Critique Thread.
Critique Thread
Noah Green
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Liam Gomez
i like the imagery, and the irony of the message compared to the delivery is elegant and not in-your-face
personally I'd have written it to be less perspective driven, in the sense that there is an "I" to the poem- but desu I can'timagine now how I'd go about painting the picture without it being the testimony of the subject- maybe I'm just being pedantic
I like it good
Luke Morgan
1
For the Attention of Arthur Philip Elmswood
I write to you filled with great regret that this might be the only letter I have sent to you ever since our ties were severed so abruptly. Yet I am afraid there will be no time for pleasantries, my old friend.
This letter is a curse.
It is a dreadful thing that you might wish to burn after having read it or bury it deep alongside the river’s shores and I would blame you for neither. But I implore you, please, gather your strength and read on to its very end so it might embolden your vigilance and fortitude for what may be to follow. I assure you, dearest friend, that I take no pleasure in imparting this knowledge with you after you have gone to such lengths to remove yourself from it, but I fear for both our lives at this point.
The Order is gone.
There is nothing left of it but me and, by extension, you. The Professor seems to have vanished together with a handful of our most devout believers. I had not the heart to watch it happen with my own eyes, but even if I had, I could not fathom of a means of explaining it to you how. Most other disciples are dead. And I was merely lucky to be belated in that particular instance, or else I might have suffered the same fate alongside them. Henry, William, Claire, Esther – the whole lot of them are all gone.
I am sure I need not tell you at this point, that you had been right from the very beginning about the Professor being obsessed with his studies. Of course, we all were. We all yearned to penetrate that antediluvian structure in our dreams to at least some lesser degree. You as well, I’d readily wager. At least for a time. Although now I feel a rising urge within me driving me towards confession; that it had scared me just as much as it had you. But you know that the Wood has always been strongest with me, and the House would probably suit me ill. The fluttering mess that I could become at times, driven by curiosity for only a select few of some keen and very special things, reason all but cast aside. I have since come to understand that I merely had not had my fill at the time. But, writing this now, only feels like more subterfuge. The faint attempt at an excuse to repel my own shortcomings in hopes of finding your approval for them. Or maybe I am just overly thankful that my own tardiness has saved my life, for as long as that may still last. That particular eve was supposedly just another of the Professor’s many attempts at unravelling the nature of the ritual he had discovered just prior of you leaving us. He had prepared the special ink he had read about a fortnight past and was adamant at rewriting most of his scriptures for the sake of using the ‘correct way of spelling them’. Robert Cartwright, I am unsure now if you have had the pleasure of meeting him during your time, had become excessively proficient at finding the wounds in the air and was to tear open one of them for the purpose of the incantation, so it might reach further.
Jeremiah Martin
2
Aside to that, the Cup was present, empty as it would be.
From all I could reasonably tell at the time, it was to be an evening of chanting and I was late as usual. I had been chastised for my failings just the week prior and I was not keen on reaping the Professor’s ire again all so quickly, thus I held back and retired myself to one of the higher alcoves, content to just watch them try and fail at their attempts.
Ethan Davis
3
From all I could reasonably tell at the time, it was to be an evening of chanting and I was late as usual. I had been chastised for my failings just the week prior and I was not keen on reaping the Professor’s ire again all so quickly, thus I held back and retired myself to one of the higher alcoves, content to just watch them try and fail at their attempts.
An hour had passed before things began turning out very differently to our usual routine of disappointment. Before long I could taste it in the air, savoury and subtle, even high up in the alcove still. I can only begin to imagine the flavour present down in the great hall surrounding the altar. And then, for the first time, the Blood Wine had begun flowing freely. After the years it took to find it and the discouragement running through the Order to see it all dried up, it had filled itself from nothing. The Cup was full and soon spilling even. The Professor gasped quietly as he watched the ruby liquid rise in the dried husk with a strained murmur. A mere heartbeat later he was already done laughing and crying, now drinking deeply, indulging himself. He seemed ecstatic. His words had reached into the deeper halls of the House. He had suddenly become relevant to these higher powers.
The others present were of a more reluctant sort though. The realization that their words have had an influence on reality at large made them grow weary and fearful and as the Professor took the Cup towards them, most were unwilling to taste the wine from the overflowing banquet.
This was the exact moment when the Professor was finally happy, perhaps even content for but a minute. His life’s work had not been in vain. But the night was not over just yet. The wound in the world was still open. The words had been carried deep into the monolithic halls of the House. And I can only assume the Great Mother had heard them.
The air grew sticky as a tall, spindly creature emerged from the fissure. It walked upright almost like a human, but its appendages were thin and segmented like those of a spider. The white skin stood in stark contrast to the red silks laid out in our inner sanctum. Where one would normally expect eyes, only two dark abyss-like holes opened up only ever so slightly. Pulsing almost. Breathing. I have since had the time to identify them for myself as nostrils. But most striking of the thing was not its appearance, dare I even believe these words myself. It was instead its smell. It smelled of sulphur and chocolate. Like a fresh bell pepper cut for a meal. Like a splintered piece of wood and syrup of corn.
Cooper Rodriguez
4
It smelled of change.
I found myself too mesmerized to even attempt to flee. Some of the disciples below stared at it in silent horror. Others, I assume, were struck with gleeful and giddy delight. Not the Professor, of course. He held on to the flowing Cup. Greeting the thing with arms wide open as it stood still and without sound at first. Too alien for comprehension, the two large holes then flared up, sucking in air noisily before spelling out a cloud of dust. The smell of copper, cherries and chrysanthemum.
I can still recall how I was wondering, questioning even then, whether this was the Professor’s great providence. I even wondered about the impact of its arrival on the Order. Childishly so. Foolishly. Meanwhile, with pointed feet the creature made its way over to the disciples, leaving the Professor standing to the side, a slight he would normally not easily forgive, but this was an Exalted One. The silk carpets tore as it moved. The sickly-sweet scent of decay it carried along, rose to my lofty heights. The trepidation of a burned lump of coal followed in its wake. It slowly lifted its arm and drew closer to Elias, who knelt on the outside of our ranks. Another gust came from the thing before it touched him. Within seconds there was nothing left of him but a violently spread smear of blood and tissue.
He had been unmade.
Then it was already upon the next. Quickly travelling between the ranks. The Order, all we had worked for over the last ten years, the people we had gathered, all coming apart into a growing puddle of blood and bone before my very eyes within not days, not hours, not even minutes. And only as it was done with the chaff it stopped. It seemed to ponder what to do next, standing tall, swaying lightly back and forth.
Only four people remained with it in the hall below me. They seemed to understand something profound I was still lacking. The Professor was amongst them of course, the young prodigy Cartwright as well, as were Salizsman from the east and Emilia. I am now sure it must have known of my presence at the time as I can’t imagine it hadn’t smelled me. Perhaps that was what it had been pondering about. In the end, so I had figured, it never seemed to have cared about me much.
Fortunately, there is not much else I can tell you. For what followed next I hid behind the banister, trying to hold my ears shut with all my might even if it was pointless and to no avail. The night smelled of ecstasy. It smelled of pain and of desires fulfilled. It smelled of screams and blood and the lust you feel just after the moon has risen.
I have to shamefully admit that I fainted at some point and in the dream I saw, I sought refuge amongst the dense, low hanging branches of the Wood. I dug myself into the soft soil and hid scared and alone until I woke again in the morning, my hands still dirty, not knowing at first whether I was man or beast.
