be elevated somewhat with some alternatives to your overuse of the dash (particularly in the first paragraph).

In addition, the paragraphs are a tad dense with description that often isn't really quite necessary - ex: "soft" moonbeams, "exposed" shelves, "glossily" guarding.

I'd love to see more of your work in the future.

No problem. I look forward to seeing your future work, it's always nice to see people receptive to some constructive criticism.

How long is too long for the major conflict of a story to be introduced? 30 pages? 40 pages? 50? Longer?

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That depends on the overall length of the piece and how engaging you believe your introductions are. If you really feel like you need those 50 pages, then trying writing it out, handing it to a few friends (or posting it here), and asking them at what point they got bored, and indeed if they did at all.

It's an iterative process and it'll give you some insight on what people like the most about your story through interest in the hook. Best of luck.

>slowly crept closer
When I read the word ‘crept,’ it implies in my mind a slow movement forward, possibly crouched. So, when I read ‘slowly crept closer,’ it comes of as a bit wordy. I would rather it read ‘When he spotted a lone carriage traveling down the forest road he crept closer and bore steel to breast.’ Does that seem to flow better to you?

what made you change your mind?
looks like gibberish to me.

>I can't resist resistance
>from ancient ancestors, epiphenomenal and unwavering
>The EKG cites a baseline of negative zero,
>but the doctor says there's time
>a naturopathic remedy for the psychopathic self.

These must be amazing lines, then.

thank you

Thats fair. Im just worried cause Im sitting at 23 pages with probably another 15-20 (maybe more) to go before introducing the actual 'threat.'

Guess Ill try having a friend read it once I hit about 30 pages or so and see if they get bored. Probably the best solution. God I hope its not.

Quick! How would you improve this line!

>Jenny’s soft-spoken voice was oddly dissonant alongside the barbarism splattered across my screen.

>Jenny’s soft-spoken voice was oddly dissonant alongside the barbarism splattered across my screen.

The softness of Jenny's voice was dissonant against the barbarism splattered across my screen.

That should emphasize the contrast, I think.

>I watched, and I listened. Jenny's voice was as soft and sweet to the ears as the splatter across the screen was barbaric to the eyes
Pls r8 m8

More poetic, I like it for that alone. The beginning sentence would be unnecessary in context, however.

I feel like the lack of an adverb or adjective, not really sure for dissonant takes something away for the overall effect. Like the structure better though.

Well there are two problems looking at it.
1. What is 'oddly' about it? Show me it's odd, don't tell me.
2. 'alongside' doesn't compare and contrast the two things as you want it to and dissonance doesn't declare that difference enough to make it register as you read the sentence.
>Jenny’s soft-spoken voice was dissonant compared to the barbarism splattered across my screen.

Could someone read some of this and give me some feedback on content? The plot itself is slow moving, so the build up to the main bit has to be compensated with dialogue and description. I haven't written anything this long before and I really would like some feedback before I go back in and start writing again. Sorry again for the fucked up formatting. I haven't done a revision yet for commas and things of that nature. Is it too passive? Too short? Terse? I know the footnotes are didactic, but is the main text too preachy?

Oddly probably isnt the right word, but harshly or sharply didnt sound right in my head. Context for the barbarism was provided in sentences prior, hopefully taking care of the showing.

Couldnt think of anything better than alongside honestly. Compared would probably work better.

Charles sat in the near perfect darkness of his study, the moonlight catching his open pack of cancer sticks as he stared at them. It was always a temptation he failed to resist; The fine calming rush of nicotine was of the few things in life he could still receive a feeling from. But tonight...tonight he somehow had the strength to push them away and turn on his lamp. Awaiting on the desk were ten pieces of blank paper and a pencil. He flexed his hand with a loud aching pop and picked up the pencil and began to write of the pain that would never leave.
To whom this may concern:
In the year 1976, I met a man and woman who butchered my family without mercy or a single human emotion. Their names are Richard and Cynthia Huskins. I have exhausted every legal means to have them incarcerated and executed by state. If not that, imprisonment for the rest of their lives. I have failed in both of these. I blame myself for all of it because of how naïve and terribly weak I had been back then to believe in courts, in lawyers, in police officers who could care less.
To understand my suffering you'll have to go back to a time when the world wasn't politically correct. When those words meant nothing and most people seemed to smile more. I grew up an only child in a cabin with my parents and grandparents on my father's side. We were a close family that enjoyed the silence and solitude of the spruce forest around us. To wake up to a chestnut chickadee singing was more preferable then neighbors yelling at each other through thin walls.
No, I didn't have any friends but I hadn't minded at all nor being homeschooled when I could see bears and foxes, I could chop down trees with an ax, I could fire a gun. Things I found exciting but hunting shadowed over most of it. As his father before him, my father taught me how. How to look for tracks, how key scent is and patience. He taught me patience is most important of all.

