Deviations submitted to the
Madness Is RelativeI'm too distracted. Everything’s disjointed but oh so real. Like floundering in stagnant water; that’s my life. My days are free but sadly my mind is fit to burst. Will they be able to handle the darkness that my mind holds? When all comes to light?Madness Is Relative by Zire-7
The days are starting to run into one another. Others would shy away from this maddening ordeal but I seek to delve deeper into it. I pursue an unfathomable goal; one which I hope to get devoured by at every turn.
Vague are the shadows and caressing are the whispers that beckon me deeper, into the twisting cemetery. Empty and desolate; silence breaking only as the scream rends the air. My eyes close as though the scream were a lullaby.
Numbness spreads its infecting blight upon my mind. Uncertainty becoming surety, disturbed transforming into contentment, and delicious agony fading to healthy scars. My trembling betrays the struggle t-
Clarity is overrated I loathe those who’ve sought to deny me my e
Blue TongueI once knew a giraffe,Blue Tongue by Naktarra
a wonderful dear,
who would lick up and clean
all the wax in his ears.
I once knew a giraffe,
faithful and tall,
a talent to never fall.
The giraffe was merry,
the giraffe was keen,
but when faced with a lion--
could be rather mean.
I once knew a giraffe,
who kicked off his head.
“A lion is not a friend for me,”
the giraffe had said.
Me and my giraffe,
we shared our lunch,
comparing our tongues,
breakfast, dinner and brunch.
Cup Fiction: The Gal Who Took the West--Chapter 1Cup Fiction: The Gal Who Took the West--Chapter 1 by Naktarra
Chapter 1 - Pilot
The very same day that Clarence “Cups” Clancy had a tooth removed, his best friend had finally found love at the annual rodeo.
“Admit it, you really like this girl.”
There was a manly chuckle which was rather broken sounding on the serious half of it as a blush broke out over West's face. His ran his fingers through his hair, which also seemed to be blushing in an embarrassment which was a mix between romance and sunburn.
“I dunno, Cups. She's just real nice, and kind, and charming, and pretty--” He leaned back on the couch with a passionate sigh, “--And just the most beautiful woman you've ever met.”
Cups seated himself next to his friend with his legs crossed and a hand to his half numbed face. He directed himself forward as spit went flying with his every, muscle-less word.
All at OnceAll at once, it stopped.All at Once by MadHat11D6
She was playing. Her box of fears lined up in a neat little line of torture. She didn’t know how to play but she was playing because that was what children did. They lined up their toys and they played, their days decided by the nature of the merry go rounds and swing sets. The laughter spins around her and on the swings she can fly. She’s a butterfly. Or a bat. Flying though the darkness waiting for the sunrise so she can rest. Because the day is tired. It is cool stares and computer cords cracking on her back. And the world, spinning with laughter, quiets in its crescendo.
She was a dandelion. Reaching out in tentative beauty. Please, today let her reach. Let her shine. Torn out at the roots and tossed away. She was a weed trying to be a flower. No one wanted a weed, a plant that took and took and gave nothing back. It did not collect the morning dew or shine as it came to life. A dim parasite, feeding off the fertile grounds. She had the right to
Faces, Faces, Faces Times TwoPoison dripped from the tongues of all who lived in Little Oak… each person sinking their fangs into the back of another... a slithering writhing cesspit of infidelity where all that possessed their minds was their desire to be ‘popular,’ in control and ‘making it to the top’...Faces, Faces, Faces Times Two by xxEmi-AnGeL-chanxx
Of course, they all seemed like pleasant people, the epitome of all suburbia stands for… the mums held bake sales and coffee mornings; the dads were always willing to lend a hand or take a trip to the pub with one another.
But it was all a guise, a mask, forms of manipulation. If you weren't invited, if you turned your back for even a moment in Little Oak, the gossip rose to the surface threatening to drown you.
The mob mindset took over - and all of a sudden you were a villainous victim – until, of course, they needed something from you.
