Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Six
1. an annual calendar containing important dates and statistical information such as astronomical data and tide tables.
A Quick News Forecast:
Build the next Literary Almanac Monthly!
LAM is made up of three main components in the article. Group news, features and an inspirational quote. For October's Almanac, the rules will be shaken up and the article will be open to all sorts of things. Submitting to any one of these things will have you entered for the prize draw, but more than one submission is greatly appreciated!
S.M.I.L.E: Build-an-Article EventThis contest event is affiliated with DeviantART-Smiles and the S.M.I.L.E project.
Welcome to the seventh edition to Deviantart's own Literary Almanac Monthly! This month DA's own authors will be featured for their writing, involvement in the community, and for their dedication to what they love to do. As literature comes in many forms, LAM is not limited any type of artist--everybody matters!
(October) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Seven
1. an annual calendar containing important dates and statistical information such as astronomical data and tide tables.
You know, it's all fun to collect stuff and awesome things to put together to make the Literary Almanac Article by myself for the release on the thirteenth of every month, but I think it would be even more fun to have LAM's very own Fra
GrammarNaziCritiques is looking for prose and poetry submissions. Are you thinking of getting some feedback on your work? You're in luck! Not only will we give you feedback, but we'll burn your village, capture your women and deliver a plague onto your family! Are you still not convinced? GrammarNaziCritiques now offers optimized critiquing in 3D! What are you waiting for? Submit your work today!
Warning: Grammarnazicritiques is not responsible for crying, heart failure, pregnancy, death, loss of hearing, disappointment, emotions, depression, lying spouses, general discomfort, revolutions or any other side-effects of every day living.
TheWritersHaven has opened a contest!
Monthly Contest--Win Points! Back to School Theme!:iconthewritershaven: is starting a new monthly contest!
Since many of us have just started school again, this month's theme is "Back to School"!
The awesome and generous :iconcuriouslyalone: has donated 100 as a prize for the winner this month and our newest co-founder :iconNaktarra: has offered to give the winner a feature in her September edition of Literary Almanac Monthly!
Just submit your Deviation to the Monthly Contest Folder here: http://thewritershaven.deviantart.com/gallery/47077659/Monthly-Contest
Up to two entries per person is allowed. The deadline has been extended through September 30th!
Your entries can be old or new works, but must relate in some way to the "Back to School" theme. Be creative!
The administrators will choose the winner fairly and objectively based on the quality of both the concept and execution of your piece.
The winner will be announced soon after the month of
PostRevival's goal is to revive snail mail
around the world! With a little time and dedication,
you might have a brand new pen pal!
Group IdeasLet's all talk about what we'd like to do with this group!
Do you have any ideas for fun pen pal projects?
Maybe you've got some good prompt ideas to inspire writers when they're having a hard time getting past "How do you do?"
Any art prompts you'd like to see tackled?
Maybe something crafty like making a small book or trinket to send?
A mail-mixer: everyone sends something to an admin who then mixes it up and sends each participant a random piece of mail.
Faces of Religion - Evangelical ChristianIn spring of 2012, my husband was praying about children and our future, and God said to him, in a clear voice, “when you’re 23”. David told me, and although stunned we began to prepare. By the next fall, after months and months of prayer and consideration we gave up birth control because we felt that God telling us had as much to do with obedience as anything. But we didn’t get pregnant then. Or the next month, or the next. A year later we got that positive, and it just underscored that no birth control or lack if it is going to stop God bringing a life into the world, or compel Him to when He didn’t originally intend it.
By that point my husband was already 23, and the due date was set for a week after he turned 24. We were puzzled, but assumed the baby would be born a week early, which isn’t atypical."
Then, at 20 weeks we got the news that our boy, who we had decided to name Samson long before I had even conceived, had hydrocephalus and a brain d
CorinneFriesen is writing a book
to bring attention to the representations
of religion in today's media.
Support its cause on Kickstarter!
