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Old 10-07-2006, 09:48 PM #1
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Looking for criticism, my philosophy/fiction story.

I had to write a story for english that was philosophical, but also a fiction story. The first page of it is what I turned in for english, but I was enjoying writing it so much I just kept writing it. It is pretty long right now, about 5000 words, but this is really the first time I've written a story this long, so I need help on it, and my friends are too damn stupid to understand it at all. The story is roughing based on themes of existentialism, but not restricted to it. I will say this right now about the story so it doesn't seem so gloom and doom, at the end the character is turning around, and realizing that he can control his happiness and it is up to his own choices, it will most likely end with him being happy, having an understanding of life that is acceptable to him, and realizing that his life is solely based on his unrestricted choices.

No tl:dr. It is long, if you don't want to read it, don't, if no one reads it, oh well. I really really appreciate anything you guys have to say about it though.

The minutes tick by. I don't understand it all, my life, my feelings, my emotions, even these simple objects around me. I touch this desk and I don't understand it. What am I really touching? I write these stories for a reason I don't understand. I go through life trying to understand when I really wish I could accept not understanding anything. This spec of dust amazes me, why though, I can't comprehend. Music plays in my ears that pleases my emotions, but why do sound waves please me so much. Why can sound waves make me feel or act different? As I stand up from my chair and look around me, it all amazes me, these walls, these lights, how everything works so seamlessly. We understand the world around us, but lack so much knowledge of ourselves it frustrates me. As I walk down these cold streets rain knocks on my body one by one, every drop I accept and can feel. The way my life feels is just like this rain. Most people would just accept every drop, but I feel every drop on me. Sometimes it frightens me to think of it, how everything in this world is, how the rain falls, how the earth moves, it scares me. These concrete sidewalks are motionless, they are nothing to me, but why should they be, they are just sidewalks, why am I even thinking of them? I keep walking to get to the general store, as I walk I see children playing, I see people laughing, I see the beauty of nature, the beauty of life. Why is it that I can see the beauty of life but not experience it?
The general store is where I must go to drown my emotions, I must get these drugs to suppress my mind. I have a mutual relationship with the drug man, he gives me what I want, and I give him money for the drugs plus extra something for him. The general store is full of people that want acceptance, want to rid themselves of loneliness, but they can't find it. With my orange bottle in my pocket I grab the door and push it open and the air hits me. I see a strange man that people call Den, he is a young man but his face looks aged through the pains of life, through this angst. Den and myself nod, signaling our equal emotional distress. We both feel empty, but we can't make each other feel fulfilled. I take a different path home, I can't stand seeing beauty of life, seeing the happiness of children, wishing I could have that love for life, have that acceptance.
I walk down an alley that is colder then the air outside. The water resides in the center of the alley so I walk on the side. I see a worm laying in a puddle of water, I wonder if he has the same feelings about life as myself. A cat is standing near a garage, the cat is ugly. It has scratchy fur, it looks out of place. It wishes it could be the cat that sits infront of the fire, with warm milk and cat food whenever it wishes. It comes to me that we are all fighting for the same thing, we are all fighting for happiness. Why is it harder for some of us to find it then others? Why do we turn to things to be catalysts for our happiness? My life right now is like this alley, the paint is chipping from all the garages to reveal the nakedness underneath, the wood of the garage. I touch the paint and chip off a piece, I sometimes wish I could do this more easily with my life, peel back this skin, take it off and live outside myself.
I can see my house now from the street. I walk to my front door and open it. I don't bother locking the doors anymore, it just seems to me that if we can't trust other people, can we even trust ourselves, after all, we are just like them. My house is empty, it lacks character, it lacks a soul. My house reflects myself. I have furniture I got second hand that has the aged appearance of an old person wanting to die. I put myself in my torn, plaid armchair. I stand up though and go to the kitchen for water. I turn the faucet on and the water comes out, in a smooth, slow stream and I fill up an old jelly jar with the water. I go back to my chair and open up the bottle of pills. I wish I didn't have to take these to be happy, but some people are blessed with happiness, and some aren't, I am in the aren't category. The pills taste bitter, but what in life isn't bitter. I sit there and stare at the wall. It is interesting to believe that I have faith in this wall, this old, deteriorating, dry wall. The rush of the pills starts to take affect, my life is changing before my eyes, how great it feels to be alive. As the feeling of euphoria rushes over my body, I can't help to wonder, if something as tiny as these bitter pills can make this feeling, then why can't I make it myself?
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Old 10-07-2006, 09:49 PM #2
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As I wake up from this drug induced state, life hits me hard. I wonder why I do this, take these pills for those feelings? I know exactly why though, it masks my loneliness, my own unhappiness with life. As I sit in my chair I ponder my existence. I look at the fibers that are being worn to nothing from years of use, and I wonder what makes me better then those fibers. We are both just carbon atoms, we are both insignificant. I stand up and feel my legs, I feel the control I have over my body. I can control my legs, why can't I control my emotions? I walked to my front door and step outside. I look at this desolate world. What looks like happiness is despair to me. I notice the family across the street sitting on their couch together watching television. How I long for that companionship, how I long for that acceptance of others. I look at the street light and see bugs flying near it. I think I am like one of those bugs, I get close to the light, then the street light turns off in the morning and I am lost. I can't stand anymore, my own existence scares me, my own loneliness scares me. I sit down on the cold concrete steps, I touch my old, rusted, iron railing on the way down, it is so cold.
I sit on the steps, cold, frustrated, and confused. I see a black man pedaling his bike down the street away from me. He doesn't recognize me, he doesn't want to recognize me, we are strangers. I want to yell to him, I want to yell please sir help me. Help me get away from my own existence, take me away from this pain of loneliness. I want to cry but my body won't let me. I wonder why my body won't cry? I wonder if this is acceptance. I wonder if I am accepting my fate, how I wish I didn't have to accept this lonely fate. I walk back inside and find my pills in the kitchen. I take out my mirror and razor. I crush six of the pills up and inhale them through my nose. It hits me like a ton of bricks, and I fall over to the floor, when I wake up I think to myself, hopefully this pain will be gone. Hopefully this time the drugs will really get rid of the loneliness, the unhappiness, but in reality, I know it will never happen.



