Young Writers Society

I decided I'm tired of writing for the most part. With that said, for some reason, this is a story that has yet to get away from me though. Maybe it's because I've been reading too much Faulkner lately; I don't know. Anyhow, this is me at my most experimental, writing-wise. I hope you enjoy it.

Just a warning; there's strong language scattered about.

Hey, wow man. Wow:)
That's one thing, which I respect very much about your writing, Krupp, and always have - the fact that you write as if the 70's, 80's, 90's and 00's have never happened. You don't care about fashion. I presume in music too.
This reads like real literature. This reads like someone has sat down and really written what they want to, and need to write. Like something honest written between 1958 and 1968. Okay, between 1922 and 1972. They don't write them like that anymore eh?
It reads like you've thrown away stuff which has been holding you back, some restraint seems to have broken. At times the narrative is pure poetry, (for some reason especialy from the girl's point of view), which I would usually say in a negative sense, but here, I say it in the positive sense. Obviously one can't write only like this, but it's good therapy to do this annually haha.
I've been telling some friends that there's this guy who writes like he's gonna become a writer soon. Now I'll have to tell them that there's this guy who just became a writer. Haha.
Well, we don't know, do we, this is not finished, I the reader have just gotten a dose of impressionism without much plot, but so far it was excellent.
Did you have to tell yourself that you are stopping writing, to be able to write like that? haha.

All right, here's the next part: viewpoints 6-9, setting the stage for a little bit more of characterization, relationships, and things of that nature. These next few viewpoints have me confident that this is a story worth pursuing. I hope it remains that way.

Aha! An attack of existentialism! I envy the bursts of spontaneous poetry which explode in various points of this text, Krupp. For me writing is a controlled affair, I distrust myself, what would spontaneous writing bring? Things from which the world will shudder in disgust? Frown in deep misunderstanding? Or even worse, dismiss and sneer?

Anyway, I'll just copy the stuff which when I read I though "why didn't I write this?"
/Nice visual text structure experiments, sentences falling appart and stuff/


I doing here? Who am I? WHAT am I?
But of course the process of being born
Forces your hand. You have to pursue
this knowledge or you’ll never find it.



Outside the car, the world is spinning around us,
Like a dying beacon, the sun’s slowly losing
its grip on the blue dome above us. And
there’s no telling what the darkness of night
will bring.



There’s lots being drawn all the time, but it goes
even beyond that; the backroom deals in
Heaven and Hell and everywhere between,
in dark corners and small dusty shops,
handshakes exchanged, lives forfeited.


Always feinting, bobbing, weaving, he’s never still


No conversation rolls off their lips as we blur by


I dont need your help, I just want your
admiration for my struggles, my sins,


can’t stand sitting here, bored, just
anticipating the excitement of our soon-
to-be adventure on the beach


so the plan is tossed
out the window, into the streets, probably
to roll into the slimy gutter, where it is
dark and cool



I hate boredom. The mind itches for action,
longs for development in the plot


Google this strange, foreign
word and make use of its intelligence.


Steve and Jack both
regroup, and mention they’ve been told about a club


He’s now setting that glare on stun,
trying to seduce Daryl.


I know if we dragged him into that club, into that large
building filled to the brim with swarming, sweating bodies,
and a lust that spreads overhead like an umbrella, he’ll
shut it out, and shut us out as well


Now from my point of view the above are examples of good, good style.

Thanks mate. My apologies for not getting back to you on your new work. I'll be sure to finish reading it tonight and get back to you.

Right, i've been gone for a long while, but I finally have the next part set up and ready to go for reading.

Well, thank you for the next installment Dr.Krupp, I see the dissection of the little things in life is still going on very well.
As usual, here is a short list of turns of phrases which made me green with envy:

- Nate and the girls stare at us simply, unsure whether or not to care about this unforeseen factor.
- Nate is doing his utmost to keep a smile down, but he was born a smiler, and it finally floats up to the surface.
- I try to push them away from the issue, but they only laugh more

Stuff like that reads very much like the real thing. The inner dialogues and monologues of Nate's girlfriend are excellent. The plot so far is in the 'waiting for Godot' stage, 'waiting for the party' in this case, but I notice that the subplot concerning Junior is gathering speed. He actually made eye contact with a sales-girl! Ta-da-daaam, hehe.
You actually approach Hunter's levels of being able to make standing in line and trying to enter a club into an adventure, but without all the ether and mescaline.
Where is the ether and mescaline? We want ether and mescaline! Or at least someone losing it and waving a knife in an elevator. Or waving a pretzel in a phonebooth or something
Anyway, the story is developing nicely, and you're mainting a coherent style in spite of writing this in small bursts divided by huge gulfs of space/time. How do you manage that? If I stop for more than a week on a story the second part of it is in a different style.

thanks again man. And don't worry; you're gonna love the next chapter. I started working on it yesterday.

Chapter 13 is a spirited romp that will call to mind the great doctor of journalism (2 points to whoever can guess who I'm referring to). Because i've been tremendously busy, this is all I have to put down for now, but hopefully this will take a bit of stress off of your mind as you laugh aloud at the absurdity.

Well, I love the way narrative scrambles and the dude's brains scramble.
For the first time I'll allow myself to contribute scene-description-wise: when the dude is rapidly submerging into the wonderful and strange world of beer, there are three more elements which would I think enchance the subjective realism. Namely: 1) time falling apart into unconnected frames /goes from point A to point B without remembering or noticing the bits in between. He's always suddenly there; 2) gravity and atomic structure begin playing tricks, the floor is no longer as immobile and as horizontal as it should be; 3) inanimate object becoming infested by gremlins, things become difficult to use and develop the tendency to slip though fingers.
And of course 4) - all women suddenly tell him with every look and smile that they want to blow him and all boys show with every look and word that they want him to kick their teeth in

Anyway, great going. I also loved the way he was disproportionately impressed by junior's calm acceptance of who does whom in the toilets. I half-expected him to slap him to calm him down hahaha.

Thanks for reading as always, mate. Hopefully at this point I hope it's becoming a little clearer with every viewpoint shift that perhaps Daryl isn't as readable as his friends and family think he is. He's one of the more intense moments of the novel; and the one that's been the most difficult to decide as to how I want his part of the tale to end. I'm still figuring it out, for that matter.

It'll probably be a long while before I get anymore done, but we'll see. Thanks again. Lemme know when you've put up somethign new too, eh?