But, once upon a time, a taxi pulled up in Little Oak, and out of it popped a slender pair of red, high-heeled boots and
ChristopherI never knew what l o v e wasChristopher by MadHat11D6
How to love
Why to love -
I never knew and I never cared.
I had but o n e r u l e to live by
And that was:
Do not become attached.
Not to a person or an idea
Do not become a t t a c h e d
Because it’s easier that way.
When I saw him
The first thing I noticed was the fact
That he was about two years old.
And he was looking at me
And I was looking at him
And I thought we had an u n d e r s t a n d i n g.
But it seemed he had taken my apprehension
As invitation, as he took my hand
And simply insisted I take him to the ball pit.
An hour later and I had already decided to
I had one job!
I become a t t a c h e d to things
On anything it doesn’t already have.
If I hate you
I hate you.
If I love
Graffiti Dreams in Black and White The strokes are dreamt permanent,Graffiti Dreams in Black and White by Carmalain7
the only lasting demarcations of claiming existence,
and the collective artists who painted them majored in Biology,
or Accounting, or English and Professional Writing, or dropped out
as so many do when they wake up.
The poet paints them into existence with his words:
“ideas are illusions, and all words are untrue.”
And we nod our heads and sip our coffees, indeed,
put a price to labors and words and even to thoughts
because we no longer want freedom if it costs us the freedom
of saving face and keeping pace with the ebb and flow
Sun and MoonThey come together like fireflies in the dark;Sun and Moon by Medoriko
laying on their earth underneath
the willowy branches that protect them.
The weeping moon is bright in the sky some nights,
her pearly eye open and ever watchful. The forest
speaks in hushed tones but neither knows the wiser.
Sometimes, they yell and roll into each other;
A heap on the hard ground. They kick and scream like
newborns fighting for their mothers attention. Frustrated
because nobody seems to listen; Nobody seems to hear.
Sometimes they lay still and soak up the atmosphere.
They warm with it and everything else seems to fade.
They rest easy. Watch quietly, while they
play their games of wooing and seduction;
Lowered eyelids and sweaty palms.
Sometimes they come to bare their skin
underneath the stars; All luminescent limbs.
Tangled and awash in the moonlight, they
fumble into a perfect harmony.
They frolic and fold between themselves,
Sporadic and lost. Chasing the rapture, they
The Tigress of ForliCaterina watched the retreating backs of the Orsi brothers. She pulled at the ropes that bound her, despite that her wrists were already raw. She hadn’t been upset when the condottieri assassinated her useless husband, but now that Riario was gone, the witless brutes had launched an assault on Forli and taken her hostage.The Tigress of Forli by C-A-Harland
A small whimper came from her side.
‘Don’t snivel, Bianca,’ she ordered. Her daughter bit down on her lip. ‘We’ll get out of this.’
She peered through the gap in their prison tent, the fortress of Ravaldino loomed above them. If only she could get inside, she could rally Forli’s troops to rid the Romagna of this vermin. But the castellan, Tommaso Feo, has sealed the fortress.
‘Orsi,’ Caterina shouted. After a moment the tent flap pulled back to reveal Fererico Orsi. He tugged at his orange doublet, rearranging the heavy velvet.
‘What, Sforza?’ Federico
Divination as a Means of Finding a Way Back 1. I say nothing I am thinking.Divination as a Means of Finding a Way Back by AzizrianDaoXrak
For twelve years I have wanted
to do exactly this, but suddenly
pronouncing my own name calls up
the question of who it belongs to
in the same breath Like
Solomon I was born a singer
but in the wrong key and my
chords will not carry me, will not
summon the wolves to me only
packs of hungry dogs
stupid with domestication
but nearly feral And like
a hungry ghost I have learned
not to speak against those
who will give me food
2. A sketch of myself.
He says I must have been born
in the wrong culture, he says. I got a taste of
the crackling heat here, heat to drive you crazy,
and suddenly I open my wide arms for
New Orleans, find myself needing the wind from
the Great Plains. Like a buffalo I have the spirit
of the Sun and I carry it with me. I am a plant
of burnt umber,
brown, ready and waiting like
sage bushes, like the hill you go to that is best
for collecting jun
on watching the night close its eyes on you1. I will not tell youon watching the night close its eyes on you by sense-and-stupidity
you are pretty.
