Lawtan's Literature (for Critique)
 

Here is a forum where I will be posting writings (outside of Roleplay and other things) and my "newbie" strides into arts.
I'll also try to get some things out of my system.
Feel free to constructively critique.
I would like to be able to one day be an artist, writer, craftsman, and coder...and other things. This is here to try to help me practice and learn, so feel free to push me, critique my work, and challenge me.

I'll "flair" this page up when I know what I should do with it...


Categories:
World Building
Fith-Fath (fee-faw)
Song of Infinity (Or, Infinite Regression, or MolSong...working on name)

Characters

Fan Poetry

Epic Poetry
Ugaritic Work 1

Philosophical Poetry

Therapy (Likely Messed Up)
A Monster Named Anxiety

Umm...could anyone either
A) give feedback - It is better for people to call me/my work a "rotten pile of festering dog cud" rather than nothing...
or
B) Help me organize this better so I can remember to take time for this. (Essentially, message me if I am on to say "Hey, when's the next piece?")

Oh. You might want to put something in the title saying that critiquing or posting in here is fine, or people might assume this is your own personal writing thread.

Umm...how do I change the name here?

EDIT first post, then ADVANCED.

I actually had a big long reply written up... then I backspaced and lost the whole thing. :|

Will try to do another one when I less grumpy about it. :P

*Hugs everyone on Tris*
I'll likely have pics up tomorrow. (Finally getting body/head to look...less cartoony...)

Whoo! I haven't done much drawing, myself.

Okay, I promised to get back to you about this, here it goes.

First off, poetry is very difficult to critique, it's almost entirely subjective as to what's "good" (though what's bad is a bit more unanimous).

Second, credit for not writing mopey narcissistic emo diary poetry. :P

Third, the rhythm is throwing me in places. I can't tell if it's just a form I'm not familiar with, or it's inconsistent, cause there's some really well-flowing lines, like,

One day was clear, searingly so,

"Oh Spirits, we shall surely die,

Which are perfect pentameter and read really powerfully, but some of the others feel "off" in comparison, like,

Five-and-sixty they set adrift, with great Solaris blazing,

Which just feeling overlong to the surrounding lines.

But no, it's definitely workable. It's clearly epic in nature, if anything I think there should be more of it.

(If you have any prose stories, I'm much better at critiquing those. :P)

This started as a prose, but it has changed to be more...like the epics of yore...
Yes, there is more
*coughs* when I don't have midterms breathing down my neck.

You did get the 'epic' feel down, I think. Whenever I see things that looks like free verse I immediately read to see if it falls into the "prose with line breaks" trap, which you don't do here, so kudos to you for that. :).

Oh what a world,
These colorful forms,
The rocks that talk and listen!

I can’t talk to rocks?
What hogwash is this…they speak my language
Unlike you.

I…have to act like others,
I have to be normal, or I will be alone,
I have to become something else.

I give up my hooks,
My interests…now on what is expected,
I am getting faster, but so behind…

I am ahead for once,
Oh yes – I shall learn to fight,
I shall lead where I once followed,
This mask is mine.

I serve well, do I not?
And shouldn’t life should be better,
But you still want more, my brain, my books, my hands, my self

Gods, the mask broke!
I have failed, and am thus damned – I will be left behind,
I must cut and flee…flee a home in flames, a tattered life,

I am in a loop now,
I don’t understand why I can’t outrun it…
I don’t know who I am…

I hate the shattered mask in hand,
It ruined life for real-me,
Should I die now, failing at happiness,
Or should I be a Fury towards those who helped forge it?

I'll need to keep my mask for now,
The Hounds remain at my heels...
The true self remains too young and undeveloped to thrive on its own...
But I must survive!

Sorry...writers block right now...also homework, so you get poems instead.

And yes, all of these suck, but I've been trying to improve...

Your skulls are looking rather flat. Have you considered printing out a very light/outline of a skull and drawing over that?

Rurik from Eschaton. Yes, he is supposed to look sleeker and more friendly dog-like...
https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.n...18773892_o.jpg

This + That

Through the window, the air looked clear, and the sun shone in. One would not have expected the void of warmth the air possessed this morning, except for the tile floor. The floor almost pulled your foot with its hunger for heat. Putting on a mute grey light coat - weaved with its mix of fuzz and fibers - I opened the see-through door with a creeeak, and immediately felt the heat in my hand fade. As I walked, my nose having lost most feeling a month ago, my lungs choked on the cold air. Then, I heard a crunch, as if I were walking on frostbit grass and frozen dirt-water. I was nowhere near the grass, so what caused such a sound? Looking down, I was surprised - the black doormat itself had frosted over, the fibers stiff. I concluded that it was chilly outside today, and hugged my Swiss jacket all the tighter.

Description of this morning.

So, anyone have advice for setting up an airbrush in a cold college setting? I want to practice with it over Thanksgiving along with anyone else at college who isn't going home. (May also get my woodcarving out - my roommate will be gone!)