Bentley Wright
5
The Professor was gone by then, the great hall partly shattered, only the blood of our disciples serving to commemorate their passing here.
I have witnessed the end of our Order.
Finally, there is one last revelation I wish to share with you, even if I will have to become the apostle for the creature by doing so. Over the last two days, my memories were plagued by the smells I experienced that night. And during my dreams, as I approached the wall-less walls more easily than ever before, I could hear the thing in my mind. It echoed from the days gone. The mouthless language it spoke much older than the Aramaic we know, or the Sanskrit. It calls to me still, sometimes now even during my waking hours. And I fear it will call upon you as well eventually. You were of the Order. Gifted in your own aspects. You smell of the Cup and of the Professor.
Burn a lock of your hair, my friend. Call upon the Moth. That is all I can impart with you against this creature. I pray that you have safe dreams. I will transcribe its words onto the letter’s page below in the usual manner. The Great Mother remembers. This one’s ambitions and curiosity have finally outgrown him.
Stay strong Arthur and live well,
Your friend,
Duncan Westerford
Hudson Ross
I agree with this. Also, I might just need to spend more time with it, but your usage of punctuation seems arbitrary and confusing.
I have two questions regarding mine:
1. Does the transition from "off-duty observation" to on-duty work add depth to the poem or does it seem lazy/contradictory?
2. Does the poem feel finished? To me it doesn't.
Chase Clark
Adrian Johnson
I’m imagining a guy laying naked on his back with his erect penis ejaculating upward towards the sky and then landed down on him
David Perez
The bass and drum roll
sound tracking my journey over the hills
gone and away till I've lost control
the foggy air and dim sky fill me with what feels my first thrills
and if I get lost
who cares?
whose but my own is the cost?
me and the hills the only one who shares
and my past is gone with the exhaust,
not one piece of me it tears.
Connor Cox
I creep upon slightly fat chickens, rippling their folds with my mighty hangnail.
"Harumph!" says the little one but I pay no heed.
"Bellow away Jeggry! I care not for your fetid tricks. They move me not. They caress my consciousness not. I am not the one whose ears pick up such trifles," quoth I.
Jeggry sqwarks again. The other one next to him merely sqwacks. I am tired of this self-oppression and need to get out of this metaphorical coop.
I lean into the place where I imagine the jeggry's ears are (for I am also not a chicken physician who would know the exact nature of such things. That is not me).
I lean in and I say, I say to him as I lean in, I say to him, I say, "It's roasting season."
And then I stand up and break the coop wide open with my massive fucking head.
"CHARLIE," says the woman from inside the house. "What are you doing?"
I don't know.
Asher Reed
>I lean in and I say, I say to him as I lean in, I say to him, I say
I'm crying
Jaxon Rivera
>fetid tricks
Asher Roberts
The images are interesting but the first issue that comes up for me is the punctuation. A lot of it feels either arbitrary or poorly handled, such as "a spout of wind, rattles the containers", where you didnt need the comma, or "a breeze tickles the nostrils; of a snorting drunk" where the semi-colon is also superfluous. It's true that punctuation can have valuable aesthetic purpose, but that needs to be executed more carefully than you've done. You could also pay more attention to the flow of the words, as your diction is engaging but the poem itself doesn't feel incredibly fluid. Some of the lines are a bit clunky like, like lines 16 & 17. Overall, it plays with the abstract and the vulgar interestingly enough, it just needs to be cleaned up structurally.
I appreciate your consideration of music in writing, a lot of writers on lit neglect it completely. Your images and diction are striking enough as well, but it's the first lines of the final stanza that really disrupt what youd actually been nicely establishing before. The drop in register with "fuck that, fuck fixing" is abrasive, and its sentiment should be re-imagined with more complimentary language, rather than jarring, in my opinion. Besides that, the poem is well considered, albeit flawed as any, more interesting than what I usually see on this site.
I'm
Leo Bailey
Which first line is better? Do either of them pique interest?
It was up eleven kilometers in the sky that one could find the densest, most repugnant waste of money conceivable by man: a library called the Athenaeum.
It was up eleven kilometers in the sky, deep in the heart of the Athenaeum, that I found my soul.
I'm curious, what is this meant to be in context? A letter inside a novel you're writing, or just a standalone thing? It's well written in character and had interesting imagery, although at some times it didn't really make sense.
>It smelled of sulphur and chocolate. Like a fresh bell pepper cut for a meal. Like a splintered piece of wood and syrup of corn.
I don't see how these relate, except maybe a "wooden" smell layered over a strong, "stingy" smell.
Cameron Diaz
The punctuation is appalling. If English isn’t your first language, I’d understand.
Elijah Collins
Pls screencap long text
Michael Brown
reading this from australia! sick!
Carson Robinson
!
Christopher Davis
You sound like a pretentious faggot using semi-colons without knowing what they actually do.
>Rats sigh and rise; to another perfect morning
Why the semicolon
>A breeze tickles the nostrils; of a snorting drunk
Why the semicolon
>The polished exterior, of a steel tin
Why the comma
>filled with leftovers; reflect the sun's welcoming rays
why the semicolon
>To the smooth carapace, of newly laid asphalt
Why the comma
>Of newly laid asphalt; guiding the vagrants home
why the semicolon
etc
Kevin Richardson
It reads like you had a prompt which makes for a kind of surface poetry instead of hard work or rich inner life
Logan Cruz
Outside now, cloaked in chilly February weather, I’m just another body in the ebbing mass of individuals heading to and from classes. The familiar route towards North campus, between the well-mowed green to my right and an extended wall of dorms to my left, always provides some interesting sights to set my eyes upon — at least when I’m able to summon the strength to raise my vision above the ground in front of me. A stunningly pretty girl with golden hair and deep blue eyes catches my attention as she passes by. She would never talk to me. My vision wanders a bit more before settling on an old favorite of mine — the thick towering trees, running along the sidewalk, that line the green. There’s something mystifying about trees in general but these one especially. They’re “alive” in every sense of the word — biologically in that they feed and reproduce and spiritually through their tremendous stature. Their bark, a sturdy labyrinth of furrowed notches, provide infinite paths from the trunk to the crown. A beacon of life sprouts from the ground and rises towards the sky, unashamed amongst the dead and soulless. They seem to represent all the greatest aspects of life — strength, vitality, complexity, the natural, the beautiful.
The MC in my story is detached from life yet has a deep appreciation for the natural world. A major theme of the story is natural beauty that's inaccessible to him. Does this come off as too pretentious?
Evan Robinson
The disassemblege of hypercapital social imperialism feeding into the eternal-simultaneity subphases expanding and pinching the spacetime continuum of over-produced goods and over-time service workers, pulling the Apocalypse closer to the panegyric pulsar parrhesia population particularities of poplar trees turned to pulp and piss-filled Trinidadian Trinitarians too tall for totalisising Tim Tam territories of pineal gland smiles. The jizz is crusty with the hardening of socialization, grasping the throat with Chthonic tendrils of fifth dimensional darkweb ads.
Logan Murphy
The second one piques more interest for me.
Cooper Long
It looks like OP thinks every verse needs to end with some form of punctuation.
Anthony Gutierrez
Start of novel I'm working on. Any feedback is welcome. This is the first time I've written anything substantial in first person.
pastebin.com
Luke Hall
David Cook
Very well written, of professional quality in my opinion.
Alexander Campbell
Why did you write a poem about public masturbation in a metropolitan suburb?
