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/lit/ - Literature / Fanfic / Poetry

M-my hands are w-writing on their own~!
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Lit, I want to start getting serious about writing, but I really can't write. Not well, anyway, and I know that I won't improve without getting any feedback. But when I know that I'm writing, and that I'm going to let somebody else read it my self-consciousness ruins everything. And when I write for myself, everything becomes too personal to show anybody. I feel like other people would only get to see my work at its worse.

And I say 'would' because I've never shown my writing to anybody aside from teachers. Their feedback has been mostly positive, but I have to remember that they're teachers. They can't be too honest without some parent complaining about it. I'm rambling—what I mean to say is that I feel like I've never received any real criticism before.


Practice your writing as you would an instrument. You cannot play unless you listen, and you cannot write unless you read. An ability is not born of empty inspirations.



also ask your teachers for constructive criticism, talk to them on a more one-on-one basis.
join a writing club.

also, write every day. for ever.


To build on my response:

Find a starting point. What kind of writing do you like? even better, what forms of writing are you aware of?
Start exploring the different forms of writing there are. Then explore different favorite authors / "classic"/famous pieces. see what other people are doing. Find a more populated literature/writing board (and make sure to cross-post here so we can get more activity too. or redirect us there.) Start messing around.

But most importantly, write every day.

The best thing you can do right now is customize a space/program in your computer for writing, or going out and buying yourself a sexy journal.


just because they're teachers doesn't mean you can't gauge their criticism. Its actually rather true that teachers are dealing with students who try hard to pass their assignment or whatever, and for that reason, write a good paper. By that nature, the teacher will tell many people the did a "great job!" So if you were told you did well, you probably did.

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I personally read more Graphic Novels than Books, for reasons I won't really get into, lest we start a debate about whether or not Graphic Novels are legitimate literature.

To get to the point, my problem is that I know very little about books, which ones are for me, and how to find them. Does anyone else have this problem?

If anyone is familiar with it, I did thoroughly enjoy "John Dies At The End", and I also liked the basic sci-fi I was exposed to, such as "The Martian Chronicles" and works by Kurt Vonnegut. I feel like asking /lit/ if they identify with me and might have some good suggestions for books I can find entertainment in.

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Would you like to play a game?

It's a little literary exercise I had fun with on IRC a few days ago. I thought I might bring it here.

Here's how it works. I post four random letters, and the person below me has to come up with the name of an awesome finishing attack move those letters could be an acronym of. Then they finish their post with four random letters for the next guy.

For example, if the guy above me posts the letters "TAGE", I answer:

Torrential Aurora Grasping Edges

Optionally, I can describe the move. It's like thousands of sharp, glowing ribbons flailing around.

Then I finish my post with four letters for the next poster to work with. So let's get started, shall we?

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Active Ether Tornado Rifle

holy shit wind magic bulletswarm



far atmosphere reaching teleportation




Guardian Tyrannosaurus Rex Dive




Gay King of Yore's Dicking



"World Gravitational Flux Weapon"

Don't pull the trigger while you're still on the planet.


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Hi lit; I was looking for a notebook, when I found my old yume nikki and some things I wrote at my pre-teens years. I readed them and… god. I didn't remember that dream and the things I have written… how I have written them.
Anyway, wanted to share (They are interesting and I hope someone will like them).
(Also, sorry: They were written in spanish, and I've translated them- so, is probably some things are bad translated, or don't have the same impression than in spanish).

These I'll show are the best; others aren't so good or impressive. And I'm sure I have more wandering around here, but I am too lazy to search tem. So, enjoy.
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Have you ever wondered why I inhabit in the dark light? I always wondered the why of this kind of hate to most of things around me. I'm not smart; but I am better than the overall average. They make me sick!
Sincerely, I feel sick for the form they can be manipulated, tricked and threatened. Is like their brain is bathed with eggs and the Media irradiate with ligh the semen to fertilize them with frightening ease, creating a smorgasbord mass of cancer cells.
If I had the oportunity to eliminate them all, I wouldn't; Thanks to them I am what I expect to be. But still, I would send them so goddam far…

I'm scared of the miscellaneous and squared mass; I piss in horror before the possibility of their existence in this world which I do not understand.