Sun hums loudly above, great father.
Through the window, i spy her thigh
Through the window; into my heart
Oh curves, Gentle and smooth
What perfection.

The ankle, bare and sensual
Caressed by wind and sun.
Oh Venus, oh Venus!
Let me touch your bare legs
As you let the breeze and light

Let me be the blades of grass
You lie in during summers eve
Let me whisper my words of love
In sleep, in your dreams

Your blue eyes, taking shelter from my gaze
Behind your bangs of black hair
You still look up every now and then
giggle and smile, and your
Teeth, like polished marble
Breasts, hidden behind the curtain.
Voluptuous Venus.

I shall be ground to dust, i say!
Let the vultures eat my flesh
Let pest have my chest
Let me rot in the meadow!

The earth can die,
Heaven can fall and Oceans may rise
Before i renounce my love,
pure venus.

The red carriage rolls on,
I hope i see another venus tomorrow.

critique pls.

Only read a couple pages. My main problem is that a lot of sentences feel disjointed from the ones prior, making the flow between sentences rather erratic. Occasionally, therell be a few sentences in a row that flow nicely before theres a sudden break and were off on something that seems unrelated, at least to someone unfamiliar with the inner workings of law.

The story itself doesnt seem too bad, but Im getting pulled oit of it whenever the flow is disrupted.

Thanks user. I'll try to figure that out. I've only had one person look at it but they went to law school too so his perspective was also skewed. I have to figure out what assumptions I'm making when it comes to what readers know. Thats gonna be difficult.

When it comes to any specific profession thats more complicated that requires some form of education, technical or otherwise, assume your audience knows nothing.

I have to do the same for anything IT related when I write.

What's the context? Someone splattered across a car screen or a TV screen?

Think gore thread over on \b\.

Thanks. This character is based in part on my alcoholic roommate. I'm working on a different character that I think I relate to better.

Thanks user. That’s an interesting take. Some people like mystery — but some people like being informed ahead of time, no?

Sure. Thanks for the feedback user.

Not the same user, but I agree with him. Might make it 'lone merchants carriage' in the next sentence, but otherwise I agree with him.

Thanks for the feedback user.

The first comma is absolutely necessary.

I was inspired by Ben Shapiro's opera singer sister to write this Nazi/Jewess pasta fiction.

>¬¬It's Summer 1939 in Vienna. You're a young Nazi officer who's out on the town to enjoy the new resurgence of wholesome German culture. At the grand opera house, you go to see a much anticipated Wagnerian production. However, when you look at the playbill, you see a very Jewish name on the role of the leading lady. You are a bit perturbed, but have enough trust in the production to give it a chance. Once it is underway, you become transfixed by the figure on stage. Under the dim lights, a sensuous silhouette proceeds to cry out a lonely aria that draws your senses towards it as if it were a Homeric siren. By the end of the Opera, you feel the need to meet this magnificent being and possess her. You use the little power you have to get an opportunity to make her acquaintance. After the ice is broken, a lengthy and complicated seduction occurs, and eventually you and her fall into a torrid love affair that is erotically charged by the taboo nature behind it.
Your relationship is marked by physical passion and the shared love of culture and music. Dancing in the old halls of the city and listening to the symphonies and recordings of its masters, followed by long nights together. Naked, you take in the beauty of her pendulous breasts; and the glossy thicket of black hair between her smooth porcelain thighs is an intoxicating contrast to behold. These days and nights of bliss eventually come to an end when you are called to the front. Staying true to your ideals, you pry yourself away from this dreamworld and take up the burden of duty, vowing however, to return when all was finished.