Brody Russell
My brain wanted to read 'swirling eddies' or somesuch instead of 'ebbing mass' in the first sentence. Former is a little more elegant and a little more in keeping with the 'natural world' thing you're after. Super minor I know but I figure since it's the very first line you might be after more minute detail-criticism for it lol.
As for the rest, not bad, few things I didn't like. Obviously this is all subjective, totally up to you what you think, just my personal response.
>A stunningly pretty girl with golden hair and deep blue eyes catches my attention as she passes by. She would never talk to me
'Stunningly' feels excessive, reword it. 'She would never talk to me' is slightly cringe, almost incel ish. I'd remove it. If you want to keep that sense though, maybe have her eyes described as 'averted' or something to indicate her distance? Perhaps describe her face in a little more detail, and in such a way as to hint at coldness without just telling us? Don't know.
>There’s something mystifying about trees in general
'Mystifying' comes off as your protag just finding them plain confusing, whereas I suspect what you were going for would be slightly better represented by a world like 'mystic', as in having mystical properties, not 'baffling'. Trouble is, 'mystic' is also kinda cringy/pretentious imo, so what I'd do is dial it back a bit and just go for something like 'special', or 'otherworldly'.
rest of it is fine imo, flows fairly well, though I'd delete that slightly clunky little connecting section 'biologically in that'. Feels essayistic, and slightly incongruous to use a scientific word like biological in the next sentence over from your thing about trees being mystic etc. (assuming that is what you were going for in the first place lol).
Is it pretentious? Yeah, slightly, but nothing that can't be fixed with some very basic edits I reckon, the structure/idea is good. Your writing isn't annoying to read either, so keep at it.
Carson Jones
Thanks man, I knew some parts of it were awkward/ clunky and I think you've pinpointed all the parts I myself got tripped up on. Will use your advice, should make it flow better, thanks.
Caleb Lopez
Thank you. I just hope the rest of it is up to the same standard.
Isaac Martin
starting with the date is kind of cheap exposition imo.
>But I had a letter for her explaining myself. Just for her.
reword
> I’d written her a letter not only because she’s my mother but because she’s a woman and might understand why I have to take my baby away from here.
clumsy
regarding all dialogue you need to use said more instead of asked etc.
I like flickering through his face more than filtering
>united against Dad’s derangement and Mum’s delusions for so long
cut for so long
I think le evil christians is overplayed but that's just me, pretty good writing
mine below
Jace Bell
Yeah no worries, good luck man
Colton Lopez
Yeah definitely the second one is better.
Easton Morales
Before long I’d arrived at the academic building in North campus. The lecture room was designed to accommodate about 50 students. There was a massive whiteboard and a small podium in the front of the room for the professor while the rest of the room, for the students, was organized in successive rows of tables, each row elevated higher than the one in front of it, so that the final row was situated substantially above the professor’s floor. A staircase ran up the side of the room.
I climbed the stairs, passing students scattered amongst the different aisles, all the way to the top row and sat in the highest righthand corner of the room, as I’ve been doing every class throughout the course of the semester. The professor had yet to arrive, but shortly after I sat down a familiar face appeared under the door frame in the front. It was Grace Hawthorne. She wore blue jeans and an olive coat, her long hair tucked beneath a white, wooly headband. My heart sped up for reasons unknown to me as she moved up the stairs in dainty steps. Then she picked her head up and looked at me, smiled, and continued up the stairs until she was at the top with me. Before long she was next to me.
“You might’ve forgotten our conversation about having this class together but I didn’t,” she said, sitting down.
“Or maybe I was enjoying my corner in peace.”
“Hey I can leave you know.”
“I know. I think you should stay though.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay. After all, I’m pretty much sitting next to a celebrity. You’re quite the buzz around campus.”
A wave of adrenaline hit me; my throat instantly tightened. “I know, but they’re talking about me for all the wrong reasons. I really regret what happened last Saturday — I’m sorry you had to see it.”
Tyler Brown
>first person
dropped
Hunter Martin
There's nothing wrong with writing obvious self-inserts.
Bentley Hughes
Ethan Russell
>Veris leapt out of bed. Her house was like a bunker or prison, grey, plain and square.
Needs something connecting these two thoughts I think, the transition from protagonist to environment is too abrupt. Imagine it like a movie camera, you need to actually move towards your narrative 'destination' more organically, at least in this specific instance, very early in the narrative, when you're 'setting the scene' as it were.
Wyatt Flores
poem about love and rain and dirt and worms
Leo Reyes
The clown is stripe-bound,
Spattered with polka dots
A plume of red hair upon his crown
Droops as he bows to the ground
His tomato nose wobbles as he speaks,
A leer parting his painted cheeks
Dear children, children dear
Do come closer, abandon your fear
Allow me to begin my little performance
And so, please- cease all disturbance
The wide-eyed tykes part with their fear
Though retaining their caution,
They draw near
The clown extends a begloved hand
His grinning gorilla lips red like wine
Before we begin, have patience, and
Be sure to drink your Ovaltine
Bentley Ward
bump
Landon Cox
In a town without a name there was an empty man named Dooballos and all the boys and girls said Dooballos when will you open up your insides and begin the void's call? And Dooballos said, silly kids, I will only begin the void's call when the seventh bell rings from the forgotten abattoir
Isaiah Nguyen
This is from a novel I'm writing, I'll post more if you want. But I know it's bad, I just want some criticism bros.
One
We were young. We were in love. Well, at least I loved her. Everything felt a lot better then, but looking back now and what has happened, I can’t be certain.
I would say it was sometime when I was twenty. She was eighteen or maybe seventeen. I met her at a party at my college around August. That day was very orange. But not one of a violent manner, it was a very vague and grey kind of orange.
I remember I was standing in the corner with my friends and then three or so girls came up to us. Two of them were very invested and interested in my friends. The third was her. I used to think she was just shy but I realize now she was actually disinterested. I realize now that she was always disinterested, it didn’t matter what memory I looked back on, our wedding, our daughters’ birth, or her leaving me, she was just distant, kind of void.
But eventually at that party, we started to talk, but I led the conversation. In my future with her I always thought I led everything but I know now that I was wrong.
Eventually after some boring discussion we had, I put my hand on her chin and kissed her. She seemed to like it, I thought she liked me, but really, she just liked to kiss.
She wanted to leave, so we got in my green Gto. By the time we had left it was about one am and I thought I would take her down to the docks for some “romance”. The whole way there the windows were rolled down and she had her hand rolling through the nightly wind.
We pulled onto the gravel and I unbuckled my seat belt. Usually, most girls would come up to me and cuddle. Instead she sat there. Not with any degree of awkwardness but rather with a sense of separation. After about maybe five to ten minutes she got out of the car. I followed, but before I got out, I turned the radio up and it was playing some Smashing Pumpkins song, but I can’t remember which one. She walked about ten feet in front of the car and stared out into the empty ocean. The wind was blowing softly, carrying the violet scent of salt towards us. She turned towards me and took her clothes off. She was elegant. I didn’t sleep with her that night, instead, she just kissed me again except this time she was crying. I didn’t know why, and honestly, I still don’t.
After that kiss, I was left staring at her. I tried so hard to look into her but when I did all I found was pain. Then, I loved her. Now, I still love her.