Hook, Line and SinkerI dreamt of a girl beyond the water. Above the green glass sea, she dangled her feet, threw out her gaze to ripple along the surface, and waited. Her words fell like fishing lines, diving and cutting through the mosaics of blues and greens, slipping under my skin as hooks. Her tongue was a reel, tugging me faintly upwards, flying through fluid blurs and crashing into a planisphere of ivory laced clouds, golden sands, a pair of mahogany eyes. It’s funny, how falling in love with her was just like drowning in air, feeling gills shiver and water drip, the distant cries of seagulls reminding me how vulnerable I am this side of the glass. Falling in love with her was just like leaping upstream, tumbling into the dark branches of mangrove trees and seeing their roots, my branches, splinter through the horizon.
And she embraced me like a fishing net, fingers coarse as rope. Between her tightly circled arms, I saw squares of the night sky, slivers of stars and somehow I could almost conv
Beach Ball with a BubbleBeach Ball with a Bubble
Butterflies spin out of cruise control as they hover above the flowers marking the end of the path. The odd lazy monarch spirals dizzily over the heated sand catching a wave or two before coming back to the flowered shore.
Out on the beach the ants get lost among the grains until their ticklish feet touch tired toes. Mainly they are ignored; left to do their own business and go about their way, lost to any world but their own.
Close to the shore where the air mixes a boy blows bubbles; soap spiralling sluggishly from the wand. Surfing monarchs mingle with whimsical bubbly balls that drift out of control on the heat only to pop when pushed against air pressure. Those closer to the ground gently touch ant-feet before lifting towards the sky again.
Bubbles spiral forth from the wishing wand as waves suck the earth from beneath the boy’s feet. Butterflies bounce off the glistening balls, ants waving them lazily along.
In the war of the w
The NecklaceI rested my arms and head on the boat railing, trying not to get sick. The waves were rougher than an offroad drive.
Keep your eye on land, dad said. But God tilted the horizon back and forth, as if a pinball game was being played. Puerto Vallarta lit up and distant cars turned on their headlights. I could see club and bar signs from here.
We were going back to tourist central. A few jet skis were still out and a couple passed by. I watched some muscleman smiling in his moment of rented freedom. Then the cornrowed American girl behind him opened her vest and flashed me.
Covering my blushed face, I got up and walked over to the helm. The orange sky marked the end of our fishing run and we were on our way back with a full haul. My dad chuckled, “Get a free show did you?”
I looked down at the half-dry floor, “You saw that?”
“Those were fake.”
“What? Summer is like a 3-month spring break here. Besides, I only like the real
Congratulations to the winners in Authors-Club's contest!
The 100 Days of Literature Challenge
This is the start of the 100 Days of Literature Challenge!
We are now on Day 41!
Please note that I have updated the contest. Ten people will now stand to win the 100 points each and will be chosen at the end based on writers choice.
Below, you will find the list of prompts that have been submitted!
Each number represents the day and the order in which I will write a piece about the prompt you have submitted.
If you have any prompts, do post it in the comments below and get your name on this list!
I will fill up any and all missing slots but having someone give a prompt is much more challenging for me!
So here it is, the prompt challenge list so far!
1. Blue Wolf Rage prompt contributed by :iconadimetro00:
2. The Flower At The Desert prompt contributed by :iconclokthegod:
Try out this new themed literature challenge!
A big special thanks to everyone who participated in Writing-Rampage's first and very successful month of prompting! Here is a peek at everyone's contributions!
Week #1 by Naktarra
The Party Ended at MidnightShoulder-length black hair
Eclipsed by the closing door
She never said "Bye."
Maintenance Relief on the First Day of SummerThe hallway was silent
as doors to empty lockers swung.
Perfect for cleaning.
Week #2 by smith4891
To YouShe came in and out of the coffee shop starting in the spring. Her medium cut, cerulean hair was hard to miss, and it danced with her movement over fair skin that looked as soft as silk. It was these small details that I cherished more than anything in the few moments we would spend talking about our writing. Rather, the moments we spent talking about mine. She never dared speak about hers. She would just silently grip her coffee cup between both hands, sipping every so often, listening intently. Throughout the times she would come in, I would occasionally offer to buy her her coffee, and she would occasionally allow it. The order was always the same, a white mocha with whip. We would sit down and continue to talk about what it was I was planning, and she was always genuinely invested in my words. Even still, it wasn’t long until she started to fade away.