>After a long deployment you are eventually wounded. During recovery, you are given leave to return home. Once there you search the city for her to find that she has vanished. In this frantic state, your comrades tell you that she went to join relatives in America for safety and you needn’t worry. You want to go there and find her. The opportunity comes when you are sent to Italy in 1943. You pay a corrupt local Mafioso to present you to the Americans as an Italian allied collaborator. You are given refugee status and sent to America a year later. There, under a new identity you make a lengthy search for her relatives and find them. They tell you that she never made it here, and died in Belzec camp a year ago, tearfully showing you the letter they received.

>It is now 1996. You are an old man living in an American suburb with an American wife and family. A surviving brother in Europe is the only one left of your old family. You have three kids but one stopped speaking to you when they joined a group of radicals in college. One of them just brought their kids over to your place on the way back from the mall. You don’t like the way he lets them dress. They seem excited ripping open the plastic covers on the things they just bought. Trying to show you their new music disks. The people on one look deformed with piercings and weird hairstyles, the other one looks like black criminals. They also have electronic things that they are frantically pressing buttons on to make noises. They try to show you how it works and you listen, nodding along, but not getting it. Eventually you get tired and excuse yourself. Going down to your study in the basement, you take a seat in the big leather chair and pull out an old record. The record’s initial crackling opens into a haunting waltz and you close your eyes while laying back. Suddenly, you can see the beautiful Vienna dance halls once more, and she is there in your arms again; her merry laughter drowning out the clamor upstairs

>speak common
We really have to find new ways to say ‘English.’ I think I did this too with a work of mine.

>he came to his senses
>his state of free-fall from the heavens

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Ewww that's so fucking gross, why do people use Word? Why not latex instead and linux?

vocaroo.com/i/s1cOg1m3VAt0

Critique my spoken word..

Christ, be present in my heart
guard me as I sleep
lest my soul be ripped apart
be my knight in shining armor
be a loyal friend
protect me from evil men
keep me centered, Zen
keep the demons away
this I pray
I need your spirit now
I want to live to serve you
but I don't know how
grant me understanding
bless my intellect
keep me standing
let the sands of time flow peacefully
let me rest in you
let me put myself into another person's shoes
Christ be with me in mind, body, and soul
make me whole
be my watering hole
bring light to the darkened places
wash the tears from our faces
let us be with you in paradise
let us behold your glory
let every human being know your story

What’s wrong with Word, fren?

It is barely three in the morning and already my stomach rumbles. I caress my sides, feeling the striated texture of stretch marks around my belly and love handles, dreaming of expanding this network of ripped tissue into a complex pattern, reminiscent of Muslim mosques' decoration. Getting out of bed is a real challenge, requiring me to huff and puff my way to the floor, using a swinging motion to power my weight across space and use torque as a means of propulsion. Once my feet coil at the coldness of the floor, I wrap my naked body with an extra large blanket and head to the kitchen. The appliances hum away in the night, blipping and blinking with their OLED screens. It's 2:56, says the microwave oven. Upon opening the fridge a smell of rotten vegetables and leftover carton-packaged eggs overtakes my nostrils. It is no matter to me, as I've grown accustomed to this fragrance and consider it to be if not quaint, at least evocative of a chew-worthy meal. I fumble around the shelf and find three slices of leftover pepperoni, cheddar-stuffed crust pizza. Instead of having it as cold as coca-cola, I decide to fire up the oven and let it over cook for maximum taste bud titillation. The timer being set, I ask Alexa to convert my weight in pounds to kilograms just so I can be able to talk about it in foreign languages. It feels good to know antiquated measurement units, it makes me think of History, and how rich American history truly is. There is nothing on at network TV nor at cable, so I see what's trending on YouTube and turn auto play on. A handsome vlogger is showing his recently bought 10 million dollar mansion in the Hollywood Hills. I dream of living there and meeting my favourite celebrities, Janet Jackson and Martin Sheen. I've actually thought of what I'd tell them if I ever met them, but I doubt it will ever happen. "The house comes fully equipped with a skittles and M&Ms dispenser, maintained by the local supermarket" says the young man as he thrusts his mouth into a hole and fills his oral cavity to the brim with delicious peanut-based candy. He chokes for a second and proceeds to spit red, blue and white M&Ms on his friend who's behind the camera. They laugh, I laugh. The pizza is ready, I bite it and let the melted cheese slide down my chin, drop on my left nipple and scurry away right inside my belly button, leaving a trail of gloriously smelling grease behind. "Life is good", I think to myself and breathe deeply, a breath of triumph and joy.

