Html codes and Visual Poetry A lot of great writers on dA don't know how to use html codes, which is a real shame, because these codes can really be used to bring out a writer's words. This tutorial will go through several basic codes, good places to use them in your writing, along with spacing and other aspects of visual poetry & writing.Html codes and Visual Poetry4 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
If you haven't noticed, when you open an "Add text" devation, there's a list of HTML codes at the bottom. Most of them look like this . A lot of these match up with the names used for them in Microsoft Word documents, so they should be easy to use. So, let's start off with the basics!
1. Italics <i>
</i>is simply, italics. Got it? Put the i inside the s. See, it's easy! To end any Html code, one puts a slash before the letter i, </i>. Now, for the Visual impact of italics.
Emphasis and Motion
Which means that a good place to use i
Getting Published the Hard WayGETTING PUBLISHED: THE TRADITIONAL WAYGetting Published the Hard Way6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
A tutorial by M. Alice Chown
If, like me, you have stories lying around gathering virtual dust on your hard drive, why not send them out to a publisher? You have nothing to lose. A couple of years ago, I attended the launch of an annual Canadian short story anthology, called Tesseracts 10. I knew one of the authors whose speculative fiction piece had been included in the book. Matthew Johnson and I had taken the same creative writing course. Our former prof, author, Robert Sawyer, was there at the launch too, as well as the editors of the anthology. Those who had contributed a story to Tesseracts 10 took turns saying a few words about their piece. Matt talked about his joy at learning that after so many rejections his humble tale about soup of all things had made it into print. Most surprising to me, however, were the words of the pretty, brunette author. She was just 19, a University of Toronto student, and her short story had been her very first
Roots ch. 13Roots ch. 133 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The funeral was anything but the solemn, dignified affair Yusuf would have done for him. It had been far too easy for the Assassins to forget that Ishak Pasha hadn't just stood at the head of their Creed, but had served as Grand Vizier and was a respected Ottoman General living a double life. His existence as an Assassin had remained shrouded in mystery to those who worked alongside him outside of the Order. Besides the Assassins, only a select few knew of both his occupations.
Yusuf wished terribly that he could give his Mentor the proper send-off the man deserved. But holding such a title in the public eye made that vision impossible. Instead, the Assassins were forced to blend in amongst the common people, catching mere glimpses of the ceremony as it was overseen by dignitaries and socialites. It infuriated Yusuf his Mentor should receive a quiet burial on the grounds near Galata Tower; not made into a spectacle so that fat nobles could make up stori
the land of the blind"he's a tight roper," the boy tries to explain, arranging his arms before his chest to create a trembling line. His eyes fidget as he speaks to the psychiatrist he calls uppercase 'd' octor. They have never been still for any of their appointments together. "sometimes, sometimes he's on a unicycle. he doesn't know why the -" there is a pause as he twitches where the swear should go. He never says it. This happens too often for the psychiatrist to have a need to scratch it down. "why they'd put him on a unicycle," he continues as if nothing happened, "but they do. he can't concentrate. he can't concentrate. and the people are cheering and yelling and these big drops of sweat fall down his forehead and he can't see. he's on a fffff-unicycle and the rope is shaking and he can't see. how is he supposed to make it to the other side if he can't see?"the land of the blind6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"What's on the other side?" the psychiatrist asks him when the boy starts rubbing his eyes excessively with the bac
my heart beats in dialtones -chello?my heart beats in dialtones -c6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
maybe there are too many things ive been waiting to say.
you don't have to call me back, but i wanted to tell you that i love you. i love you and that messy printing you always use to write the inaccurate equations that lead to my heart. i love you and the beautiful mess you are that smiles when i pick up trash in my pretty pink dress that i say makes me look fat but you tell me that i never could because i am as thin as the ice that covers me when you aren't around. i love you even though you never answer your phone; even though i've been calling you for years and you never left me any messages.
i would say that i'm ugly but we look so alike.
im thinking maybe youre easier to talk to when youre not really you. so lately that means im questioning your answering machine again and addressing you in faceless nouns since i cant begin to say the things ive been meaning to te
what is meant by playing deadthe house looks like helium. it is faded with cold as its body, thickets of slatted wood painted palely. shutters are closed eyelids, unbearable lightness to the miserly scene before them.what is meant by playing dead5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
these streets are cobbled and winter-bleached, colours in hibernation save for three bodies of varying paleness lying slatternly in its centre.