I wake up early in the morning hot from the sun shining through my window. I wonder how I got into my bed. I wonder what even happened last night, I can't recall anything. I look at the sun and it disgusts me. The sun reminds me of my life. I wonder to myself how people just can look at their windows and love the sun. Love the light of day. I open my window, the cold air of October makes me feel alive. This feeling is one I wish I could recreate without pills. The bitter air bites my soul and refreshes it. It makes me feel great. I get out of my old, small bed. I look at my walls, the dirt is more evident then ever. The color used to be white, now it’s a grayish color. I walk outside in the same clothes from the previous day. They are all the same to me. I stand once again on my porch, and the feeling of the night previous comes over me. I feel like I am about to fall over. I remember now what I thought. How afraid I was of my own existence, how I wanted help, but the only help I could find was in the pills. How I wished I could yell out to the man on the bike for help, for help from the despair.
I walked back inside, my body was hungry. What makes my body think it can control me? Or is it what makes my mind think it can control my body? Our mind tells us everything to do, yet we can control it. So if that is true, are we really the ones controlling our negative emotions? I look inside my vintage refrigerator, it lacks everything my life lacks. It seems that everything in my life is empty, including my refrigerator. I walk outside again to go to the general store to get something to feed the emptiness my stomach feels. How I wish though I could go to the general store and get something to feed the emptiness my mind feels. Maybe the pills I get are the food my mind needs to feel full? The walk is like every other walk to the general store. It is right down the road from my house, but I need to walk through the valley of suburban happiness to get there. I see all these people on my way there. I see a man watering the flowers in a bath robe and he waves to me. Intrigued by this I wave back, afraid of the consequences. I keep walking and closer to the store I see children outside playing before school, they stare at me blankly. They looked happy before I came near, now they look confused. Maybe everyone in this world is lonely, lost, confused, afraid, and alienated, it is just how we accept our fate
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Old 10-07-2006, 09:50 PM #3
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that makes our outward expressions appear to others? I get to the store, I nod at Den outside the store. He is laying against the brick wall of the store, with an empty whiskey bottle next to him. An empty bottle of mind food. We all enjoy different foods, and we all enjoy different forms of mental food, for Den it is his whiskey, for myself, it is my pills. The store just opened when I arrived. I stared at the open sign for a few seconds. I kept thinking to myself, what do those four things really mean? I mean in all honesty, language is a powerful tool, but what is it? It is nothing but ink put together in a certain way. Language is all subjective, to me it means nothing. The sign that says open means nothing to me anymore. I accepted my entire life that it meant something was open, but now I am looking at the sign thinking that it means nothing at all. I am inside the general store, and I peer at the milk refrigerator. I walk over to it and open the door, the cold air rushes inside me, it is stale, fake, different then the cold morning air. I touch a bottle of milk, it freezes my hand on its cold handle. I take the milk out and walk to the food isle. I see a poor man looking at the food, from the outside window. I ignore him. I don’t know why I ignore him, I am not better then him. What if he is happy with his life? Does that make me the poor man? I get some bread and peanut butter. I walk to the cashier, she is old, her life is near its end but she looks happy.
“That will be 3.49 sir.” She says to me in a happy voice
“Are you happy?” I say to her, what came over me to say this I don’t know.
“What do you mean by that? Do I look sad?”
“No, you look happy, that is what intrigues me.”
The old woman, probably thirty to forty years my senior stares blankly at me.
“Sir, I have learned a few things in this life, happiness is subjective, happiness is a matter of choice, if you choose happiness, you will find it coming to you much easier then ever before.”
I paid her, thanked her, and walked out of the store. I see Den again, we nod. I wonder if Den has ever felt happiness. I wonder if what that woman said is true. Is happiness really a choice? Do I choose happiness or do I find happiness? From what I see in Den’s eyes he doesn’t look happy, but maybe he really is happy? Maybe our outward expression doesn’t always show who we truly are?
I walk back home, people have left for work and the children have taken the bus to school. These parts of the days are lonely. I have never had a job; I have been a writer since I have been young. Writers are lonely though, I write to fill a void in my life. I wish I could find the void though that I fill with writing, I wish I could. I walk inside and put the bread and peanut butter on the counter, I gently put the milk in the refrigerator. I am not hungry anymore. What happened to the hungriness in my body though? Did my mind accept the hunger? Why can’t my mind accept this loneliness and just allow me to live my life?
My phone rings, something that rarely happens, sometimes I forget even what that ring sounds like. I grab my old, generic phone and put the speaker to my ear.
“This is a recording for the Naperville Public Library system, the book Crime and Punishment is overdue, you have overdue fees of three dollars and twenty five cents, you can return and pay for any fines at our three locations. Thank you and have a nice day.”
Interesting, I know I returned that book a few weeks ago, I remember it so well because dropping that book into the return bin, just made me feel alienated from something. I also remember it quite well because of the pushy librarian I talked to. I guess I will have to go down to the library and solve this, at least it will give me something to do. Why do we do all these pointless things in our lives though, it just seems like I am wasting my time going to the library. We just want to do something to suppress our loneliness. We search for all kinds of mediums to get rid of these feelings, how I wish that I could instead just love these feelings, and just live my life.