Wrote this the other night at 4 am while I was 8 beers in, don't remember writing it but it gave me a laugh when I found it the next day.

Attached: Capture.png (751x835, 74K)

reddit

This is the most autistic thing I've ever read in my life

Some of the lines made me think of Carlin.

Overall, interesting to read in the sense that its interesting to listen to a conspiracy nut ramble on.

It's proprietary

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Rate my fantasy writing thnx
A Copse of Corpses
Approximately 5k words.
my.w.tt/y6lZ5gapvX

crit my shitty opening story poem plox.

libre office or latex?

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I have to say I had a ton of fun reading this. Made me think of The Big Lebowski

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Is English not your first language? Cause theres some sentences that imply that pretty heavily.

Are you really replying seriously to a passage written in Comic Sans?

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>Avoid giving the impression of one filled with "suppressed egotism"
F-fuck you, you stupid book!

I'm English but the girl is Polish and she mishears people because she is on her phone.

Couldnt get it all to fit in a screencap:

>The dim lamp at my back struggled to keep the encroaching darkness at bay. Swirling shadows made their home within the corners of the hallway. Their haunting presence only made worse by the dull green light of a smoke alarm. Its ghostly glow clawed at the corners of my mind, summoning forth childhood terrors that skulked within the dark.

>Salivating maws hidden beneath furniture. Insidiously smiling beings waiting behind doors. Insectoid aberrations clicking and scurrying along walls. The thought alone was enough to make my body heavy in terror.

>Childish fears be damned.

>In defiance of the looming terror, I rose from my chair and began walking to the bathroom under eerie luminescence. Every step dripped with trepidation. Every footfall was placed with intent. Dread gripped my heart as my hand gripped the doorknob. Waiting beasts with gnashing teeth surely waited behind the door; comfortable in the dark where I didn't belong.

>"They're not real. They've never been real. It's all in your head." The mantra made its way out of my mouth unbidden. Its truth doing little to dissuade my fear. After barely a second of hesitation, I thrust the door open.

>A silhouette filled the mirror. Its slumped shoulders and stout frame my only companions within the blackened bathroom. Turning on the light revealed what I had known the whole time: there was nothing there. Time after time, there was nothing there. If only the truth could rid me of the fear.

If you got something you want me to look at then let me know. Quid pro quo is only fair.

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I wish I could write more poetically.
Like Donna Tarrt or something.

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I like the first line a lot user

Really? I hate it. It's the first thing I'm going to cut.

I need as many different ways to describe paint and painting as you can think of. Tired of having to use pain, and brush strokes, and canvas. Surely theres more words to imply something is painted.

Attached: Wolbach.png (933x1029, 273K)

Thank you I appreciate it.

Hello

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This article has some descriptions of paintings in it, maybe you could find it useful
verbumlogos.blogspot.com/2018/01/degas.html

Is this all of it? It's really short.

>The thought alone was enough to make my body heavy in terror.
'Thought' and 'was' should be plural. I might also change the punctuation of the previous sentences, since they're not actually full sentences, but that's just my personal preference.

Since you're writing in the first-person, there's a bit of telling (as opposed to showing) whenever you talk about how the character is affected by his fears. Ideally, the reader should feel the fear based only on the description of phantasms alone.

As to my overall impression of the work, I don't read horror or thriller so I don't know if I'm the best judge for this. Naturally, I was disinterested. The only action that played out in my mind was the character walking, opening the door to his bathroom, and then finding nothing.

Yesterday morning enormous the moon hung low on the ocean,
Round and yellow-rose in the glow of dawn;
The night-herons flapping home wore dawn on their wings. Today
Black is the ocean, black and sulphur the sky,
And white seas leap. I honestly do not know which day is more beautiful
I know that tomorrow or next year or in twenty years
I shall not see these things–and it does not matter, it does not hurt;
They will be here. And when the whole human race
Has been like me rubbed out, they will still be here: storms, moon and ocean,
Dawn and the birds. And I say this: their beauty has more meaning
Than the whole human race and the race of birds.

Just a passage from a larger work that I was unsure of. Intended to show his fear of the dark for things later on.

What if I changed that sentence to be:
>It was enough to leaden my legs in terror.
Does that work?

I'm not him, but try something like: "My legs were leaden from terror."

