[Audi0]

Im bored waiting for MLB 16 to download so why not I like writing. This is an intro btw.

I stand silently looking down the hallway I couldn't move a muscle. I was paralyzed. I couldn't comprehend what had just happened. What was that. I don't remember a thing. I stand there scratching my head, still shaking. All I can remember is a shadow of a girl, she had long hair and she was short. I didn't realize that I was gonna be late for class. "RING RING" And there goes the bell. Guess that makes it five tardys in a row.

Enjoy the cliff hanger lol. Had a good idea for that story mabye ill write it later.

[Oliver Sykes]

[struct_t]

*snip*

I can vouch. Intelligent Sin is an illiterate fuck who attained his English qualifications from a cereal box.

JOKES! Love you, bae.

I'll contribute to this if it doesn't take time away from me writing my own book.

I'll happily talk to you all about great Russian literature such as Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. Or we can get stuck into some Oscar Wilde (despite only having written one novel, it's great. His poetry is also fantastic and can influence great descriptive writing. His character and wit is also bitingly effective).

PS: No, I didn't Google these authors and corresponding book titles; I've actually read their books and have them all sitting next to me (not War & Peace though, that shit's way too verbose for me. I own the book but only really use it when I'm feeling particularly pseudo-intellectual on reddit or 4chan).

Seriously though, I'm up for this.

---

I've been looking through some the samples submitted.
They're all OK but they're not novel-proof at all. You guys use too many abrupt sentences in the past tense to illustrate the main character. If you want to give depth to your character, you don't just state things. You have to have the character evolve throughout (which is hard to do in short stories which is why most short stories tend to go for moral lessons rather than great plots). For example, Dostoevsky is often criticized for his use of puppet characters that he uses a plot device. You guys also need to learn how string relevant information into a more fluent dialogue. Stop with the abrupt statements. Don't do the generic repetitive questions. Allusions are good but don't fucking make them blatantly obvious. Subtlety is key.

EDIT: I'm not trying to come across as a cunt. However, I've read a lot of great literature and I am the epitome of /r/iamverysmart. So, you decide what to make of my criticisms.

[ZerFallen]

-snip-

You post a picture with three or four actual corrections (thanks) and then proceed to act as if your suggestions maintain a standard. No some looks aren't "needed" and some style choices may not suit you, but that doesn't mean they're wrong. This is not a grammatically heavy course, and I never claimed to be perfect.

[struct_t]

You post a picture with three or four actual corrections (thanks) and then proceed to act as if your suggestions maintain a standard. No some looks aren't "needed" and some style choices may not suit you, but that doesn't mean they're wrong. This is not a grammatically heavy course, and I never claimed to be perfect.

[Ooze]

My application is below- The only thing I used to check grammar was my own two eyes please lmk me with mistakes

John opens his laptop screen and the low dim reflects on to his face, he doesn't know what day it is nor does he care. Today wouldn't be any different for John, as his days are always the same, inside his room on his computer. His parents don't care anymore, they've never cared. He doesn't know what pushed him to this life, he always believed society pushed him away saying "We don't want you, you don't belong". Belong, John didnt belong, well not here not in this constructed place called The Universe, no, that place wasn't for John, but John was wrong he does belong, somewhere. He knows where to go to the only place that will ever understand him. When he is on his computer he isn't John the kid who no one understands, the kid who doesn't belong. Here he belongs, here he matters, and deep down thats all he ever wanted. He goes to that 10 letter url that means so much to him, where millions of others just like John go, his home, Hackforums. This is his home, when he is here is is free, all day isn't spent is his room all day is spent in an infinitive world filled with infinite knowledge. Something on his screen strikes John's eye, something new, something interesting. The user group Dawn is holding recruitment for writers, John isn't a writer but he is intrigued, he pursues. Yes, John is interested and when he wants something he is going to get it. Though John reaches a problem, what will he write about. He isn't interested or funny, no one wants to here about him, but just like before John is wrong, because John isn't like the billions of other people in the world. He is one of few apart of an elite group, what is this group you ask? Well John is apart of Dawn.

Note John isn't me just something I thought on a whim
I went for the whole Inception thing instead of all the horror stories I see.

[Ugly God]

The disciple of Yeezy Lil Yachty uid number 3063611 was simply browsing the sections of hack forums. Then it happened aroused he got as his brown beautiful gargantuan eyes laid upon a thread title advertising a recruitment for a group called Dawn only gods were accepted into. Lil Yachty was pondering staring deep into his shitty laptop he bought with money working at Mcdonalds that he saved up for. Thinking and thinking if he was good enough to even be considered to join such a fun group which had open movie nights. Fear tried to keep him from applying telling him things such as "You're a bitch you won't be accepted into such a high-quality group as Dawn your rep is barely triple digits skiddo" Lil Yachty didn't want to know what would happen to a raisin in the sun so he rushed typed up the best darn application to ever bee seen. Did Lil Yachty get in? Now it is your decision on how this story ends sorry to leave you off with such a cliff hanger.

[prada ⠀]

well fuck is this creative writing cus u know ya boy a young monster

[SIM-2908357]

Title: The first time, again.

