Do you like the first paragraph of the novel I'm writing?

  On 10/31/2011 at 3:54 PM, futuregirlfriend said:

My fanny is a-clapping and my coin pouch is a-jostlin'. These 501s feel like a kind of persecution we haven't got a name for yet. My (upper) 10th percentile WASP brain is operating 230 lbs of American beefcake with the gear stick cranked to "strut" though sometimes slipping back into "mince" because of a technical fault that is too difficult to explain, especially to my parents. It's like I'm a test pilot for a highly experimental and extremely sexy stealth bomber, and this small town is my airshow. Catching a glimpse of myself in the Greggs shop window I can't resist running my fingers through my gorgeous mane. Thick at the crown. Thick at the temples. Hairline no more than an inch from my eyebrows. The medicine is working.

 

Clouds gathered above and I overheard people in the Greggs mention they were surprised how dark it got and say things like "Here comes the rain." I pulled the Ray Bans out of my shirt's tit-pocket and put them on. Five weeks ago I told myself that from now on my eyes weren't going to get wet for anyone. Without warning, besides the sky getting darker, water came from the sky. It struck everyone lucky enough not to be housebound really viciously like they were really close to the wave machine at the local leisure centre *tears paper out of typewriter and puts through shredder*

I dont even know what this is. I love it but i can never know it. You didnt write this and i didnt read it. It's a kind of sex that doesn't ever happen.

  On 10/31/2011 at 3:54 PM, futuregirlfriend said:

My fanny is a-clapping and my coin pouch is a-jostlin'. These 501s feel like a kind of persecution we haven't got a name for yet. My (upper) 10th percentile WASP brain is operating 230 lbs of American beefcake with the gear stick cranked to "strut" though sometimes slipping back into "mince" because of a technical fault that is too difficult to explain, especially to my parents. It's like I'm a test pilot for a highly experimental and extremely sexy stealth bomber, and this small town is my airshow. Catching a glimpse of myself in the Greggs shop window I can't resist running my fingers through my gorgeous mane. Thick at the crown. Thick at the temples. Hairline no more than an inch from my eyebrows. The medicine is working.

 

Clouds gathered above and I overheard people in the Greggs mention they were surprised how dark it got and say things like "Here comes the rain." I pulled the Ray Bans out of my shirt's tit-pocket and put them on. Five weeks ago I told myself that from now on my eyes weren't going to get wet for anyone. Without warning, besides the sky getting darker, water came from the sky. It struck everyone lucky enough not to be housebound really viciously like they were really close to the wave machine at the local leisure centre *tears paper out of typewriter and puts through shredder*

nice, actually

srsly. dig the gear stick and, lol, the wave machine.

just biked into the rain forest, my mom's waiting for me at the edge so i can't stay too long. "hey, native," i say to the native. his reply? naught but a blank stare and a singular diseased droplet soon to break free from his left nostril. i hate him. i don't understand him. rain forest?lol, i mean gas station. my mom, looking especially salacious this morning, smilingly awaits me in the parking lot. the indian clerk, inattentive to my requests, is duly hypnotized by the cosby show. my requests become demands. his insolent silence is accompanied by kenny's "hey buuuud" sonorously weaving through the air from the tv. all i want is this fucking copy of the november issue of allure. fml

so anyway,

there's a chapel on the lower level of the gas station and i haven't gone in before (why should/would i?) but since things have been rough i decided what the hell and just did it. it was only me and the clerk in there (who i guess is religious -- it is his chapel after all) and we were quiet. i did not really know how to behave, i haven't even been in a church since i was a child and don't remember what you're supposed to do but then, after i had been quiet/good manners he came up to me slowly and smiled. i didn't at first smile back b/c i thought it was part of the ceremony and didn't know what to do (should i read a verse? which one? etc) and he saw that i didn't know what to do and smiled even more. we sat together and even though we were alone (well, if you don't count G-d) we spoke in hushed tones and timbres about how i was enjoying my stay (fine, thanks), was everything to my liking? (yes, indeed), what was i up to? (don't know really, just getting my feet together or whatever), etc. we had never talked before this aside from just stuff about money and that so this was nice and he seems like a really decent person. we found that we had a friend in common (a mutual friend) and he arranged to give me her number latter that day (i hadn't talked with her in a while b/c we were out of touch).