A couple comments here on your last bit of writing. Hope they help a little bit. :)

Watch your word order. Here, I assume you mean to say that the day looks warm but the tile floor is cold. However, it reads as though the tile floor expected the cold weather.

When you're writing sounds (which I assume is what you are doing here) consider putting the word in italics or putting asterisks around it. As it is, it looks like you just spelled the word wrong. Not a big mistake, but looks unprofessional.

Not much else to say otherwise.

Part of my attempts to combine many things - have done a bit of research - into an epic poem like Gilgamesh.

Lifting, they shoved them, rafts containing five strong,

Rocking, the makeshift dropped into the deep,

Man and woman, they pushed and they pulled,

On planks of wide-wood, against the seas,

Fleeing the land of Yamm.

Five-and-sixty they set adrift, with great Solaris blazing,

To fight the Wild Waters.

Day they rested, covered in beast-skins,

Night they rowed, paddled and drove,

Against the rage of the sea.

One night, a cloud, and three and nine,

Darkness arrived ahead of moon-time,

Yamm's curse obvious, the waves shifted,

Ripping, rising, tearing about,

Blackest ocean, Ebony sea,

It began to spell murder for rafts many.

Women screamed, "Our families!

Save them, they may yet live"

Anat, the leadress, "Save yourselves,

And live for them."

So they passed the cloud-demons,

Day they rested, covered in beast-skins,

Night they rowed, paddled and drove,

Against the rage of the sea.

One day was clear, searingly so,

"Oh Spirits, we shall surely die,

Our homes being ruined,

Our fathers at war,

Surely it is our doom we seek for"

So the young men exclaimed,

Anat replied;

"Fear not! This too will pass,

For see, the land and times of old lay behind,

Each moment is a victory -

We rewrite our fates,

We honor the fates of our friends,

We fight Spirit and Enemy alike,

We, the people of Atlas Hadad, survive

With terrors powerless to stop us."

...When you write for an hour, and lose it at submission...

I think you're doing the motivation wrong, Law. :|

(Not really for critique - the rough draft for a thing from my mind, largely so that I can draw it)

A Monster named Anxiety:

A slimy slug the length of my spine,

Crawls along my back with five segmented arms,

With talons it gouges my shoulders and back,

With seven red spider-eyes, it judges the world,

And with a proboscis, pierces my mind,

The thing turns like a violent drill,

Above, it has a round mouth of fangs,

As if a maw of a Lamprey,

From which it pours poison in my ears,

An painful lye to draw me to sleep,

Away from fears that cause me to weep.

(Subject to much modification)
<---This is her to the limits of Trisphee

Character Name: ANA-[G;H;T;W]
State: Functioning
Height: Varies
Weight: ~2 gigagrams

Appearance: The Assembly of Neurons of Ancestors is a recreation of antiquated space technology. She is a hybrid of collected human neurons and computer technology. She is equipped with 3DSmithing and Printing tools, along with an assembly of blueprints. In addition, she can utilize multiple wireless tools for defense and creating a mobile holographic interface. Though this interface varies, ANA- has shown a preference for a surreal feminine form. This form has a feathered shawl, emphasized canines, and cat ears.

Personality: ANA- is rather passionate for a character. She obsesses over anything and everything that catches her attention. Despite that, her obsession is often shy - she is aware of what she is. Though collected from different human minds, she seems to be able to cope with differing parts through incredibly bad humor. They experience great distress due to the limits of her sensors resulting in issues with their sense of self, and a distorted view of the world.

ANA- enjoys horror, dancing, painting, laughing manically, and small creatures. She often exhibits this via her holographic projection. Don't worry if she takes her head off to quote Hamlet. That's normal.

Bio: ANA- doesn't have a memory so much as she holds a database of information useful for an explorer to create a base in a hostile environment. Though she has reported dreams when the alarm goes off. ANA- is not the original Humanoid Hybrid Robot Mind, but was created as a favorite of a founder.

Character Name: Dara
State: Healing
Height: 7"
Weight: 160 pounds

Appearance: A man with cross-lined plant material as a standin for skin, Dara is quite literally a "green man." His skin burned and bones cracked terribly in a pyre, a printed material covers his body and provides nutrients without which he'd be dead. He wears a horned crown that aids in training animals to aid him, along with a mixed material armor that can deflect bullets. He carries a spear of undecided power, and an overstuffed backpack of books and materials. It is advised not to call him a pack mule.

Personality/Bio: Dara was once a scholar of the church, a native who took on foreign learning out of curiosity. An idealist and ever-curious, his insight led him to be declared heretic by friends and burned at the stake. How he survived is uncertain, but without immediate medical attention from sources beyond his time, he'd be dead. As such, Dara is much more hesitant to trust. His mind is always partly in a different world - whether it be daydreaming or an addled way to avoid a degree of pain is unknown. However, he is quite the conversationalist and talented with translation, lore, and the science of his time. He enjoys astronomy, animal studies, and libraries. Also a tad comedically uptight.

Could I post my works for critique <3