Isaac Moore
>That day was very orange. But not one of a violent manner
Clunky
>a very vague and grey kind of orange
What? Perhaps you mean 'muted' my man
>three or so
Weird phrase for such a small group of people. Your protagonist can't tell if it's three or, say, two people? Just sounds odd, I'd amend it to just 'three girls' or something.
>Gto
Should this be capitalised?
>about one am
Nitpicky but I hate the way this looks. Maybe 'one in the morning' instead?
>violet scent
What?
Good luck user, room to improve, but could be far worse.
Oliver Phillips
He's looking back on it, and based on where he currently is, he is a heroin addict and an alcoholic
Hudson Robinson
Gotcha. I'm sticking to my criticisms of the actual writing though lmao
Jason Wright
Is ovaltine pronounced like wine?
It was well written and good harmony but I thought the ending was missing something. It was a good buildup nonetheless
Joshua White
she only drinks water and sniff snow, in bars with me, trapped in a bathroom, using the card of the economic box,
a cream for skin diseases, lunar wills, a living boiler yellow, only the syntax has contributed to the socioeconomic growth of the Latin countries, they chew coca during lunch and take coca to quench thirst,
the indians I do not know have never told me anything
the faces of the coins, the faces of terrible men, stinking of metal and charcoal, which sweat-workers took from the ground and walls,
gold mining, nationalism, the feeling of belonging to the group leaves some people horny
only repair, we wake up in the morning and prepare strong three-hearts-caged coffee
pension fund, private pension, trip to orlando, indian elephants, the canberra sun
public service, air-conditioning 1998, a mistress with goggles, a man typing with the keyboard stained coffee, cold and sonso,
relaxing in search of a haughty and laborious self-discovery, eating dinner tables, eating snacks in an Italian restaurant, watching the sky fall in the eyes, consumed by the dark creamy, sonorous and dead,
they do not feel as if they were in the place of the dead, they do not feel as if they were in the place of death
tarot in the street, a rap group, a madman singing, a drunk rehearsing for college theater, my skin falling apart, a punch in the stomach inside a blue celtic, a uber driver cursing against the woman, the tramp taking bus towards the market,
a puppet being trapped in your body, a
simple relief of life, a source of non-standardized species, water without color, without a verb or number
Nathan Wilson
Actually I think anticlimactic can get the point across I just prefer a climactic expression.
You should make that into a long poem and build on the expression you made
Owen Morales
Sorry I forgot to reference when he said "three or so". It's meant to be blurry, but I can specify.
Jeremiah Gomez
I thought that said trapped in a bathrobe
Little confusing to follow but it's good stream-of-consciousness
Connor Parker
Anthony Rivera
Figures the only good poem ITT draws no attention.
Gavin Roberts
yeah I was just memeing for the thread. I'll probably keep working on it
Jordan Lewis
thanks for the attention :+)
Matthew Turner
I love shadows and i love cake.
.
Roaming in the pink city,
Surrounded by pink flowers
And all of these pink towers
Now i think im pink fitty.
.
Late night strolls bring a certain serenity
While clouds stroll by brushing over clarity
when the streets breath and the wind sings
Light tunes that die soon, without meanings. .
.
Shadows appear to move aimlessly,
Seperated from their personnality,
Shifting through a sea of lights, disapearing-
Sprawly resurfacing then vanishing
Encore inside luminosity.
Andrew Wood
Fumiko's bedroom was home to an extensive collection of cute, girly trinkets; a pink phone and a platter of pastel coloured handheld gaming consoles laid to the side of her bed on an elegant wooden table. Across from her bed is a large flat screen television; to its side is a large white desk covered in lacy fabric. An adorable mirror and an assortment of beauty products were beautifully arranged on its surface.
Her wardrobe also had a wonderfully saccharine theme; aside from her various uniforms (high school, PE, and cheer; the latter blending into to the rest of the wardrobe, due to its pastel yellow hue, and the colourful ribbons adorned to it), the entirety of the wardrobe consisted of cute brightly coloured blouses, skirts, and dresses straight from the pages of a fairytale, which the uninformed may also assume is the origin of the girl herself.
After daydreaming in the shower about her date's muscles, Fumiko made a mad dash to this wardrobe. “I don't just want to make a good impression. I want to choose something that will catalyse his love; something that a high school boy associates with beauty.”
“Well, if that's my criteria, I might as well go in my cheer uniform!”; this thought flashed into Fumiko's mind as quickly as it was overwritten. “I’d probably just look like a tryhard… Not really the kind of love I want to awakening anyway; I need an outfit to make him feel like a Prince”; this thought awakened a new spark in Fumiko.
“I have plenty of sparkly dresses, but it might be best to pick something on the modern side too! You've got to appeal to a boy's instincts~ This one appeals to two sides; the youthful fantasy of the beautiful princess, and the natural male love of short skirts”. Fumiko picked a dress that might look tacky on any other girl; it was a slightly peachy pink, with a giant ribbon of the same colour on the back: smaller, red ribbons decorated the shoulders of the dress, and both sides of its skirt. It fit her slender, delicate figure perfectly; giving her a further impression of being a princess out of a storybook.
Fumiko then set on applying Make-Up - as a very girly girl, this was an activity she often spent a large amount of time on: Fumiko always liked to look her best; for school, for cheer, or just around the town. Therefore, the Make-Up she applied for her date was extra special: this included pink mascara and lipstick (decided upon after an extensive debate between red and pink), luxuriously curled eyelashes, and flowery perfume.
Evan Reyes
Post the part where her date gets lucky.
Xavier Hill
I wanna write something fluffy and pastely, not sexy :)
Jaxson Ortiz
I thought it was nice I'd read several pages of this.
Daniel Morgan
Bump. Imagine consuming literature but not producing literature. Yikes.
Isaiah Adams
like a deformed spawn of the beginning of quentin's section in tsatf. your sentiment and thought process are in the right direction, just grind away if you want to be good someday.
Hunter Kelly
(1/2)
“There is one thing I desire,” Shamsut remarked, pearls of egg white dripping from his flapping lips, “To be desired.”
“What a self-defeating goal,” the other chuckled in response from across the table, attempting to sting Shamsut with the silver contour of his voice.
Wiping his face Shamsut replied, “What makes you say that?” A forced smile strung through his lips.
“The only object of your desire is the desire of others.” The other breathed in sharply, preparing his sermon. “You’re putting the keys to your happiness in other people’s hands.” He really did want to help, though he didn’t go about it in quite the most appropriate way.
Shamsut shot his eyes through the other, whom he hated intensely, and he slung his reply quickly. “Look. Why is money worth anything?” He asked, desperate to gain an intellectual foothold over his other.
“Please, tell me,” the other returned the attack with a volley of silver arrows, sliding gracefully down his tongue and through his curled lips.
“Because,” Shamsut nearly choked, “People agree on its value.” Shamsut shot his eyes at his plate, looking between the eggs and hash browns for confidence in his next statement. “How are people any different?”
In the eternity which lay between his proposition and the return fire from the other, Shamsut reflected on the preposterousness of willingly showing the chinks in his prized armor to his invader, but knew his options had worn thin. Shamsut exhaled sharply, his heart racing.
“You’re a smart man,” the other placed a gasoline-coated laurel on Shamsut’s head, “so I can’t believe you believe this. Do you realize you’re, in fact, a person too? What discredits your own belief in yourself?”