By summer, she started coming for coffee less.Her interest in me began to dwindle, let alone my stories. She would occasionall
Closed DoorsLeave me alone
Let me lose
Myself in the ocean
Where I will be
Let me stay
Away from the clock
Of our days.
Of the reality
Waiting for me
With a knife.
I don’t want
To leave behind
The best years
Of my life.
What I like
Fades it out.
Soon will be
Dust these words
In your memory.
Time of a Mad ManHow many times a night did he hear the clock tick?
Every second was another moment in all of time and space and history. And here he was. In this room.
In a single tick, everything in life can change. You may die, you may be born, you may be happier than ever before, you may feel the universe is crashing. But the clock keeps ticking, and the world still spins, indifferent.
In this room, time was different. Walls stark white. No windows, no clock; his only indication of time was that ticking. Some nights it consumed him. But it also kept his sanity. The only noise in his cell was the clock.
Years had passed and days had gone, but how long had it been for him? The voices had stopped coming. They no longer floated through the brilliantly bright walls. Now it was only the clock.
Some days he considered the possibility he was mad; the thought never stayed with him for long though.
How old was he now? He counted seconds on the clock and thought of the world. The universe went on, unto
The Goddess of Time
The Goddess of Time
My body is always heavy because I am not allowed to take a break as I always must continue to walk down my path. My long brown hair was slightly moving from the slight hot breeze as today in the the never ending sands of time it was hot.
The souls of my feet where cracked from the burning hot steps, my throat was so dry from the hot air but I still continued to walk as I felt the hot sun beating down on my skin as the breeze came through again slightly blowing my white dress that danced in the wind. In the distance was a clock that was always spinning as I would walk along the steps of time each step I took I watched a new eras form, the bloody wars, and generations of people who changed history.
People would come into this time line as I would watch many as they traveled on the same path I walk everyday except unlike me when they reach the end of their clock as they slowly faded away into the sands of time their exist fading into tiny pieces of sand along this eter
Time It had been so long since he had smiled. As Edward realized this, he realized why he had been feeling depressed. He had lived too long. Everything had become dull and boring. For twenty-two thousand years, he had lived upon this planet, Danae, and he had ruled. He had commanded all things, been their savior, their executioner, the one they spoke of in whispers huddled around fires at night, their eyes shining with fear and awe. He had become a god twenty-two eons ago, and he had done everything. He watched humanity go from small hunter-gatherer societies, to sprawling cities. He had cured the plague at one time, started it another. His beautiful features never changed, the sands of time never weathering him. He had witnessed wars on massive scale, he had commanded an army to slaughter, destroy, rape, and loot, and he had fought in another army as a lowly foot soldier, and he was the one to receive those same orders. He had fallen in love, married, started
TimeThese brief, intimate moments of happiness
will be the ones we fondly carry into eternity,
guiding our souls when the lights of our eyes dim.
Clocks of Night and DayTime fades the mind's oasis into wasteland.
I can't protect paradise from parasites.
Carrying away friends, he'll convert them into my ghosts.
King time only produces dust, bones, and pain.
Time mends all wounds.
Only if you reach out for his hand, however.
Casting off the burden of worries, peace will land
Keeping your soul from shattering.
Week #3 by Kurt-Jarram
Cosmic HistoryRasping throats, flushed cheeks, burning tongues and weepy eyes share their secrets in putrid air and on slimy, smooth countertops. This kitchen buries its wretched hearts in wilted lettuce and stale cheeses hoping these juvenile tactics will bring a more mundane existence but this is a realm where ties are forged then severed with the ease of handing over a knife. Here I sit, mistress of flavors, running my eyes over each man's shoulders like a hand over the flank of a trusty quarter horse.
"Such grotesque, calloused hands!" The dame cries every time she visits. Her words often fall like dust on ancient stone and bear no consequence on the day's happenings but today is different. This morning's portent borne me at the bottom of my teacup spelt out danger, fear, death and left me with a persistent chill in spite of the season's warmth. My rattled nerves lack their usual resilience and buckle under her horrid voice.
