Hey Sup Forums
I just got of a shift from work. Yeah, I work in the fast food industry. However, the people I work with are so stupid. I despise them. I know I am better than them because I have higher ambitions. I'm trying to make it as an author, and I already have a sort of successfull book on createspace. So far I sold 50 copies, and thats without marketing.
Other urls found in this thread:
What is create space OP?
its a publisher
Than start marketing
whats ur book about fag
It's about the inner desire to succeed no matter the consequence
I had a customer ask me to make them an entirely carb-free meal because she read about it on the net. Fuck this job
lol sounds like you wrote a shitty self-help book that doesn't really tell you anything new. Gj adding to the pile of shit instead of trying to create something interesting and original
>Just got of a shift
Nice proof reading future author. Just chill about your Co workers.
You are just like them. another cunt who doesn't have a real job
so stop blaming the people you work with and better yourself.
No it's not a self help book you retard, it's fiction.
tell the bitch to just eat the patties.
>future author
future? I write stuff everyday.
Sup Forums posts don't count burger boy
Ayn Randist detected
give us a sample
stop the faggotry
BUUUUUUUURN!
Ayn Rand is a really great author.
No, fuck you. I'm not here to promote my writing. I'm just venting. I send my manuscripts to agents and publishers.
When you have your works published, you can criticise.
>read it to agents and publishers
Who politely listen then laugh as soon as you leave the room.
I'm fucking taking a writers course cause it's the only thing I'm good at and I'd rather not be a lift truck worker the rest of my life and becuase it's something that I have kind of fun doing.
But one thing I've noticed is all "author types" tend to have their asses so far up their own asses it's hilarious. I bet you write fucking loli fan fic but consider it to be of "higher quality" so that's why you don't share it with anyone.
then show us a sample of your work then, faggot
Then please share your work.
Sounds like your afraid of what you Sup Forumsrothers may think of it.
You scared fry cook?
Why should I share my work with you idiots? The only reason you want it is in order to doxx me. I can not get any valuable feedback from you.
>Create thread telling his coworkers are inferior
>Thread is themed around my new found profession as writer
>Don't want to post example of what this thread is about
kek, then why start a thread in the first place? Except for fighting your inferiority complex and getting some quick gratification you usually don't get.
Paul had sat through almost three hours of fucking mind numbing drivel at this point. Every time he opened up that door to the grey painted walls of that horror story of a waiting room he wanted to kill himself.
He couldn't take it. How could so many people have their heads so far up their own asses? How could they think that their extravagant fantasies, where they live the lives that they only wished they could, be interesting? How could anyone come here and straight faced share their "romance novels" that read like a third graders poor attempt of explaining sex?
Paul shook his head and sighed, holding back tears. He picked up his clipboard and prepared himself to go back into THAT room. Like one would rip off a band aid Paul quickly shoved open the door, quickly reading off a name so he wouldn't have to stare at the room of disappointment.
"user...user Smith please?"
Suddenly a large heavy set man begins to unglue himself from his seat. Paul looks up from his clipboard, horrified by the sound coming from this monstrosity as he, seemingly, fought for his life against the chair. Heavy breaths and the sick sound of flesh unfeeling itself from the mix of plastic and metal of what is,... Or what was... The tiny waiting room chairs were all that could be heard.
Paul looked away into the office, his eyes darting for his 5th floor window. Surely a fall from such a height could.... He breathed in, closing his eyes. He had a family to think about, a wife and daughter back home to feed. He can't be so un thoughtful and reckless.
Paul's attention was snapped back to the plant sized man as he finally freed himself of the chair. "That's me..." He sputtered out between breaths. "I'm A-user Smith!" Paul slowly focred out a smile "please. Step inside."
Paul opened the door wide and looked down as to not meet the beasts eyes. As the beast waddled by, poor Paul cought a whiff of the ancient ham rolls, o'natural odour.
I'm also writing.
It's a script.
Like That 70's Show.
But it starts in the early 2020s with folks in their 20s.
The first line is: "OP is a fag".
shit
I'm just venting about my situation.
my honest opinion?
quite decent. not too shabby.
that band aid comparison is kinda old fashioned but why not.
nice tension building.
BUT arrogance in tone has to be with style and substance. bring it.
plus, your long sentences need polishing. too sluggish. imagine reaging them as a narrator. you dont wanna sound like christopher walken, but also not like a german reading an instruction manual.
good luck, user.
He threw up in his mouth, and scrunched his nose in a poor attempt to stop the horrid smell. It did not work. Politely he swallowed his vomit, along with what was left of his pride. He slowly breathed out, with a singular thought in his mind. "You can do this."
He closed the door, trapping himself with the human blob itself.
Turning he shifted over to his desk and sat down. He would have offered the Plump King a seat, but the man, if you could call him that, took it upon himself to plant his ungoldy large ass in the seat already.