In the left side I am too scared to die that I'd rather be dead.


PEOPLE SEE ONLY WHAT THEY WANT TO SEE. The blinds are lucky because they see more clear than thousand of persons which use their anus as their corneas and their infected and twisted bloodshot eyes with pus and constipated phlegm infernally melted in 32th mutually different dimensions.
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Súbelas en español, coño.



Bueno, no quería hacerlo, ya que como todos acá hablan inglés (Y dudaba que alguien me pida que lo subiera en español), no me pareció necesario.
Pero, acá están. (PD: gracias por hacerme acordar de ésto; ahora veo si encuentro algún que otro de esos papeles forros que no sé dónde mierda están).

Post #1

Últimamente estuve recapacitando, y me di cuenta de que estoy aterrado. Siento como todo este proyecto de, digamos, "Sueño estúpido de adolescente" se derrumba como un himen roto.
No me siento como si tuviera esta edad, y me siento terriblemente hipócrita al tener dos caras en la vida. Dos caras inconscientes que se dividen en mente y cuerpo.
Por un lado, tengo una sonrisa afilada que nunca falta, cortando el ambiente con chistes estúpidos; una sobredosis de terror me cubre cuando llego a mi casa. ¡Dios!, es tan extraño… es como si fuera esquizofrénico, un primate esquizofrénico al cual pinchan y estudian como si fuera un experimento descartable. Y esas son nis pesadillas últimamente… me despierto de noche, traspirando, y raramente las recuerdo como vagas figuras de miedo. Estoy rodeado de miedo.
Me siento frente a una violación a conciencia cada vez que descubro que mi vida termina a los 18. Por más que me esfuerce, no puedo ni imaginar ni suponer qué mierda me va a pasar cuando llegue. Estoy tan nervioso, y tan cansado, como si llevara una cadena que yo mismo forjé… y de la cual dependo.

Nota: Tenía 12 cuando lo escribí. Es cuando empecé a tener ataques de pánico. En esa edad estaba muy asustado de mi vida, porque no sabía que me iba a pasar cuando cumpliera 18, y pensaba que lo mejor que podía hacer era suicidarme.


Post #2

Las raíces de la libertad están clavadas profundamente, como nervios intactos, en la punta más filosa de cada filamento luminoso y electrizante de lo que llamamos «cerebro».

Mi mierda es dulce ante mis ojos y negra ante mi lengua; llameante y delicada, la cual se encarga de transportarme libremente a cualquier parte de mi cuerpo, mostrándome la roja negrura de luminosidad que tiene mi piel. Y mis huesos, ¡Son terriblemente duros ante mi oído! ¿Podés escucharlos? La vibración penetra cada parte líquida de mis células, moviéndolas y masturbándolas con delicados movimientos circulares e iluminándolas con fuertes e hirientes luces rojas como sangre.

Las células comienzan a moverse a través de un líquido transparente y espeso, que contiene gérmenes violetas y rosados, como pequeños osos mutantes y genéticamente trastornados, que se encargan de lastimar y purificar el sub-ambiente con feromonas de alto calibre.
Yo estoy ahí, observando y anotando, mientras cada uno de mis extraños movimientos al estilo de un barco me arrastran hasta un torrente gigantesco de nueva información que no soy capaz de manejar. Son ondas largas y curvadas en semicírculos que dirigen las cargas masculinas y hacen que observe al enorme círculo frente a mí. Y todos los filamentos, que alzan sus inexistentes caras con expresiones terroríficas, uniéndose en un banquete ante la imagen que nos hace frente. Sí.

El cuero duro comienza a comprimirse en todos los puntos; la presión comienza a disparar gigantescas luces plateadas y pulidas que nos ciegan. El ojo está siendo masticado y digerido; y la córnea nos apuñala con su enorme presión
-¿Sabés lo que se siente ser amado? – pregunto a cada uno de mis compañeros. Pero ellos sólo me miran con odio, mientras mi piel comienza derretirse y mis ojos a llorar mi semen mezclado con mi cerebro.