The library is a long walk, so I choose to take my car, which I am not a big fan of doing, but I do it anyways. I walk into my single car garage and get behind the wheel of my old capri classic. I bought this car a few years ago from an old man that had died. I rarely drive, only when I have to. I just don't like it. It seems like when we drive places we confine ourselves to our car, when we walk places
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Old 10-07-2006, 09:51 PM #4
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we get to experience everything without metal surrounding us on all sides. I get into the old car that still smells like the old man that used to drive it. I still think about that old man a lot. He lived a few doors down from me. He only had one old friend, otherwise his entire family was dead. He got coffee every morning with that man, they had companionship. They both masked their loneliness with each others presents. I wish though I could at least have that, something to mask these feelings. I feel like one day I will be like him though. Most of my family lives in New Jersey. My mother died when I was only four years old. A man abducted her, raped and killed her. He left her body in woods near my house. This is when we lived in Pennsylvania. We lived in a small town of about 1000 people. It shocked so many people. My family mainly moved north to New Jersey or to Illinois. My father, grandmother, and myself moved to Illinois, to a quiet suburb outside of Chicago. My mothers death still gives me pain. I remember the night she was taken away, I was with her. We were walking down a dirt road home from the movies and a car pulled up next to us. The car was faded yellow, that color still scares me. Two men jumped out, one grabbed my mother and the other went for me. I ran though, I got away, but my mother couldn't. I heard her scream and turned around to see a knife in her side. I almost fell over from my mental stabbing. I kept running though. I still wonder to this day why I got away and my mother didn't. I wonder why I couldn't go back and help her. I wonder about that day, I don't even wonder about anything, I just reminisce. I learned later that my mother was having an affair with the man that killed her, when she wanted to get away from it, it made him angry, so he killed her.
I had a very difficult childhood. My father was an alcoholic and it made me grow up very fast. I was matured faster then most kids my age. It made me never really fit in, while most kids wanted to goof around with friends, play baseball, I always found this childish. I spent most of my time reading and writing. My fathers alcoholism continued to get worse though. When I first entered high school is when I first started to become afraid of life. I had grown up, reality had hit me like a ton of bricks. I became depressed, I was scared of going home. My fathers alcoholism finally caught up to him though, driving home drunk one night he crashed into a young couple, killing the newly married couple and himself. I had very few offers or options. I really didn't have much family, I only had my grandmother with me in Illinois. I lived with her until I was eighteen and I joined the military, looking for a structure in my life, something I had never had. I went through basic training until the United States got involved in the Vietnam War. It changed me, it made me notice the details of life, it made me feel alone in the world. It made me see hate, it made me see pain. I finally got discharged from the military when I was twenty four after I broke my leg, they just discharged me all together. I had never felt so free. The military was suppose to give me structure, but it just destroyed me. I returned to the real world, I had little money, I was uneducated, and I had nothing. My grandmother died shortly after I got out of the military, I live in her house now. I still remember the days of my Vietnam experience, seeing other men kill each other over nothing. We are all men, and we can't get along, it disgusted me, it made me hate humans.
The car started up, barely, but it got going. I backed it out of the driveway into the street. The library wasn't far, only a few minutes away by car. The library is a cold building, it is a building of people consumed in other lives, consumed in words, consumed in stories of others. The library is a place to me of loneliness, I felt at home. I went to the front desk and explained my situation to the librarian. She didn't have any record of a fine and the computer said that the book was in the system. Strange indeed, I wonder though, why did this happen? As I was walking out of the library I saw an old man reading. I glanced at him.
“Hello there!” he said to me enthusiastically.
“Who are you?” I said, with complete lack of friendliness.
“Sometimes it is the people in life that we don't know that teach us about ourselves, that teach us more about life then we could ever imagine.”
I noticed the book he was reading, Crime and Punishment.
“Why are you reading that book?” I said, hurried.
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Old 10-07-2006, 09:52 PM #5
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“Because I saw you reading it.”
It dawned on me who this way, it was the black man that was riding the bike the night of my break down. Did he feel my cries of help? Did he sense me continued angst for life? When did he see my reading that book?
“But, bu...”
“No need to ask questions, sometimes when we ask questions, we get farther away from the answers. Socrates said the unexamined life isn't worth living. I agree with him, but sometimes, we examine our lives incorrectly.”
I didn't even look at him again, I briskly, almost running, left the library. I was afraid of this man, was he stalking me? Why would anyone stalk me? Who am I? I shoved the keys into the half rusted ignition, the car started and I flew out of the parking lot. When I got home I was sure that what I saw wasn't a man, it was nothing but my mind, controlling me. Maybe it was my mind telling me something, maybe finally my mind is on my side? I went to the kitchen and took some pills and went to my chair. I kept questioning myself; I kept wondering who the man was. I thought about what he said, and I stopped asking questions, I looked out the window at the street light, I landed on the light.