A genuine smile now passed Shamsut’s face. A flaw. He found it. “Well,” he began boisterously, overjoyed at the opportunity to tear himself down. He picked up his food-soiled fork and lowered his head to fire an eyebrow-heavy gaze at the other. “This fork is worth ten thousand dollars. If you disagree, you’re discrediting my judgment. Do you get it now?” He knew that final jab may provoke a scathing counterattack, but the invigoration he felt caused him to temporarily eschew his covert timidity.
The squint of the other’s eyes, the tilt of his head, and the sudden pull of a bewildered grin burned Shamsut’s shots to ash. Of course the other got it. The other got everything Shamsut wanted.
“Friend,” the fuse lit, “I must congratulate you on that find. Though I may not necessarily agree, I can understand and respect the value you see in that fork.” He finished the volley with the kind of laugh you reward a child attempting to tell a joke with. Laden with superiority. But he really was trying to help him, mind you, he had only Shamsut’s best interests in mind. “You’re right, it’s the same way with people.”
Tyler Baker
(2/2)
He put an owning, reassuring hand on his Shamsut’s arm. “You have value, buddy. If nothing else, I value you.”
Shamsut returned his eyes and his fork to his plate. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” he had to reply. Hundreds upon hundreds of revolutionary desires filled Shamsut’s mind. He wanted the other gone, and he needed himself gone. Shamsut wanted out of his skin. Shamsut wanted out of his life. The other, a close friend, an idol, who, mind you, only had his best interests in mind, had once again made a husk of Shamsut.
He then silently cursed himself for the idea as the other stood up and excused himself to the bathroom.
Shamsut bent his ten thousand dollar fork in half and threw it in the trash can.
Sebastian Myers
second one, totally.
Bentley Thomas
but the relativizer should be "where" not "that"
Jack Taylor
How's my dialogue? Be honest.
“You might’ve forgotten our conversation about having this class together, but I didn’t,” she said, sitting down.
“Or maybe I was enjoying my corner in peace.”
“Hey I can leave you know.”
“I know. I think you should stay though.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay. After all, I’m pretty much sitting next to a celebrity. You’re quite the buzz around campus.”
A wave of adrenaline hit me; my throat instantly tightened. “I know, but they’re talking about me for all the wrong reasons. I really regret what happened last Saturday — I’m sorry you had to see it.”
“Don’t blame yourself. It’s not like you meant to knock his teeth out. Plus, wasn’t boxing Cody’s idea anyway?”
“Well yeah… but I still did it.”
“Well if I were you I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Sebastian Turner
She wasn’t me and couldn’t fathom what it’s like to be me, just as I couldn’t fathom what it’s like to be her. Couldn’t she just let me feel bad about myself rather than making me feel bad about making myself feel bad?
The professor walked in and pressed a button to lower a large projector screen over the whiteboard in the front.
“It’s your last chance to leave,” I told Grace.
“Whatever, I guess I’m stuck here,” she said sarcastically.
“Hey, anyone you know that might need Xanax?”
“Xanax?” She was surprised to hear the word.
“Yeah, I’m selling Xanax to help Cody pay for his dental bills.”
“Ray,” Grace said sternly, “that’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Does Cody even want you to do that?”
“Well, no, but I think he’s just being nice. I just feel like I should do something.”
“Honestly Ray, if he doesn’t want you to do it it seems like you might just be doing it for yourself.”
Her words hit me like a gut punch. How could I be doing it for myself? I wasn’t gonna keep any of the money and I was putting my own college career in jeopardy by possibly dealing. I could get kicked out of school for even attempting it. She didn’t know what she was talking about.
Gavin Wood
anybody save that story that was posted a couple threads ago where god made anime real?
Jason Green
Feel like a fag not rating anything but I'll do it in the morning, I'm exhausted
Nathaniel Edwards
Haha yeah it's decent man it almost feels like one of those socialist realist novels from the 30s USSR or Cuba or something, in a fun semironic pastiche-y way though. I assume it diverges from that as the writing develops and it's just the passage you happened to choose, but still. Makes you wonder if there's a place for some sort of triumphalist, propagandising style in a distinctly modern setting.
Thomas Fisher
Dunno if screenplays count as Yea Forums
Connor Davis
I would love to read more. Beyond my critique.
>I, Medusa
All light leaned slim,
Tired against the walls.
Content on being small,
Quiet for
A while.
I sat so comfortably
Right here
Take your eyes off me!
Take your damn eyes off me!
Allow me that shade,
I remember... sweetest days
Now, I crouch.
Contorted by and
Blood calcified
From the venom of my
Reflection.
My glare.
Now,
My walk home
In change, defined
Through the decomposing rabbit
In grass beside.
Cameron Gray
A small extract from a short story I wrote on a whim today. It's written from the perspective of a teenage boy who's just discovered his mother is sleeping with a colleague of hers. I know the subject matter is a little weird but I'm trying to get into the mindset of someone who's just had the rug pulled out from under them and is struggling to answer all the questions now bubbling in their mind, knowing they'll probably never get solid answers to even a fraction of them.
Actually pretty damn good. I'm trying to remember what it reminds me off. I feel I've read stuff like this before and enjoyed it. I hope you continue with it.
It's a little heavy on the exposition. People don't normally reiterate things that everyone in the conversation already knows. They allude to it.
I would have written the line:
>“Don’t blame yourself. It’s not like you meant to knock his teeth out. Plus, wasn’t boxing Cody’s idea anyway?”
As:
>"Don't blame yourself. It was his idea, anyway. Besides, you didn't mean to hit him that hard." She raised an eye brow at me. "Did you?"
Later dialogue can clarify what happened. In this case he's raising money for dental bills so the reader can safely assume that Cody wanted to fight and lost some teeth in the process. Other than that, it works fine. Just try imagine two people in your head having a conversation. If it doesn't sound like humans talking, maybe revise it.
Jackson Gray
I see what you're saying. Thanks.
Owen Wood
Personally, without the rest of the story giving it weight and context, it just feels flippant and vulgar to me. How long is it, maybe you could post the full thing?
Hunter Peterson
it's not really about love or rain or dirt or worms at all, is it
reading almost any piece of writing above the emotional level of a public notice is like listening to someone talking to you in private, talking to you alone, that is to say in a relation of peculiar intimacy and immediacy, less intense than when in company with a real person but otherwise very much the same. and at a certain point the readers liable to ask why are you telling me this
Adrian Flores
KEK
Michael Cruz
that's a norm macdonald bit
Jace Flores
I'm assuming the dialogue makes sense in context/is intentionally nonsensical, but
>Her utterance, than which none in the whole semantic field could have incited me to a more profound assent
Meaning's clear enough, prose is shitty though. Reword.
>middle of a row between the line of knees and feet and the line of backs of heads
Clunky, especially 'the line of backs of heads'. Find a way to indicate the back of a head without all those 'of's' if at all possible
Does draw my interest as a whole though, gl
Levi Hill
best one ITT
Aiden Martinez
it's at least about worms. he says "worm" twice.
Josiah Long
oh i don't know, haven't you read austen or dickens? that's how they write. establishes rhythm.
the dialogue is out of context, it's part of a symbolist (bad) play, up until elizabeth's line.
all right we'll give him worms
Nathaniel Morris
he doesn't say "love" "dirt" a single time, though. fucking fraud.
Anthony Russell
For a song i have written.
Lucas Gray
It's up to you of course, but you're not writing like Dickens or Austen and therefore don't have their rhythm, so the comparison (besides being self-aggrandizing) is not merited. Not to be rude, but you don't have the skill yet to write in the intricate, protracted style of a Victorian writer like Dickens. So for now, keep it modern, keep it clean.