Post #3

¿Alguna vez te preguntaste por qué habito en la obscura luz? Yo siempre me pregunte el porqué de esta clase de odio a la mayoría de las cosas a mi alrededor. No soy inteligente; pero supero y por mucho al promedio general. ¡Me dan asco!

Sinceramente, me enferma la forma y la facilidad con la que pueden ser manipulados y engañados. Es como si su cerebro estuviera bañado en óvulos y los medios los irradian con luz y semen para fecundarlos con espantosa facilidad, creando una masa uniforme de células cancerígenas. Si tuviera la oportunidad de eliminarlos, no lo haría; gracias a ellos soy lo que espero ser. Pero aun así los alejaría lo más que pueda.

Me aterra la masa miscelánea y cuadrada; me meo de terror ante la posibilidad de su existencia en este mundo que no entiendo

A un costado Tengo tanto miedo de morir que preferiría estar muerto.


Los ciegos tienen suerte de poder ver más claro que miles de personas que usan sus anos como las córneas y pupilas giratorias de sus infectos y retorcidos ojos inyectados en pus y flema constipada infernalmente en 32 dimensiones diferentes entre sí. Si la gente viera lo que realmente hay, la gente se suicidaría felizmente en un espantoso ritual de clamor. Tourette se sentiría orgulloso de ser anoréxico. Dios vendida a los fanáticos que no pueden ver en su ataque de eyaculador precoz epiléptico con al-zeimer.

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Do you put a lot of thought into what you're writing, or does it flow out naturally?


Kind of both at the same time. I "feel" what I'm writing. It's like thinking but with feelings. and then I just let it flow.


It depends what I'm writing. Random thoughts I scribble down in journals or notebooks I don't always put much thought into. When I'm actually trying to write a philosophical piece I'll usually put more time into considering what I want to explain or question.


Hmmm, is something hard to explain. For example, it depends in what I am writting at the moment. I mean, if I have something in mind, generally, I do 50% and 50%. I know what I should write, and, more or less thanks what I have in head, I write it as I let it flow. And, if I feel something doesn't fits, I take it out.

On the other hand, sometimes, I don't know what I am going to write, and I totally let it flow. Mostly, I like what I write in this way. I feel that it is the deep shit I have inside, and that expresses what I want to and what I feel in the moment.

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What do you all like to write on most?

I like writing in blank hardcovered books with ink marker-pens. I just love the way the pen feels on the paper, and just, turning the page, and, just, hard, covered, book. I … love books so god damned much. so much.
Typing has a nice feel too but I definitely definitely prefer writing.
Leaflets of paper used to be a favorite of mine. I have stacks inches high of leaflets. I would write on small scrap leaflets of paper. like hall passes, late slips, etc. (hahah highschool.)
It gave it such character. such an in-the-moment feel. and the moments oftentimes were linked with the scrap it was written on. haha.
it just, felt right.

I want to write with a calligraphy pen but I'll have to learn how to write top-to-bottom or something, since I'm a lefty…
clay sounds cool to write on.
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I can never focus when I type so I have a drawer full of moleskins and hardback notebooks


ohhhhhhhhhhh i am so jelly. so so jelly.

so good.

i have two hardcover "sketchbooks" but the pages are too intimidatingly large…
im gonna stick to 6"x8" and smaller ):


OP may have hypergraphia, but yeah. Scraps give me an unfinished feel, I like composition books…being able to write sideways and upside down between the already crafted lines. Fill it UP! Fill it UP! Fill it UP!


hm *googles*

i don't feel a compulsion to write but i do have a strong affinity to writing materials.

i definitely understand the completeness feel. i get that with scraps. filling the entire paper to its edges "completes" the scrap, and challenges me to make something concise enough to "complete" the scrap paper.
I miss my writing journal, though. I have a ~6x8in that i'm filling up, i'm almost halfway, on top of that 5x8in that i filled up two years ago. I have a larger book and a much larger sketchbook… but >>142
i'm trying to tackle it, though. i've made a bit of progress.


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>felt tip pen
>thick pile of loose-leaf college-ruled paper

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Ahem, don't mind me, just the founder of the /lit/ board.