Alone again, this feeling sickens me. I sit here, searching for something, longing for something. It bothers the hell out of me, and I can’t understand. What am I searching for? What am I looking for? What do I need to take away this uncertainty, this anxiety. I feel as though no matter what I do, to mask it, what activity I do when I feel this way, it is still there. I just feel empty inside. It is like I am looking for the keys to my car, when they aren’t lost. It is like looking for treasure without a map. I read one of my books, but it only came back to me. I wonder though, is pushing away this feeling, with activities the right idea? Maybe I need to face this, face what I am searching for. Say to my mind, what the hell do you want me to find, why the hell do you continue to make me lonely, empty, and depressed? I walked over to my desk and sat down. I ran my hand along the wood grain. I dropped my head onto the desk and just closed my eyes. I sat like that for a while. I don’t know why though. I didn’t think at all, I didn’t question anything, I didn’t want to move. My mind was blank, but I enjoyed the feeling, the feeling of nothingness. Was this the feeling of completion? Is a feeling of nothingness the same thing as a feeling of completion? I lifted my head up and the world returned to me. Why is it that I can remove myself from my pains to only go back to them? I looked back down at the wood grain. It looked so random, the wood spiraling in different directions. Really is it that random? All of those grains fit together perfectly, perfectly to make a piece of wood. I think I need to fit the grains of my life together. That is what I am searching for I think. I think I am searching for the pieces of my life, the puzzle of my life, the grains of my life. I need to fit them together. Maybe though, I have all the pieces, and it is just a matter of fitting them together? Maybe I am not searching for anything, I am looking for an answer to this puzzle. I just to need solve this puzzle, what if though, this puzzle can’t be solved, that is the ultimate ploy of life? I am scared that I will never figure my life out, look at me now, I have had forty nine goddamn years to understand life, and I am farther from it then I have ever been. More then that though, I believe I am understanding it more then ever. I understand life more then I ever have, this understanding though, makes me farther from my answers. It is a riddle. The more we understand in life the farther we get from the answers. The more we question, the more questions we encounter, the more answers we seek. The more answers we seek, the more desperate our life feels, the more desperate our life feels, the more alone we feel, the more alone we feel, the less we feel like we understand life, and we are back to the beginning.
I needed to get away from life. I felt as though, I understand that I am capable of changing my life, changing these feelings. Maybe though I still don’t understand whether to embrace my feelings or push them away. On one hand, if I embrace them, what am I really doing? The only thing I am doing is
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Old 10-07-2006, 09:53 PM #6
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accepting a lonely fate. The positive though is that if I accept this fate, will I not feel lonely anymore, will I just be there, when I say that I mean, just be in existence. If I push away my emotions of loneliness, anxiety, and fear, am I really getting rid of them? I think I am really just covering them up, I think this emotions might always be with me, I think they are with every human. Every human experiences the exact same emotions, it is just a matter of the degree of them. How I wish I wouldn’t even need to think of this anymore, how I wish I could just get away. I look for my car keys, even though I know exactly where they are, right next to the door leading out to the garage. Look at me, I am looking for something that I already know where it is, how pathetic. I get my keys and open the door to my car, how desperate my car looks, how lonely.
I click the keys into the ignition, taking in every step of the process. I open the garage door and back out. I am driving somewhere, I don’t know where though. I get on a large road by my house, it is around 11 pm so there really isn’t any traffic. I put my foot to the accelerator and just go. My speed is increasing, well past the speed limit, the Capri is barely holding onto my hate for life, my foot is what I want to do with my life, press it into high gear and get the hell out. The car I think can’t go any faster, things are rattling but I don’t care. I speed through a red stop light, my life is on green and nothing is stopping me. BOOM! One of my tires exploded. My car spinning out of control, with no regard for anything or anyone, the car rolls over and into the side of the road. For some reason though, I feel at peace. I feel uninjured, whether I want to be alive or dead I do not know. The car is on its roof, I pull the door handle and kick the door open. I crawl out and just stare out. I stare out into the huge open field, I feel at ease. I don’t care about the car anymore, I will just leave it there. Actually I decide, I will burn it, I take off my shirt, then take off my undershirt and put my shirt back on. I stick it in the gas tank and take out my lighter. I light the t-shirt on fire and walk back. After a few minutes of burning the car bursts into flames. I stand there watching it for awhile, and I take the long walk home. My walk home is silent, desolate. I am not thinking on the walk home, my mind is clear, my mind is free. I get to my house after walking for around forty-five minutes. I look at the street light, the bugs are flying near it with only a select few landing on the light. I wonder, am I on the light?