my mom drove me to my hotel room where i ordered a meal which was delivered to my room (and it's b/c i had asked for 'room service') and was particularly occupied with this when there was a knock at my phone, which i answered, although with a mouth full. on the other side (from the other side?) was a the mutual friend. i did not at first recognize the voice, perhaps b/c it was unusually late (which was strange) and, strangely enough, she was dressed like me (exactly like me, so that, when she appeared, i was no longer clothed but she was (clothed) with my array). inviting her to join me later i felt i had duly invited her but still (and isn't this so true with people in general) i had to re-assure her three or more times that i really did want her to join with me in my later times. we parted ways (eventually, after what seemed a mini long length of time) and i returned to my meal, which had, suspiciously, been consumed during my call. i figured the neighbors or some one(s) else, must have eaten (ate) it so i wasn't too troubled, at least not at first. i showered (again) and put on a pair of clothes i recently had washed by the washing machine and put them on again. so now, i felt, i was basically ready (for what? who knows? why?) and, in accordance with this poise i called the newsmen to schedule an interview and we scheduled it for that moment at which point the interview was held (firmly, i might add). i revealed a thing or two and felt relieved afterwards, but not b/c i really felt i needed to get that stuff off my chest, more so just b/c, like, i just felt that way and stuff. so, i had to meet my friend, right? so we did that and i discovered that she not pleased with me due to something i said about her (and this was really off the cuff and it took me a while to remember it and i still don't even know if i really said it like that, certainly i didn't mean it that way and i said as much) but we didn't really hit it off after this. and so i paid for the drinks (of which there were a great many)

the end

  On 10/31/2011 at 4:42 PM, Alcofribas said:

 

there's a chapel on the lower level of the gas station and i haven't gone in before (why should/would i?) but since things have been rough i decided what the hell and just did it. it was only me and the clerk in there (who i guess is religious -- it is his chapel after all) and we were quiet. i did not really know how to behave, i haven't even been in a church since i was a child and don't remember what you're supposed to do but then, after i had been quiet/good manners he came up to me slowly and smiled. i didn't at first smile back b/c i thought it was part of the ceremony and didn't know what to do (should i read a verse? which one? etc) and he saw that i didn't know what to do and smiled even more. we sat together and even though we were alone (well, if you don't count G-d) we spoke in hushed tones and timbres about how i was enjoying my stay (fine, thanks), was everything to my liking? (yes, indeed), what was i up to? (don't know really, just getting my feet together or whatever), etc. we had never talked before this aside from just stuff about money and that so this was nice and he seems like a really decent person. we found that we had a friend in common (a mutual friend) and he arranged to give me her number latter that day (i hadn't talked with her in a while b/c we were out of touch).

i genuinely enjoyed this

We Are The Novel Writers

apparently so

send that to david lynch, Alcofribas

  On 10/31/2011 at 12:13 AM, The Pod said:

"

It's like I'm walking down some kind of diseased rainforest with the translucent blood of natives raining down on me like liquid hail. Of course it's merely raining in my quaint little hometown, I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy a pack of cigarettes. He calls me bud so I smile at him like I smile at the oncoming traffic that I flash a peace sign to as I zoom past them on my bicycle. The cuter girls smile at me while ugly hags and other losers merely grimace. They don't recognize the beauty of my soul.

"

I don't like it, it reads like a lame joke.

  On 10/31/2011 at 3:06 PM, Iain C said:

I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy a pack of cigarettes. In 3 years, I'll have his job and will have to deal with precocious little shits day in, day out.

I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy a pack of cigarettes. In 3 years, I'll have his job and will have to deal with precocious little shits day in, day out. Hell, at least I won't be a 26 year old whose lonely and pathetic life revolves around an internet message board. If that ever happened to me, I would have to commit suicide in the most slow and painful way possible. If I had any friends at all, I would make them watch me. I will find a necrophiliac (through the Internet, obviously) and pay him to violate my remains once I'm dead. This is clearly the only option left for me.

:|

Drew, if I ever meet you in person again, I will kill you.