Yeah, that works well enough.

does this sound like an automated message in an email i received?
"though it was not quite right for us, we sincerely enjoyed this piece and we hope you choose to send us more of your writing"
my intuition says yes

Could be. If it was a decently sized publication then its safe to say that it was automated. Hopefully they at least read it though.

Chris woke up and with a single swing of his wand, fixed his bed. He looked at the time and he still had some to get ready before the farewell ceremony.
"Chris, breakfast." His mother called for him and he went down.
"I have washed the clothes we bought yesterday. Pack them in after you come back from school. How long will the function take?" She was interrupted by a knock on the door. "It must be your uncle. Go, open the door"
Chris was greeted with a handshake and a hug as he opened the door. His uncle, Tim, was the brother of his mother. They all lived in the same town but he lived near the outskirts and worked in a car manufacturing factory.
"So getting out of school today. You are almost an adult now.", Tim was his usual boring self. Chris knew him since forever but he could not recall a single conversation where his uncle had something interesting to talk about.
"Well... you know. I am glad to start college next week though." Chris replied but it felt like chewing on cold food, a necessity.
"Why are you moving to a hostel. The college is just 30 minutes from your house. You can live here with your mother and save some money on hostel fees" Tim went on, again. They have had this same conversation many times before too, ever since he got his admission. The fact that he had a 100% scholarship never deterred his uncle.
All the variations of this path played in Chris' mind, he never liked it.
__"So what if you have a scholarship, living outside costs money, rent isn't the only expense. "
"But everyday commute costs money too and time. Also, I don't want to be the only one living in my home while everyone else lives in hostel"__

"I will think about it, uncle". Although Chris wanted to lash out at the sheer stupidity of his uncle which dragged him down the same path, always but his mind would just pick up the worst time to branch out.
I lack discipline, Chris mind was still going on a tangent. I must learn to control my mind, maybe mother can help me with it, maybe there is something in magic that can help me be more disciplined, have more control.
What was the point of being a wizard if all these things are as difficult for you as they are for muggles?
Chris learned all the magic he knew from his mother, his uncle didn't know about it but his mother was a witch and he was a wizard.
Chris had immense respect for his mother's knowledge and magical strength, her spells always were more powerful and even though she was such a skilled witch she never used her magic for getting ahead in her career.
Magic ends at the doorstep of this house. His magical education was built around this concept.
He loved magic, ever since he learned that he was a wizard and promised himself that he would love it till he dies.
He made a mental note to talk to his mother about disciplining his mind, as soon as he was done with his school.

"Mom, I am leaving, I will call you when I get there. Bye, uncle" Chris stood up and left for his school.

>Hiding away in a small lodge in the valley of a mountain, which just experienced one of the roughest winters in recent history can leave you feeling
'You' suddenly changes the perspective to second-person. A more consistent word choice would be 'a man' (or 'a mortal' considering that your viewpoint character is a woodelf.).

>What awoke him? Was it the dripping from the hole in the roof?
I'm also guilty of using rhetorical questions in my prose, but I've read somewhere that such questions should be avoided in fiction writing. Try to put it in proper quotation marks, so that it's clear that they are the thoughts of your viewpoint character.

>He must of sat there for too long, because the banging came again this time with a grovely, baritone voice that felt as if it would break down the door from it's mighty bellow.
'Must of' should be 'must have,' 'grovely' should be 'gravelly,' and 'it's' should be 'its' in that sentence.

>Today was that day for Caelum Arboneous (now going by Ochre)
Remove the parenthesis and everything inside of it. That viewpoint character is Caelum should be obvious from the outset.

>Now, I've said my peace; I think I can help you in whatever troubles you've got.
'Peace' should be 'piece' in that sentence.

>No I don't think you mad, I think you would make a good edition to my team.
'Edition' should have been 'addition' in that sentence.

>Now, just so I know what I can expect from you, tell me what kind of magic school you're apart of.
'Apart' should be 'a part.'

Overall, I think you need a proper editor for your work. I'm sure someone more discriminating would find more things to correct. At the very least, I would suggest cutting your paragraphs into smaller bits.

I thought the action was slow at first, which might turn people off from even beginning your story. That might be an indicator that your descriptions are too dragging.

Finally, the title doesn't seem to describe your story properly, at least so far, so that might have to change eventually.