Besides
>Her utterance, than which none in the whole semantic field could have incited me to a more profound assent
isn't a matter of style, it's just plain grammatically incorrect. Even if it were, the rhythm isn't good either though mate. Same with the other line I mentioned, but again, up to you.
Leo Davis
oh i didn't write that, it's from a book by a certain ;) famous english author.
& 'than which none ...' is not grammatically incorrect.
Jacob Williams
Ha, nice. God I hate Amis lol
Logan Garcia
awkward that a chap w an oxford english degree would make a grammatical error like that isn't it
Isaac Bell
I've found it very difficult to think of a plot to my story. Anyone else finding themselves spending tremendous effort on just thinking of where their story will go?
Alexander Harris
Nah you got me, scans terribly though.
John Diaz
you're stressing the wrong words probably
Liam Kelly
Maybe so. Just seems clunky to me though.
Robert Lewis
You're an absolute homo
Anthony Russell
probably why it's rarely used in american english which is 'easier for monoglot immigrants' amis said once.
p funny seeing such a book-group objection to k.a. tho
Jordan Thompson
It seems like a directionless amalgam more than a cohesive idea
Parker Reyes
The light doesn't shine as brightly as it did yesterday, my cup is heavier, my cigarette burns more quickly, and pack is empty sooner. My world seems to be greying, it's color leeched by time. Am I getting older? Is this what aging is? Perpetual disenchantment? Was my conception the peak, the moment at which I was rolled down the hill, fated to descend into nothingness and mediocrity? The same songs play on the radio as yesterday, when a new one does come on, it sounds the same as the one's I first heard the day before. I work for a different client today, but I've seen it before. He wants to leave his son nothing and his wife everything. They get older, I would say. My shoes are scuffed, nothing like new. Looking down, I see the street 80 feet past my toes. The street is quieter than yesterday, same as always. I used to love that sound, I would think before I lean forward. I am falling, every second I fall faster and faster. As my life flashes before my eyes, I am taken aback. Wait, no. How could this be? How did I not see it before? How could I have been so blind? We've been going downwards.
Easton Hernandez
na
Brandon Lopez
Akchually, there is..
Zachary Jenkins
I have no problem coming up with ideas I just don't have the determination to see them through, what are you working with so far maybe I can help you out?
Angel Martin
>zoomed in
>saw "doctor who"
>unzoomed
Benjamin Perry
10/10
Michael Fisher
>30,000 words
>of this
Brayden Ramirez
This is something I wrote recently, I don't read at all but I feel like I could be a writer anyway. This translates into a writing style that's kind of like a movie script since I really have no reference for what a written story is like, but at the very least you might have a laugh or two at the expense of a non-reader who thinks they can write. Let me know if you liked it.
justpaste dot it/425go
Isaiah Rivera
I think it's a worthy objection for modern writing. I like clean, sharp prose as much as possible in modern stuff. Fits the times better in my opinion. I recognise that's just my opinion but whatever.
Carson Evans
I’m about 70 pages in (19,000 words) it’s about a college student with panic disorder who gets blackout drunk one night and accidentally knocks his friend’s teeth out then starts dealing drugs around campus to pay for medical bills. I’ve written up to and through where he knocks the teeth out but I don’t know where to go from there. I think I’m gonna go for the angle where the danger of dealing acts as a sort of catharsis, but in making plot and character decisions I’m not sure if I want to do things solely for the purpose of storytelling and entertainment or if I want everything to have some deeper meaning and symbolism.
Caleb Torres
Nice get, I'll tell you what you should do, what that sounds like to me is a character driven narrative, what I want you to do is focus on your characters and building them up through the text, that's it, that's all your book has to be about, you building characters through what you write, the plot then becomes secondary. Right now I'm writing a world driven story where most of the focus is on realism and believably in a scifi setting, here it is if you want to check it out:
Ian Butler
This is a story about a NEET hikkikomori. It's my first time writing. Give me some constructive advice!
Ian Hughes
Your character seems immature, I guess that is suitable for the beginning of the story, but I'd hope he grows up by the end. I'd also advise you to steer away from /r9k/ tier self-descriptions and focus on something else instead of the idea of conveying the NEET lifestyle to normies because that idea is done to death in literally every /r9k/ blogpost ever written. I think the problem is you're writing a story about being completely alone from the perspective of someone who's trying to talk to other people. The premise is inherently flawed because it's a guy who doesn't talk to anyone trying to talk to people, so you should try to write your story from the perspective of a guy who has legitimately given up on anyone ever reading his writing, and do it from a narrator's perspective instead of the NEETs, so that you can have someone DESIGNED to talk to the reader do the talking for him! And he can be doing things that are obviously degenerate to the reader and narrator, but they aren't warped by the NEETs closed view of reality. What I would do with it, is write it as a murder, with a female detective who reads through his diary entries to try to solve the murder! This not only eliminates the telling lens of NEETs perspective in the story, but also forces you to realize the lens that blinds you that is YOUR own perspective by forcing you to go out of your comfort zone and think like a normal person.
Jayden Williams
>The premise is inherently flawed because it's a guy who doesn't talk to anyone trying to talk to people, so you should try to write your story from the perspective of a guy who has legitimately given up on anyone ever reading his writing, and do it from a narrator's perspective instead of the NEETs, so that you can have someone DESIGNED to talk to the reader do the talking for him
Ok, I get what you mean. In my preface it is said that this book wouldn't actually be read by anyone, here is the beginning. I've written about what you mentioned on the ending of the preface.
And rewriting the whole thing from a first person to a third person perspective would be such a hassle I'd rather just give up instead of keep on writing the way I am right now.
Brayden Richardson
This is pretty good
Henry Perry
Easton Sanders
Logan Morgan
How is it?
pastebin.com
Xavier Hall
I feel as though this is clunky but I have a hard time pointing to what exactly is wrong with it.
-
...But the true, burning desire of man can only be sated for so long.
As Jeremiah graduated from his youth, so to did the staying influence of reason wane.
His dreams turned feverish, the wastes beckoned to him through the night. Above all it was the vision of a sword which kept him restless. The days began to drag, made worse by an unbearable heat which only he appeared to notice. The glimmering steel seemed so bright in his dreams Jeremiah feared it would blind him.
On one particularly hot day Jeremiah caught himself witlessly wandering round the city. While he didn't remember precisely how he came to be there, standing in an intersection of the cities many paths, Jeremiah felt as though he was in the right place.
It seemed like he had come to an old part of the city, the activity which could otherwise be found in the many streets and squares was here absent. Jeremiah did not find this too disconcerting though, it was not unthinkable that, in the maze of Santiago, some ancient district had been enveloped in it’s ever growing folds and fell to disuse.
Reason spoke to Jeremiah, whispering to him that he should turn back, before losing himself even deeper within the labyrinthian streets. But how am I to turn back, he thought, if I do not know where I am? Dismissing himself,Jeremiah picked the path which looked most decrepit and started down it.
It did not take long before Jeremiah began to smell the dry heat of scorched sand. Shortly after he came upon what he was hoping for, a jagged opening in the walls indomitable surface. A gateway to the beyond.
The edges crumbled under Jeremiah’s hand as he traced the opening, even so, the gap was barely larger than what a small boy could hope to pass through.
The stone was rough against the skin and resisted Jeremiah as he slotted himself into the pointed cleft. The going was not pleasant but passage was eventually granted, the gap proved to be more forgiving than Jeremiah had expected.