An old friend called me today, her name is Netsirk, very peculiar name. I think she is from Eastern European descent. I don't know how she got my number. We used to be good friends when I worked for the Sun, the local newspaper. I was an editor and she was a photographer. She was really the only woman I have ever loved. We dated for around 3 years, right before I was going to ask her to marry me, she moved to California to be with her sick mother. That was twenty or so years ago and I haven't heard from her until today. We planned to go out to dinner, but she said she will call me later tonight to tell me exactly when we should meet up. This was very interesting. I haven't seen this girl for close to twenty years, and out of the blue she wants to go to dinner. It is around four o'clock right now, the most boring part of the day. I have been feeling better lately. Crashing my car freed me I think. When that I was spinning and rolling, it seemed like all the spinning was my life, it was my life and how it has been for the past 15 or so years. Just a life with no direction, spinning out of control. When I lit the car on fire though, it was like, that part of my life is over, the car is still, my life is still. I sit here waiting for Netsirk's call, bored. I sit down in my old chair and fall asleep.
I am walking on a plain of blackness, the ground is black, as if nothing is below it, but I keep walking. I look all around me and see nothing for as far as I can see, except I see some kind of sign. One of those old looking signs on a wood post. I walk towards it but I don't think I am walking. The sign keeps getting farther away. I give up trying to get to the sign and look around some more but see nothing. I feel trapped, but at the same time, I feel free. I feel trapped that I can't go anywhere, and everything is nothing. I feel free though that nothing is stopping me, nothing is restricting me. It seems like I should feel alone, feel afraid, but I don't. In this feeling of nothingness, I feel unrestricted, I feel like I can accomplish anything. I realize that what I choice in this world is my choice only, nothing controls me.
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Old 10-08-2006, 12:29 AM #7
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Quote:
I do this. I do that. I feel so dark and alone. Nobody loves me. I go here.
I didn't like it. Very emo, it seemed like you were trying too hard. There's about a billion 'I's in it. You basically wandered aimlessly from nothing to nowhere, throwing in some nonsense about drugs and happiness. I found nothing profound in the entire thing. Quite frankly, you should concentrate more on a cohesive plot and not merely an unemotional monoblog.