By: Vincent Bongiovanni a.k.a Psychedelic



My reflection looks at me as I look back at it. I lose sight of reality when I think about who really stares at who. That’s crazy I’ve got to stop this way of thinking. Straightening my tie, I can feel the pressure of the next room emanating into my safe space. I’m content in my silent surroundings with no windows, no talking, no choices or decisions. I don’t want to leave but I have to. I have to function, be normal. I’m normal. Nobody’s watching me, at least, I think. “I’m safe right? I’m safe, I’m safe.” I whisper to myself. I’ve never noticed a bathroom security camera in my life. I should be fine, no, wait. My mind races then I notice sweat. I can’t sweat, not now. I skittishly dab my face with some paper towels and fix my posture. A knock on the door. I feel sick, this could go horrible. No, it won’t, you’ve got this. Am I hearing my voice in my head or someone else’s?
“Christopher? Are you okay in there? We’re all waiting on you.” A voice mumbling through the door.
“I’m go-” My voice cracks, embarrassing.
“Chris? The meeting is in five man, c’mon.”
I have to adjust myself and say it right. “I’m good, I’ll be out in a minute.” I hear footsteps. Others are gathering outside the bathroom door.
“I don’t know he just-” They’re talking about me. I can’t take this I think I’m about to explode. I burst into a stall catching my fall with a firm grasp on the rim of a toilet. I aim my face at the bowl, nothing comes out. I can’t vomit. This is not happening, I need to vomit. I’m stuck. I feel sick. I grab a pen from my back pocket and stick it down my throat. The one bagel I’ve had this morning comes up in scattered bloated pieces. I start to cry.
“Chris?” Rapid knocking ensues. “Chris? What are you doing? Christopher!?”
I yell. “I’m fine! Just wait a goddamn minute!”
Cleansing myself with faucet water. The sound of the running water. Like a stream, relaxing, flowing, cold.
“We’re coming in!” I hear them mumble to each other. Bastards! It frustrates me. This is enough, I’ve got to calm down. I whip some breaths of air, In and out of my lungs. It’s hard to breathe. I reach for the door.
“I’m fine, I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy!” Keeps playing in my head like a record skipping at 150mph. I grasp the door handle. It’s cold, freezing. Chills run throughout my body and I feel something. I quickly pull back from the handle as if burned. It’s coming, what is it? I look at my hand and my eyes catch a stain on my shirt. Blood splurges from my mouth like a faucet and I collapse. I feel pain. I focus at the floor tiles in front of me and the marble grid surrounds my vision like a perfect web. Catching me as I fall into it, the web consumes me. Everything fades. My consciousness is slipping through my fingers like a warm fluid. Comforting and peaceful yet...scary. I feel lot’s of pain. I hear muffled screaming and banging. Concerned co-workers outside the bathroom, maybe? I smell pennies, why? I shimmy myself up to the door handle. What’s real? What’s fake? Everything is faded and keeps shifting. I feel hot. I feel like I’m on fire. The handle is on fire. I see smoke billow from under the door. I must be dreaming. Muffled voices get distant. A barrage of voices whisper chanting. I open the door. A pause. A halt in time. No feeling, just darkness, but I’m aware. The only feeling is my eyelids and their weight. I push them up with my remaining strength.

I’m staring at myself for the first time, again.



I wrote this as the idea came to me and saved it. While I'd love to leave this open to interpretation I'd like to mention that this story deals with the concept of differentiating between hell and psychosis in a scenario where you're dying. Thanks for taking the time to read. Literature/creative writing is one of my passions and I hope you'll consider me for Dawn. :D

Damn that was a good read!

[wander is a multi dwc]

well fuck is this creative writing cus u know ya boy a young monster

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Said one man. His name was,

Prada.

To his front was the great sea, his earthed brethren. To his back was his supporters, who know nothing except hustle, royalty and respect.

To unearth the sea, Prada said these following words.

'yo lo so flo lo mo'

The end.

[Rivalry]

snip

Who pissed in your cereal? Let me correct your 'corrections'.

Spoiler (Click to View)

---

Anyway~

I do English Literature at university. I wrote a love sonnet. Here it is.

I breathe your name. With half-closed eyes I reach
A hand to feel your form, my fingers fumbling,
My joints awak’ning, slowly. I beseech
A taste — not yet? Forgive me please my bumbling.
You’d think that endless string of cock’rel’s cries,
At which I start awake and look for you,
Would soon compel my mind to realise
I can’t insist your company is due;
But O! how wretched time wears on before
My first sweet-bitter sip of you. Revived,
My heart beats faster, thoughts race ever more
Dynamically — through you I have survived.
I cannot overpraise this saviour mine,
For without coffee I would stay supine.

[wander is a multi dwc]

I do English Literature at university. I wrote a love sonnet. Here it is.

I breathe your name. With half-closed eyes I reach
A hand to feel your form, my fingers fumbling,
My joints awak’ning, slowly. I beseech
A taste — not yet? Forgive me please my bumbling.
You’d think that endless string of cock’rel’s cries,
At which I start awake and look for you,
Would soon compel my mind to realise
I can’t insist your company is due;
But O! how wretched time wears on before
My first sweet-bitter sip of you. Revived,
My heart beats faster, thoughts race ever more
Dynamically — through you I have survived.
I cannot overpraise this saviour mine,
For without coffee I would stay supine.

fuckboy writing a 13th century rap song

[Rivalry]

fuckboy writing a 13th century rap song

Or are rappers just weak fuckboys writing 21st century poetry?

Either way, I feel confident that Shakespeare wouldn't have got half as much pussy/coffee if he spewed Fetty Wap bars instead of writing tear-jerkingly beautiful sonnets

[wander is a multi dwc]

Or are rappers just weak fuckboys writing 21st century poetry?

Either way, I feel confident that Shakespeare wouldn't have got half as much pussy/coffee if he spewed Fetty Wap bars instead of writing tear-jerkingly beautiful sonnets

why do you have to beat a dead horse just to prove the point

O m'lady, the sun shall not forgiveth your beauty.

[Rivalry]

why do you have to beat a dead horse just to prove the point

You don't read many books, do you

fuckboiiiiiiii