It is often said that reality can be more malleable than want, perhaps this was just such a time
Henry Phillips
>flippant and vulgar
It pretty much is throughout. It's a little over 8,000 words in total and it's pretty much stream of consciousness that dips in and out of longwinded musings on relationships and angry, vulgar rants about realising that his mom is a woman and not just his mother. I mostly only wrote it because the idea sprung fully formed into my head and it seemed a waste not to see if I could actually write it. It's not the most vulgar thing I've ever written but it's probably one of the strangest and not one I would ever admit to writing outside of a Laotian Scrimshaw forum.
I'm writing it again from the mother's perspective, but that's going to be a more traditional erotic novel that may or may not end up as Amazon fodder if I like it enough.
Matthew Sanders
fumiko is an old lady name, it's like gertrude or matilda
Lucas Turner
postmodern dishonest and cringe
Jaxson Cox
Here reviewing, I'll review another tomorrow, I'm exhausted
>THE GOOD
The character's thoughts and personality (or at least what I imagine them to be from the passage) carry extremely well into the writing, which is usually a big problem for first person writing. The passage captures the narrator's hectic, erratic, meandering thoughts really well by being hectic, erratic, and meandering without sacrificing too much in terms of structure. Little things like the Grace and Drew bit and the bit about trying to stop thought stick out to me as important to this end.
>THE BAD
The word choice is inconsistent, and a lot of phrases and words and similes/metaphors fall flat to me.
Some repetition in syntax in the first paragraph feel lazy.
Some sentences, in the third paragraph, are hard to parse quickly properly, and could break a reader's flow. They feel a little clumsy or bulky.
>THE UGLY
>The press was located on...
bulky, clumsy (versus "The press was on..." for example)
>Going to use it,
"Using it"
>whole mess of people
there are better ways to say this
>as if conversing was second nature
I like this, but present it in a better way
>Approaching the press I ... -> Finally at the panini press I
repetition in syntax like this so close together feels clumsy
>listened to it sizzle
was it an intentional act or did he just hear it sizzle? is there significance in listening to it sizzle? Not necessarily ugly
>I unclamped the press, wrapped... . My mind instantly
The first sentence describes actions that happen over a period of time, and then the second sentence describes something happen instantly. Context says that it should occur around the same time as the first sentence, but the word "instantly" breaks that.
>Most of the upper part of the third paragraph
Could use some revision. I like what it does but too many sentences are bulky and poorly written compared to the rest of the excerpt.
>Before I knew it
Better ways to say it
Overall it's a good start. I don't know how much you've read and how often you read, but I feel like if you read more (of literally anything that's published, doesn't have to be a classic) it would have a great impact on the way you form sentences. Even without that though, the tone of the passage fits with the content impressively.
This is just the opinion of some nobody amateur though, so take my critique with a grain of salt.
Aiden Wilson
It's funny you say that because as I wrote it Ivan Denisovich popped up in my mind, and I haven't read that in probably 10+ years. I've thought about writing something that heavily featured workers as I have a ton of personal experiences to draw from, but I'd need to think of something special to do with it or it'd end up as a poor man's Steinbeck ripoff. I like that idea, I've never even attempted to write anything humorous or satirical before but something like that with a triumphalist propagandizing style might work. Thanks for the idea and feedback.
Alexander Scott
Dishonest?
Owen Johnson
Pls critique me and tear me apart.
Joseph Perry
Sup
Brayden James
Bump.
Matthew Butler
It's so incoherent that I can't even think of a constructive critique. Read yourself, woman. Putting together words that you think to sound complicated isn't writing. You can't even keep a coherent temporality ffs. And delete the shitty thread you made just for yourself. "Thoughts?" isn't a conversation starter.
Jacob Perry
Fuck you nigger
Christian Davis
Yeah I know the feeling of just wanting to wait for a bit more of an actual plot to strike you. But yeah sounds good, I mean I'd definitely read it haha, good luck man
Evan Bennett
>
>mfw
Mason Martinez
Thanks for the critique mate, I don't read much fiction but have been trying to lately to help my writing. While writing my story I've def struggled the most with maintaining consistent quality, which I've found very hard to do over the course of 20,000 words. Hoping that reading more fiction will help with this - I've read plenty of nonfiction though.
Mason Carter
is that really what you want to write about?
Leo Morales
Is this a question of passion, sorry?
Tyler Flores
forget I said anything, it just seemed constructed, the whole strawberries were expensive or whatever, feels like you just read something like that and are trying to ape the style idk man
Jose Brown
Ofher user does have a point I think, I thought your writing was fine and even the bit about the strawberries other user took such a dislike to I felt to be a decent enough bit of world building. But. It does feel strongly derivative. It felt very much like I was reading a Philip K Dick imitator. That's only a problem if you consider it to be one of course, but unless you've got a wroldview/thematic focus as interesting as someone like Dick you'll inevitably come off the worse of the two in comparison. Good luck either way, keep writing mate.
Ryan Gonzalez
Do your worst
Luis Jenkins
Thanks, both of you.
Carson Richardson
Pretty good effort, considering that you’re a non-native English speaker.
Jacob Rivera
How did you know?
Hudson Torres
Word choices are sometimes odd, as also are some of your sentences. I think if you collaborated with (or had as a sub-editor) a competent native speaker, you might be able to turn out something fairly good.
Chase Howard
am a Handyman & painter
who likes to take pictures of
myself wearing knickers,
stockings, panties and high
heels all of which I have
borrowed from my clients
Adrian Edwards
I murmur the phrase into the bovine's ear
Let it churn about her mind until
Bulbous droplets of poo poo
Drip out of from her cranberry coloured behind
MOO quoth the bovine
MOOOO saith she.
Moo indeed.
Moo indeed.
We are all (yes you too) braying for release from the conveyor from which no bovine returns.
Repeat after me:
I will not be slaughtered
I will not be slaughtered
I will not be slaughtered
"Mmmmmhhmmm what's for supper?"
I will not be slaughtered
I will not be slaughtered
"What's for supper?"
I will not be slaughtered
"What's?"
Dinner is served
Put it in a bun yourself Ronald.
They're home.
Angel Foster
Poem I wrote:
Caroline, Caroline
I never could leave you to struggle
Hold the line, hold the line
I'll be there on the double
In time, in time
Everyone does see trouble
And you don't need to know why when you cry
You don't need to know why
You don't need to know why when you cry
Violet's eyes, Violet plays
Going back home to the Great Lakes
Where the cattail sways
With the lonesome loon
Riding that train in late June
With the windows wide by my side
With the windows wide
With the windows wide by my side
And the clusters fell, like an empty bell
Meteor shower at the motel
Where the empty space is a saving grace
Making good time and doing well
Still the question sings, like Saturn's rings
Maybe she knows and she won't tell
But you don't need to know why when you cry
You don't need to know why
You don't need to know why when you cry
And I find you there in your country flair
Middle of the river in a lawn chair
With your wrinkled hands and your silver hair
Leaving here soon and you know where
To where the cattail sways with the lonesome loon
You'll be riding that train in late June
With the windows wide by your side
With the windows wide
With the windows wide by your side
You don't need to know why
You don't need to know why when you cry
Leo Mitchell
And every moment I lose without you, fighting interference between my mind and the tip of my tongue, I am lost. Tripping over my words, over insanity, racking my every thought, drowning this conviction behind an apathetic mask. A numberless cigarette lit twixt my fingers, burning like the fire that beauty held in your eyes, piercing me like a conscience, shattering the glass of memory reflecting my imperfections, smoldering bridges sinking behind me in hopes for a second chance. So embrace me, dreams, for you are mine; awake to a whirlwind staying swift through my fingers, my dream of you was all I had. So give me a heart where I can't feel, for all I need in my life is that which eludes me, that which I let get away, remaining a haunting thought of what could have been.