Seemed like you watched 'Fight Club' and tried to duplicate that level of Nietzschean philosophy (car crash frees your mind? come on.)

[/harsh reality]

Edit: why is this in Politics?
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Old 10-08-2006, 01:20 AM #8
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Same basic remarks as Agent Dowell but with some pointers.

When writing a short story like this, you really do need a plot as much as you need a charcter. Your character's philosophy (or that of the work) should be a theme - a way they approach a problem. Or perhaps their philosophical leanings create problems in and of themselves. There seems to be no real conflict in your work, even at the conflict versus self level which is going to be vital in a philosophical short story. Given that this work was supposed to be existental, the conflict against the self should be present in a major way, if not the main conflict. Also, try not to use cliche's - the bit about the car crash was especially sour to me because It was used in a context that doesn't make any sense. Why does the car crash set you free after all? If you're looking for freedom from life you can use less famous means to convery the same thing (for example, a trip down a tall building without the use of stairs or elevators).

In the end, the character should end up different than at the beginning. Basically the character stayed the same throughout his experience. In a philosphical short story, the end result should be at the very least acceptance of what has happened.
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Old 10-08-2006, 08:12 AM #9
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Quote:
Originally Posted by tonysk83
I realize that what I choice in this world is my choice only, nothing controls me.
Notwithstanding the typo, is this supposed to be a profound statement?

I'll be honest with you. Your short story is completely vapid and self indulgent. I really had to struggle to finish it, sort of like trying to swim through a lake filled with diarrhea. By the middle of the story, I was just hoping you'd kill yourself so I wouldn't have to read any more. Finally, anyone who would own and drive a Mercury Capri, probably deserves to die in a fiery car crash.
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Old 10-08-2006, 10:35 AM #10
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Thanks for the remarks guys,

I am not finished with it, and by the end of it, he will have changed, he will be happy and accept his life. The car crash thing, I was thinking of getting rid of, I personally didn't like it that much. I purposely put I in there a lot, it is suppose to signify being alone in the world, that even though we are with other people, we are ultimately alone.