"Alright Mr...uhh Smith, tell me a little bit about yourself, you know, what got you into writing, who inspired you?". Paul's questioned with unwavering monotone.
"I'm glad you asked!" It spoke. "I just got of a shift from work and I came straight here with a copy of my book! You see I work in the fast food industry. However, the people I work with are so stupid. I despise them. I know I am better than them because I have higher ambitions. I'm trying to make it as an author, and I already have a sort of successfull book on createspace. So far I sold 50 copies, and thats without marketing! I'm just here so that you can sign me on for a sure fire hit!"
Paul did everything he could to resist rolling his eyes. "CreateSpace." Every wannabe author posts their shitty blog, or poorly written book, sells a handful of copy's and think they are the next big thing. "J.K Rowling wrote her book with almost nothing!" He'd often hear. "I've already got a hundred hits! People clearly like my book!"
Pushing away his past interviews from his thoughts Paul opens his mouth to continue the interview. "So do you.." "OH I ALSMOT FORGOT!" Screamed the Lump. "You asked me about who my inspirations were! Well I'm inspired by several people."
"Oh boy" Paul thought as he settled into his chair. "Here we fucking go."
"Well personally I like Ayn Rand, he's a really great author. What he does is just true beauty."
Let me just wipe my ass and I'll be right back OP
>Randist
>he, Ayn Rand,...
kys
maybe describe the setting first so that you don't get fisted by other users within the first sentence...
I'm not here to discuss my literature with a bunch of retards
It's not like authors go to publishers and have a job interview.
how is it then
Well, I send them my work over email.
Wow! What could it be??? The Bible? Mein kampf ? Maos Little Red Book? 50 copies...no shit???
Aight I'm back. Got some water, looked up who Ayn rand is. lesrmed she is a he, but since I already wrote he, you gotta respect his pronouns.
okay. I take it back.
don't kill yourself.
let me do it for you.
"He" the words rang out in Paul's head like a fucking bell. "He". How can this sack of fat cells be influenced by Ayn Rand if he doent even know that his "influence" is a bloody women. How can that even be possible?
He reached over and grabbed a water bottle off his desk. With a stone cold face he sipped it, tuning out from the ever growing list of authors that this thing was inspired by.
"How could one man be so fucking stupid as to mix up the gender of his favourite supposed author." Paul thought. "Perhaps he just simply misremembered it. Maybe he just said her name because it made him sound smart."
"Or maybe." Thought Paul.
"Maybe this is what our culture has become. An endless march towards the furture, towards progression, towards bettering ourselves, that ultimately causes us to leave behind the past in search of the new and the bold. Maybe past influences don't matter anymore. Maybe they are just something to be referenced, a quick short hand used to bolsters one own reputation."
Paul's eyes widened, staring off into the void of empty space as his train of thought started to speed at dangerous levels.
"If this is true, that the person doesn't matter anymore, that the person, the author, their lives mean nothing compared to their work, then what would that mean for an average joe like me? Do the things I do even matter? Have I suffered all of this pain for nothing?"
The thought rattled inside of Paul's head, clinking and clanking.
"If existence is meaningless..." Paul thought...
Suddenly his train came to a crashing halt as the loud buzzing of a cellphone rang out in the office. "Oh sorry." The PigMan apologized. "That's my call from work. Means I have to get back, back to working with those complete idiots." Paul nodded slowly, trying to piece togeather how exactly Fat Albert didn't realize he stopped listening entirely.
"Anyways I'll leave the book here. Give it a read. As I said earlier, it's heavily influenced by J?K Rowling."
Wagies gotta go to bed, so I'm wrapping the story up fast son.
>bloody women
Get your money back from your writing course.
Paul nodded again, not really totally aware of his surroundings. "See Ya!" Cried the monster man before bumbling out of the office.
"Se..see Ya...." Muttered Paul, turning in his chair to face the window. He slowly stood up, looking down upon the busy street. He reached up with a hand, pressing it againt the glass, contemplating his next move.
He swiftly turned on his heel and bent down in an almost trance like state, picking up his chair, only pausing when his eyes rested on that...things book. He turned his head and slowly released the chair.
Clambering over the desk he picked up the book and began to flip through it, reading passages here and there. Bits of a chapter here, parts of an epilogue there. And he began to feel something strange, something different.
An almost pleasent feeling.
A feeling of amusement.
At first it was a giggle that slipped from Paul's lips. Then a small chuckle Followed by a series of hearty laughs. Never in his life had Paul read something so deprived, so fucking desperate, so utterly amateurish before. How could it even be possible?
Paul slowly let himself slip to the ground, and as his fits of hysterical laughter subsided he had only one thought in his mind.
"That man, lost the game."
I was going to write a longer story with you explaining in depth about your weeabo fantasies and what not, but it's night in this part of the world and a Wagies gotta work.
Sleep tight faggot.
Bump