Her nagging reaches my perch. Her berating, demeaning condescension gro
Never listen to a gypsyI never should have listened to that damn gypsy but no she had to go my best friend in the whole wide world who just wanted to go get her palms read because apparently that is in right now with all those supernatural shows on Tv which made me laugh. But no she still managed somehow to drag me away from soft ball practice I was hoping today finally he could notice me; our high school pitcher once glance of him was enough to make a teen age girls heart skip a beat.
With his longer straight black hair that he tucked behind his ear and his golden brown eyes that burned like fire when he threw his fast ball. He was simply amazing yet I use to be able to catch for him until we got into high school now I just caught for out team just to be able to watch him throw.
“Hey Lily it's your turn,” my best friend told me as she broke me out my fantasy with him as I sat down in the chair to look at the gypsy who wore that outfit you would see around Halloween with the sashes as she wore he
Why I Lived For So LongI could not do it,
I could not step on that crack.
Due to an overactive imagination,
Cowardliness is what I didn't lack.
And a black cat crossed that path,
So I have to take the back roads.
I can't help but do this,
The worry comes in loads.
Even thought theses men,
Are working on the front door.
I refuse to walk under that ladder,
I didn't mind walking a little more.
Saying "Bloody Mary" was a dare.
I knew it wasn't wise.
Doing it I didn't know,
Is what would be my demise.
Week #4 by Naktarra
Trusting a ManiacIt was not like I disliked my mother, but it was also not that I liked her either. For me, she was just someone who was living with me together in a big old house between other big old houses in a usual street, which is part of any average city. She was just there to feed me, wash my clothes and the other stuff which other mothers would do. I did not really talked to her, more never spend time with her. She is a busy woman, she said, and she would only have time for me at the table while eating dinner.
It has not always been like this, it was even the opposite. During my elementary and middle school years she would have followed me around anywhere to make sure I’ll be fine, and I was not allowed to stay out late. I was fine with that rule since I didn't had many friends. So what changed the situation it used to be to the situation now? Simple: Tell your parents that they are annoying and you wished you could choose who to be your parent. Those were my situation changing words to
waking the dragonshe circled ragged fingers,
enveloping tiny blackened silhouettes
of monarch moths lingering
at daybreak inside a silver womb.
barefoot and drenched,
she wove herself into
a dream of trampled wings
and fading pastels.
waking, she lifts a prayer skyward.
the budding wings of butterflies
reflect and refract in burning light.
she peels layer of silken cocoon
from her flaky flesh, and
it smells like morning dew.
glistening, she renews
as a girl with stained glass eyes
the color of a rustic sunset,
and she watches wet wings
whirl wistfully toward the horizon.
and she prays the demons stay at bay.
Straight-jacketMy cell was lit gray when I awoke, drab, and cold. I shivered and sat up.. My ankle stung when I tried to move it, reminding me of the grim days before. Pulling aside the towel bandage, I saw dried blood and grimaced; the bullet was lodged somewhere in my foot and I hadn't found a doctor to remove it. Though, I knew that it wouldn't mean anything, I looked around at the cell, which was the same. Right next to me was the wall, the two, empty cells, and the hallway, with an occasional guard-passerby. Slowly, I looked to the cell on my right; it was empty as usual. Then, I looked to the cell on my left and saw a girl with black hair and a straight-jacket tight around her. She was muttering.
“Hello?” I asked, carefully, gripping the bars with my hands, peering in at her.
She looked up at me, there was blood all over her face; she spit red out before she spoke to me. “Dammit,” she cursed.
“Hello?” I tried again.
“I heard you the first time!” s
Also: Week four's prompt offered a fifteen reward to the best entry in that week along with a big squishy for everyone who participated for the month of August. Stay tuned for more prompts in spooky, scary October!
- SeamlessMaiden has been awarded with fifteen points!
Quote of the Month:
“You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.”
― Madeleine L'Engle
If you find something you want to suggest for the next issue of Literary Almanac Monthly,
please feel free to send Naktarra a note with your suggestions. Make sure you include
what you like about the piece!
Also: Don't be afraid to feature yourself; we wont bite the person who wants to be recognized. I'll nibble just a little.
(Be sure to check out the rules of submission here!)
Interested on asking me silly things? Ask me your silly things here!