How can the halls and angles of such honest humanity
be so pinched between sounds as elementary as these?
2. You need not be two stringent boughs of syllables
nor weave your viney bones abreast these five petty letters,
whirling in the fire of the river
Do not attempt to peel yourself layer for layer,
leaving all the disgust behind.
Do not tally your body six lines
too short, hemming the holes into
puckers red as those volcanoes of strength
bursting at the base of your hips.
3. Blood is not satisfaction.
Blood is not patience, waiting for the rooms to empty
Tips from Talented RhymersRhyming shouldn't be stigmatized over poor examples or be embraced as the only poetic form available to the writer due to the many classical examples from centuries before. It should be used if the writer is comfortable with it, or it is a part of how they write, or what they are writing calls for rhyming. The writers below are all talented at their craft and have generously accepted to contribute to the article.Tips from Talented Rhymers by Nichrysalis
What is your opinion on rhyming literature on deviantART?
Traditionally fixed literature in any place (not strictly deviantArt), can seem either very natural and effortless, or very forced. Although free verse tends to be significantly more popular here, there's something in a rhythmic poem that free verse does not always capture. Just like word choice or metaphors, the melody of a poem also helps in the telling of the story.
Do you have an
Preparing for NaNoWriMo Part 1We may only be one week into October, but November and NaNoWriMo is just around the corner. If you've never heard of it, NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month. That means in the span of thirty days, participants will write 50,000 words.Preparing for NaNoWriMo Part 1 by GrimFace242
1,667 words per day if they're writing every day.
2,273 words per day if they're only writing on weekdays.
6,250 words per day if they're only writing on weekends.
Either way it's a pretty hefty feat, and not something to walk into unprepared. Even if you're a "by the seat of your pants" type of writer.
So this year, instead of doing a basic what is NaNo and who's going to participate in it journal, we're gonna switch it up and give you some pointers on what you should be doing and what you definitely shouldn't be doing before and during NaNo.
The best place to get advice is from the people that have tried NaNo. Notice how I didn't say "and succeeded?" T
Carve me out of clayI carved you out of poetry
like we once carved the innards out of pumpkins,
with each stroke of the pen
I open up your oval empty eyes,
stitch you a ragged crooked smile.
(We drew the outline
of something beautiful,
but somehow it slipped into something
Your temper flashes
in the candle flames, sadness lingering
in the sharp lines of your nose,
all the things you shouldn't have said
are recorded in the curve of your brows;
nothing is hidden and nothing is sacred,
you stare back at me, an amber glow exposing
every defect you'd spent a lifetime
trying to erase)
And you etched me into canvas
like we once painted my bedroom walls
to cover the flickering memories,
the staining fingerprints of someone who
no longer exists;
with each sweep of the brush
a flaw is erased -
an edge is smoothed.
(We sketched each other out,
inked every tragic flaw,
but you kissed away every bruise
with pastel lips, charcoal fingers
lingering over frown lines and the
cracks between bricks, trying to
untitledThat guy thinks he's heartless;
I watch him as he buys coffee
and gives it to everybody he passes
on the street who looks sad, and
his lips curl into a smile because
he made a joke that gave someone a laugh.
He holds his mother's hand on top
of hospital sheets, pressing the button
to pump morphine into her system
before he signals a nurse. Tears cascade
down his face when he watches
his mother take her last breath.
And his lips curl into a sneer as he walks
past a cloud of lung choking smoke,
thinking of the fume filled air
his mother suffocated herself in.
He thinks he's heartless, but
his heart is bigger than anyone's.