It is suppose to be depressing at the beginning, but by the end I hope to make the character happy, not just happy like good stuff happens to him, but happy in a sense that he doesn't need superficial things like the others around him to be happy.

As for the conflict, the conflict in the story is his feelings of loneliness and unhappiness.

It is suppose to kind of be like if you read the beginning of it an didn't really understand existentialism, that is what you would get out of the philosophy of it, but by the end he will start to understand life as an existentialist sees it and be happy with his life.

Car crash scene though I think gets the X though.

Thanks a lot for reading it guys, you added good points that I need to work on.
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Old 10-08-2006, 02:56 PM #11
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This is why I despise existentialism.
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Old 10-08-2006, 03:28 PM #12
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This is why I despise existentialism.
Hey now, can't hate on Kierkegaard. I'm no existentialist by any means, but he's a fun guy to read.
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Old 10-08-2006, 09:47 PM #13
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you need less I's because you need to write your opinion as a the only way to do things people don't just say "hey thats his opeion yah for him" no there like "why should i care for what he thinks" it's not the way it's supposed to be bu thats how it is.
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Old 10-09-2006, 12:02 AM #14
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Quote:
Originally Posted by scumquat1
This is why I despise existentialism.
If you read what I wrote in my last post, you will see I am trying to get the point across that he is acting right now like a lot of people percieve existentialism. If you would read a little more about it, you'd realize everything in this story so far, isn't very existentialist at all, since he doesn't really understand it.
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Old 10-09-2006, 02:08 AM #15
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Quote:
Originally Posted by tonysk83
Thanks for the remarks guys,

I am not finished with it, and by the end of it, he will have changed, he will be happy and accept his life. The car crash thing, I was thinking of getting rid of, I personally didn't like it that much. I purposely put I in there a lot, it is suppose to signify being alone in the world, that even though we are with other people, we are ultimately alone.
Writing from the first person in this manner is WAY too self-indulgent. I would recommend either omniscient third person or more diverse sentance structure, perhaps venture outside of the characters direct thought process once in awhile.
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It is suppose to be depressing at the beginning, but by the end I hope to make the character happy, not just happy like good stuff happens to him, but happy in a sense that he doesn't need superficial things like the others around him to be happy.
It's not depressing, it's boring. Community and society are not superficial, materialism is superficial. You need a better way of conveying the idea of happiness, I suggest that a good starting point would be thinking about how you would define happiness.
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As for the conflict, the conflict in the story is his feelings of loneliness and unhappiness.
Snoozer.
Quote:
It is suppose to kind of be like if you read the beginning of it an didn't really understand existentialism, that is what you would get out of the philosophy of it, but by the end he will start to understand life as an existentialist sees it and be happy with his life.
I don't see this happening at all, but good luck.
Quote:
Car crash scene though I think gets the X though.

Thanks a lot for reading it guys, you added good points that I need to work on.
Good idea.
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Old 10-09-2006, 03:07 AM #16
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Old 10-09-2006, 03:08 AM #17
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Pretty obvious why the guys not happy - no family, no job, no responsibility, no self control, only thinking about himself, using drugs, randomly blowing up his car, and driving a Capri in the first place. The more you only think about yourself, the less happy you'll be.

As far as reading the story goes, I got really sick of seeing the word "lonely" or some other synonim for it every 5 seconds. Also, there are so many different "deeper meanings" it really comes off as quite random, I mean one sentence he's looking at a sidewalk, then a light, then a grain of sand, then a piece of wood or something - by like the third one I was about ready to find this guy and punch some sense into him. Quit thinking about "deeper meanings", and go get a friggin job.

There was some decent imagery though, maybe replacing some of the random thoughts with more imagery and background would be a good idea?
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Old 10-09-2006, 06:47 AM #18
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Swerve22
There was some decent imagery though, maybe replacing some of the random thoughts with more imagery and background would be a good idea?
A plot would be better - something to hold the whole thing together.
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