  On 10/31/2011 at 7:20 PM, iep said:

:|

I know, I know...I was going to fix the grammatical errors in an edit but it was too late.

  On 10/31/2011 at 7:22 PM, Salvatorin said:

Drew, if I ever meet you in person again, I will kill you.

I would kill you first, you tubby little cream puff.

i told the clerk, "don't touch me" and fingered my baton. assuming certain death, he crouched down low and executed muay thai kick move to my arms. i stood breathing at him, unsure whether i had just passed a sample of todays McDouble or if i wanted to fish in the city. neither seemed secure. days seemed like minutes, and we embraced in friendly manner, as if humbled by a larger caliber. "this is where i've got him" i mouthed to the camera and then it came...

we were swept away in a torrent of nuclear fission. once my mother didn't bathe me for weeks. picking myself up from the wreckage, dripping in blood and oil, i finally started on my way home. i would end up like the clerk in 3 years, alone and strewn about the rain forest. perhaps it was luck when a really cool cop car came out of the shadows, but who am i to say. what's done is done, "what is done is done" the cop said, ashing his cigar rudely on my hat. "what can you do?" i managed to blurt out. "it is likely," he continued, "that you have suffered many years."

when i hung up, i didn't know what to say. how could she belay me. it's tool time, motherfuckers.

  On 10/31/2011 at 10:07 AM, Iain C said:

Way too many adjectives. Cut 'em out. In fact you could cut a lot out. Here's a better version.

 

I'm walking in a diseased rainforest with the blood of natives raining on me like liquid hail. It's raining in my hometown. I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy cigarettes. He calls me bud so I smile at him like I smile at the oncoming traffic I flash a peace sign to as I pass on my bicycle. The cuter girls smile at me, but the ugly hags and other losers grimace. They don't see the beauty of my soul.

 

Notice how I barely added anything, but cut a ton out. That's how you improve a first draft. There's still a lot I'd change but I tried to keep your images intact even if I don't like them - this is just technical advice.

 

Didn't see Troon's edit. Good show. But there's no excuse for using the word "bothersome" anywhere. This is the year 2011.

Good one. But I prefer Troon's version. The text is in first person, so any psychological idiosyncrasies of the "I" should be represented. The "I" in your version lacks any inner turmoil, if you catch my drift. The style should reflect the psychology of the main character.

  On 10/31/2011 at 7:47 PM, goDel said:

  On 10/31/2011 at 10:07 AM, Iain C said:

Way too many adjectives. Cut 'em out. In fact you could cut a lot out. Here's a better version.

 

I'm walking in a diseased rainforest with the blood of natives raining on me like liquid hail. It's raining in my hometown. I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy cigarettes. He calls me bud so I smile at him like I smile at the oncoming traffic I flash a peace sign to as I pass on my bicycle. The cuter girls smile at me, but the ugly hags and other losers grimace. They don't see the beauty of my soul.

 

Notice how I barely added anything, but cut a ton out. That's how you improve a first draft. There's still a lot I'd change but I tried to keep your images intact even if I don't like them - this is just technical advice.

 

Didn't see Troon's edit. Good show. But there's no excuse for using the word "bothersome" anywhere. This is the year 2011.

Good one. But I prefer Troon's version. The text is in first person, so any psychological idiosyncrasies of the "I" should be represented. The "I" in your version lacks any inner turmoil, if you catch my drift. The style should reflect the psychology of the main character.

Yeah, idiot.

  On 10/31/2011 at 3:54 PM, futuregirlfriend said:

My fanny is a-clapping and my coin pouch is a-jostlin'. These 501s feel like a kind of persecution we haven't got a name for yet. My (upper) 10th percentile WASP brain is operating 230 lbs of American beefcake with the gear stick cranked to "strut" though sometimes slipping back into "mince" because of a technical fault that is too difficult to explain, especially to my parents. It's like I'm a test pilot for a highly experimental and extremely sexy stealth bomber, and this small town is my airshow. Catching a glimpse of myself in the Greggs shop window I can't resist running my fingers through my gorgeous mane. Thick at the crown. Thick at the temples. Hairline no more than an inch from my eyebrows. The medicine is working.