Critique on Blood and Secrets: Chapter 1 by FadedDreams5
Comment on The Plant in the Moss by NatureGuide
Comment on Book Cover - Making Amends by CB-Productions
Comment on unworthy. by bowie-loon123
Critique on Annie in the Garden by leyghan
Critique on Revolver in a Bag of Puppets by PursuingTheCerberus
Critique on To Know the Universe by OctoberAzriel
Critique on Fairly Feminist Fairy-Tale by MissGnat
Comment on Before The Boat Leaves: Freedom by angeljunkie
Comment on Stained Skies by sunwisp
Comment on A New Millenium by AspiredWriter
comment on fathers by flummo
Critique on Sweep by Geistlicher
Critique on And the Clock Ticked On by Write-to-Rebel
Critique on Gentle are the Strong by Vigilo
Comment on Dance for You by Lupizora
Comment on Re Birth by Braxton-T-Rutledge
Comment on Mama by DeriveAnemone
Comment on The Wizard's Princess by raspil
A Guide to Group-Hosted Contests on dAIntroduction
Breaking in to Lit!Introduction
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Dear Lit Community, Some Solutionsdreamsinstatic wrote an open letter to the literature community specifically addressing issues he feels are detrimental to the health of the lit world on dA. Many of his concerns have been voiced by others in the community in past years and finding solutions to problems like fragmentation, cliques, and "elitism" (what I would call trolling) is no simple task. If, indeed, solutions need to be found at all. Below are my thoughts on some of the problems discussed in dreamsinstatic's article. Feel free to share your thoughts and ideas in the comments. Let's keep this conversation flowing.
Writing Useful Critiques
Flash Fiction Month July 2012Preface
Tips for the Messy WriterWhen the Muse Strikes
Poetry Basics: BrevityBrevity: n. the quality of expressing much in few words.
DeviantART: A Critical Community (Part 1)You may have heard...
Intrigue Behind the English DictionariesColor vs. Colour
What is Worth Critiquing?This article outlines a few questions to ask yourself before you request critique on anything.
So You Want to CritiqueHere is a two-fold guide for deviants wishing to receive critique as well as deviants who want to give constructive critiques:
How to Apply CritiqueHow to Apply Critique
Good day, miss.
It's always hard to explain how much you mean to me. When you give back to dA, when you write that one stunning poem that temporarily stops my breath, when you don't let stuff get you down too much. When you keep forging on. You tell me I have these qualities, but you embody these qualities far better than I do. You shine with them.. And people gravitate to that. It's a gift. Please don't forget that.
you're one of my writers.
What is SeniorSelections?
"SeniorSelections stands to feature premier artwork from the deviantART community through weekly features from each gallery category."
Basically, it is a group of senior members who are going to showcase their favorite picks from around the deviantART galleries every week. I'm part of the literature team, along with thetaoofchaos.
I am accepting suggestions!
I am accepting suggestions for Literature only. I will accept any form of literature except Scripts (sorry, I just don't know enough about them to feel comfortable featuring them to the community). Here are things I look for:
Strong, concrete imagery. Abstractions turn me off.
Intelligent structure and formatting.
A clear, well-developed theme, message, or story.
I especially enjoy socio-political, human nature, and Eastern styles. I'm not as likely to enjoy romance (unless it is very well written), fantasy, or fixed forms like the sonnet. But please DO send me anything you think I might enjoy.
Clear, concise language use that relies on concrete imagery.
Natural sounding dialogue.
An interesting plot or well-developed character (bonus points for both).
I prefer reading sci-fi/sci-fantasy, satire, non-fiction (especially autobiography and memoir), and comedy. I am unlikely to sit through high fantasy or romance. But again, do send me anything you think I may enjoy!
Extra special bonus points if you find good prosetry!
Send me a note with a thumb or link to the deviation you're suggesting. Please title your note: "SS Suggestion" or something to that effect.
Please only send your suggestion to ONE person on the SeniorSelections team.
One thumb or link per note, please. It helps me stay organized.
Please feel free to suggest simultaneously to other feature groups such as DailyLitRecognition.
I will respond to all suggestions as soon as I have time to read them. If you do not hear from me within a couple weeks, please feel free to send me a poke.
You can include a blurb about why you feel a piece deserves to be featured, but it is not necessary. Truly good literature speaks for itself.
If you have questions, please leave a comment on this journal.