Austin Parker
This.
Ayden Hughes
well you failed, i'm rocked hard now.
i might just finish it for you if i dont finish first.
Adam Brown
Why would i not?
Robert Lopez
A Fleeting Encounter:
A blooming cloud was blown my way
And just for once I thought to grab
Her love-filled fruits to make my day
And cast away this woeful slab.
My tongue was quick and all was heard
By eager ears and eyes entwined,
'Till then at last I gave my word
And reached around her soft behind.
Her shining globes were warm and kind
And every sensual touch would loose
Some dark and wretched thoughts from mind,
Their realm replaced with crimson juice.
An endless night was spent among
Her velvet touch and folds of flesh,
But soon appeared that saintly sun
To shoo away our carnal mess.
He shook me through with spiteful gusts
That flung me from my sensuous nest
With nought to do but grieve and shout
For the westward loss of my fleeting love.
Lincoln Rivera
I render myself incapacitated
Searching for the an answer so sweeping
And so encapsulating
That the mere thought of beginning my lengths journey dissuades me from ever starting at all
AND read my disconnected lips
And see what I’ve been saying the whole time
Or what I would be saying should
My tongue not be ripped out in prose
Weak, weak, weak!
No, no it’s key to remove my locks and let them fly
But clipped wings never dare ascend the ground
Forlorn disasters and not a pigeon to communicate it with my jostling crowds
Who straw up each cup in anticipation of my words
Wyatt Garcia
Based Schizo
Last stanza is really good unironically
Noah Clark
Imagery is good.
The irony is top-notch and quite subtle, as to me it seems you are basically writing about a guy jacking off in a low income area.
But your punctuation is completly wrong, you dont need to end each line with some sort of punctuation.
This is my poem give critique please:
A wasp flew into the parlor,
To lavish in waterfalls of gold.
We need not sell
A wasp was already sold.
A vast world of joy
For you to tame.
Lonely little wasp,
Water holds no shame
A great world, in the palm of your hand
Not one so bland, so stuffed with deceit.
We are all your friends,
Raise a drink with me!
Night gives way, shame-
hangs like a twisted bar rag.
Whispers and giggles,
The cats in the bag
Morning dissociation,
May greet with news of fun.
A headache of regret,
A loaded gun.
You gaze at your hand
As you lie in the grass,
A circle of jesters,
Gather en masse.
Big bells of brass,
Bang in your ears-
You were staring through glass
Oh what fear.
Oliver Cook
Can someone give me feedback on this
I critiqued some other works with no reply :/
Dylan Hill
>he thinks you actually get critique from a /crit/ thread
trust me I've been posting in this since I started writing and I get maybe 1 critique for every 3 posts, and even then occaisionally it's some retard who doesn't know what he's talking about :/
Jonathan Anderson
Well if you show me wrote you wrote I'll crit it haha
Jayden Hill
Can you critique mine?
ill critique yours, although i feel im in no position to give it but ill try.
Im
Michael Evans
Cont.
I feel as though the spacing is bold, and quite interesting, but at the same time gives no substance, for what purpose did you do this?
I like your style of writing, imagery is good but in my opinion there is no sense of rhythm, rather disjointed images, but this might be on purpose considering the already disjointed spacing,
Also i do not understand what the meaning is, might be brainletism on my part but the few things i can make out are leading me onto a broken or ended relationship?
If so then the disjointed style ties it together imo.
Good work, but not for me.¨
Favourite line:
Float pearl-eye compass
Zachary Gutierrez
based
Easton Hughes
No one wants to tackle this?
Aaron Green
posting here since no one replied to my thread
Gavin Kelly
Nicholas Cruz
ever heard of "show don't tell"? jesus fucking christ
Anthony Torres
Alright fine
I like that it's almost a cliche, peasant boy has a heart more noble than the knights, but we quickly see that he's just like any other man based on his thoughts. Also he loses.
Except that it's not well written and doesn't seen like you spent a lot of time on it, which you have to when your story is only 2 pages long. I mean you still have typos which makes me think you haven't really read over your own story very closely.
Using italics as instead of quotations is fine, but then you can't use it for other things. On top of this, when you do use italics to emphasize certain parts (which you shouldn't be doing anyways) all I can think is, "Why is this being emphasized?"
>bluish fire, watching
doesn't need to be emphasized and it's boring imagery anyways.
>it
I suppose you're trying to offer a feeling of disgust with the word "it," but the narrator wouldn't be disgusted so if you're going to do this it should be from Henry's perspective, possibly in his inner monologue.
>terrifying,...traumatizing
okay, aside from not showing us these emotions happening to Henry, if this is the narrators voice it's breaking from what you established as the narrators tone earlier in the story.
>the hairy blackface
racist spider.
Your syntax also gets really clunky and confusing. Your last sentence which needs to be strong is marred by a random em dash thrown in. Just break your sentences up.
Nathaniel Richardson
not that user but that is shite advice, and is hardly applicable here.
Levi Brown
I love you, son.
Aaron Howard
Thanks, user. Will look over it.
Adam Flores
Hey thanks for the crit. I think you understood the poem more than you think, its not literally about a break up but it does involve separation from a beautiful thing, you've done well ! And yes the fragmentation is on purpose, I think that sort of structure appeals more to the unconscious and holds more symbolic resonance so it's my preferred. As for your poem, I like it. It feels decently clean, although some lines lkke "waterfalls of gold" or "not so bland, stuffed with deceit" feel uninspired, I like the general metaphor you've established with the wasp. I don't like the "circle of jesters" imagery because I feel like the jester archetype has been evoked ad nauseum in poetry. The poem makes a habit really of dancing aroune cliches and at times only barely escaping with a refreshing moment rather than trite. I think youve got a good sense of metaphor with you, you just need to reach for more creative language and imagery. Also the rhythm feels kinda stiff, I think you could've been more careful about keeping things fluid, lines like "a great world...stuffed with deceit" for example. Overall I think it's decent and has potential, good on you.
Parker Hernandez
Show don't tell what? What is it that is shown and not told?
Joshua Ramirez
Underwater
Person under
Cinematographer
Person taking photo
Charles Johnson
Joseph Rivera
sure go on then, mine's I'll do yours now:
Imagery is good, but my main problem is the structure of it, really not a fan of all this obsession modern poetry has with spacing out all the lines and words, but you can probably tell as my poem is very structured and typically Romantic. Can't help but fell like there's no real meaning behind the poem though, like it's just artsy for the sake of being it; there's no real substance, especially not behind the irregular spacing...
Joseph Hall
Maybe one day threads will just be pages and pages of fucking vocaroo links. Until that day though, I refuse to take any of them seriously.
Jackson Brooks
Literally the only thing in this thread to grab me, really interested and want to read more already.
Liam Morales
Bumping this thread from the brink.
Juan Bell
Sort of a long one. Had some shit happen with my dad the other day and it was doing a number on me but writing it out seemed to help.
Anyway, the more I read over this, the more I dislike it and I don't know if it's actually good or not.