 

Clouds gathered above and I overheard people in the Greggs mention they were surprised how dark it got and say things like "Here comes the rain." I pulled the Ray Bans out of my shirt's tit-pocket and put them on. Five weeks ago I told myself that from now on my eyes weren't going to get wet for anyone. Without warning, besides the sky getting darker, water came from the sky. It struck everyone lucky enough not to be housebound really viciously like they were really close to the wave machine at the local leisure centre *tears paper out of typewriter and puts through shredder*

multi-lol

  On 10/31/2011 at 7:12 PM, The Pod said:

  On 10/31/2011 at 3:06 PM, Iain C said:

I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy a pack of cigarettes. In 3 years, I'll have his job and will have to deal with precocious little shits day in, day out.

 

 

I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy a pack of cigarettes. In 3 years, I'll have his job and will have to deal with precocious little shits day in, day out. Hell, at least I won't be a 26 year old whose lonely and pathetic life revolves around an internet message board. If that ever happened to me, I would have to commit suicide in the most slow and painful way possible. If I had any friends at all, I would make them watch me. I will find a necrophiliac (through the Internet, obviously) and pay him to violate my remains once I'm dead. This is clearly the only option left for me.

seriously the pod, have you ever written a short story ?

because if you think having a good style is the only thing required in making a good novel, then maybe you should try writing a short story.

  On 10/31/2011 at 12:13 AM, The Pod said:

"

It's like I'm walking down some kind of diseased rainforest with the translucent blood of natives raining down on me like liquid hail. Of course it's merely raining in my quaint little hometown, I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy a pack of cigarettes. He calls me bud so I smile at him like I smile at the oncoming traffic that I flash a peace sign to as I zoom past them on my bicycle. The cuter girls smile at me while ugly hags and other losers merely grimace. They don't recognize the beauty of my soul.

"

riverrun, past Eve and Adams, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Circle K gas station, Castle & Environs. Here, like cumgobs at a transgressive gangbang, thick, immense dollups of rain wet my face and trickle down reaganomically, blessing my tattered clothes whilst spreading damp across my trousers, and--embarrassingly--revealing my tremendous (for me) erection. I enter the gas station, and greet Eloudius Fastbender, clerk and local folk hero: a man of immense stature who, according to legend, was possessed of the largest member this side of West Hollywood. I feel my anal sphincter relax and contract in waves of anticipation. He calls me "bud" and I cannot even begin to hide my excitement at his suggestion of familiarity; and although damp already, he must certainly see that new, exquisitely opalescent wet-on-went that bubbles through my pant fabric. Can he smell the faint smell of putrefaction that follows my every orgasm? The ugly hag following me to the counter surely does; she grimaces as I sully myself, failing to understand that this degradation shall be the foil that enhances the beauty of my soul. I wink to her, and, smiling coyly at Eloudius, I remove the fresh clothing I'd concealed in my comically oversized fanny pack. I put on my robe and wizard hat. "Sup," says Eloudius.

YES

"liquid hail"?

I don't like the first paragraph of the novel you are writing.

  On 10/31/2011 at 2:49 PM, BCM said:

So I go to the gas station to buy cigarettes.

 

The End.

I bought a packet of fags from the petrol station.

That's it.

  On 10/31/2011 at 3:25 PM, keltoi said:

blah blah blah beauty of my soul.

Vintage Ian Brown.

  On 11/1/2011 at 1:21 AM, Iain C said:

  On 10/31/2011 at 7:12 PM, The Pod said:

  On 10/31/2011 at 3:06 PM, Iain C said:

I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy a pack of cigarettes. In 3 years, I'll have his job and will have to deal with precocious little shits day in, day out.

 

 

I stop in the gas station to harass the clerk and buy a pack of cigarettes. In 3 years, I'll have his job and will have to deal with precocious little shits day in, day out. Hell, at least I won't be a 26 year old whose lonely and pathetic life revolves around an internet message board. If that ever happened to me, I would have to commit suicide in the most slow and painful way possible. If I had any friends at all, I would make them watch me. I will find a necrophiliac (through the Internet, obviously) and pay him to violate my remains once I'm dead. This is clearly the only option left for me.

 

Because you're a chronic masturbator? And ugly, and stupid? You smell like shit, fuck you.