I finished reading Isaac Asimov's Foundation and it was pretty awesome. Also, I'll format a sticky or something later because I like being a modfag.
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Fuck you all for not taking the hint and discussing Asimov's brilliant stories.

Writer - as a hardened sci-fi enthusiast and fanatical devotee of the man, I very much appreciate your tastes and your most recent literary endeavor.

Also, fuck you all for not having read War and Peace. Smile, fuck you for reading pop-sci. boja, fuck you for not enjoying The Bonfire of The Vanities. It's a marvelous tale of the underprivileged versus the all-too-privileged classes, not to mention an exuberant and almost disturbing depiction of life amid the financial elite. You fucking sicken me.



The next book I'm reading is Darkness at Noon. Has anyone else ever read it?


I'm reading The Martial Arts reader, and it is delightfully delightful.


read the Tao of Jeet Kune Do. It's a very good book about Bruce Lee's martial arts philosophy.



Oh! Will do, I'll read that after this, for sure.

If you haven't, you should check out Karate-do, My Way of Life, by Ginchin Funikoshi. I just finished it, and it was great. It's about and by the guy who made "Karate" a household term.

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Sofia is Sofya who is Sonya who is Sonechka.
And they use ALL FOUR names on THE SAME PAGE.
Acting as though they are different characters and never tell us the they are nicknames.

Not to mention Dunya…
Who is Avdotya
Who is Dounia
Who is Dunechka


It's all implied, yes. Part of the Russian charm, however, is the extent to which personal relationships are ultimately explored. Tolstoy and Turgenev do this as well.


It makes me cry T.T


Michael is Mike who is Mikey who is Misha.

It's not that complicated. It could be worse like Robert who is Bob who is Bill who is Rob who is Bert who is Bobby who is Robin. Look diminutives, it's not hard.


Russia just has a really unique naming system with lots of variants.


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Simple. Write the story of your life, do not names or personal information that would give you away. I'll start.
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I have always been gifted with music, ever since I could remember. I began playing jazz trumpet at the age of 6. It was at 6 years old that I realized that music is really the main driving force in my life. I began to study it, discover new genres, expand my horizons. It was not until later that I realized that there was so much more for me on the internet. At the age of 13 I became disgusted with humanity and "normal" people. They all began to look the same to me. They all clothe themselves in the same name brand robes as everyone else and thought in a "group mentality". They all regurgitated the same things everyday: "he's weird, he's a freak, he has no friends". He became blind to them, he didn't even acknowledge their existance. They were all a flock of sheep following televised media. This world pushed him to the internet. On the internet he made more interesting friends, and now lives happily.


Fuck I switched perspectives…
>Fuck it
>Too late now…


I always knew too much. That is all.


for me life feels unreal
the entire gamut of existing, it's shallow and

I feel there's something out there but it's not here
I'm not sure I want it

sometimes I look in the mirror and say "that's not my body"
"that's not me"
"what am I doing here"

"what have I been doing"
"where am I going"

"where have I been"
"where will I be"
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Suddenly, I was.
Before I knew what was going on, I did.
I can only expect that I won't be, just as suddenly.

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In this thread we will discuss the future as conceived by those brilliant minds of the past and present.

Anthony, Asimov, Ballantyne, Baxter, Bear, Brin, Clarke, Dickson, Galouye, Gibson, Hamilton, Heinlein, Mason, Niven, Reynolds…

Teleportation, time travel, faster-than-light travel, reproductive nanobots, virtual personalities, humaniform robots, communication via neutrino scattering, para-universal communication, dimension bending, interstellar internet, spontaneous regeneration, genetic manipulation…

You name it, they've wrote it. Feel free to discuss your favorite authors, concepts, stories, characters or otherwise.


Reynolds as in that fluid dynamics guy?


That's Osborne Reynolds. Also he was born before the 1900's, a bonafide scientist, and not very likely to have penned much sci-fi (a genre which was pioneered by Edgar Allan Poe, mind).


Neutrinos tick me off. Physicists will say they have practically no mass, but the fact that they have a charge means they have some mass—am I right?


But they don't have a charge. They do have a spin, however, which is their intrinsic angular momentum. Also evidence suggests they do have a mass, which is infinitesimal at best.

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