bones compounded, salted twigs in white shades bent and broken; there is no blood, just an overwhelming taste of death.
who's that? a bloodless face murmurs from its position on the axis of the recumbent spine.
think his name's johnny, a nearby body whispers.
it's not, the broken limbs in question croaks.
the wind calls for a hush. feet shuffle in stumbling waves, the way they would at a wake, before the judgemental face of the open casket.
are they all dead? a crisp voice calls.
the bodies on the cold road cringe at the sharpness of the sound. a bird rustles the newspapers just fallen from the basket.
a black boot taps a girl's shattere
the river acheron.αʹ.the river acheron.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
their funeral was in june
and it was humid enough
to taint our black suits
with sweat and strain.
it wasn't quite like the movies.
it wasn't quite like anything.
i didn't know what was going on
behind your jade shamrock eyes,
but i was reminded of mom
and how she made that same open-eared look
when we went through the
"two plus two equals four" phase.
they told me i'd never stop using it, not until i die a ripe old man,
but you can't apply basic math beside two caskets.
i remember how mother used to listen to
baroque, although that went out of style
and dad told her to
and she said 'no,
we must cultivate their
but i don't think any amount
of bach cultivated our minds
more than watching her be
shipped off across the river
Acheron in your heavy black coffin-boats.
and neither of us cried.
in the blooms of winter
with the tips of fall
i could hear them whistling,
murmuring, calling, crying something far away
my david.i.my david.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she loathed his presence;
like a bemoaned animal,
he was always on the peripheral
of her vision, crawling
along the line of her sight:
he was blank-faced, eternally
and she hated him for it.
still every time she went out,
chasing, cause the beating in
her chest was whispering
forbidden things [about
she never caught anything
besides a cold,
which she named
since it blocked her airway,
and made her shiver,
and go from flaming hot
to freezing cold.
just like he did.
when she sat besides him she
held her breath, desperate to catch
up on his rhythm; the melody of
with every falling star she wished
he would wake up with crimson
streaming through his veins. but
she always kept in mind that those
stars were just as dead and cold
as he was. still they were capable
of shining were he didnt seem to be.
she didn't understand that,
despite the fact that it was as if
he was carved from stone or granite,
she would l
alien lightsWe had been crunched up inside your car for hours now, not an inch from where we had started. You disgusted me, with crocodile tears stickying your face, and I could practically feel the bacteria swarming to the saline, like I learned they did on Jimmy Neutron.alien lights6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I waited for you to get to the point, or for the germs to eat a hole in your freckled face. Clips of useless words filtered through my ears (You know I never meant to hurt you, she meant nothing to me, I am prepared to apologize day and night, and day and night again until you forgive me )
Your face still in one piece, I realised that I would be in your too-small car for much longer still.
Plastic bags that were caught in tree branches and long scarf-like receipts rustled noisily from some length away of where I was (and I was anywhere but where I wanted to be) caught my attention.
Please, forgive me. I watched a bird got its head wrapped in a han
dispelled stardust.fragmented stars being stepped over by a girl with tea-cup toes,dispelled stardust.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
she already broke them, she won't do it again,
and for every creaking floor board she hears a small apology,
she lies and tells herself she doesn't talk
because words are cheap,
it's really because speaking comes at a cost.
she is paying and getting nothing
but refutation in return,
it is better to be
than to be full of nothing but
so she traces her path
through scattered stardust
and broken hearts,
she cannot be out of line,
she cannot be out of line.
while she's doing her best to be forgotten, she remembers most
that ignoring the world won't make it stop,
she's running from the sounds, she's pushing them
of her head, because the resonance is like thunder in her ears.
eyes closed tight like fists and doors,
there's only one escape,
there's only one escape.
so she gathers up
the last pieces of all the things shes broken;
she cant fix them, so she
in a box, and maybe, o
Trail of GlitterYou shotTrail of Glitter6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
across my sky like
a shooting star;
trails of glitter
falling from your (broken) wings.
I listened carefully
as you whispered my name,
your fingertips tracing my lips,
your eyes open in wonder.
"Who are you?" I couldn't help
"I'm everything you need."
"Are you going to stay with me?"
"I can't. I'm far too beautiful for this
But my wings are tattered,
torn to shreds."
I patched your wings
with duck tape and
wishing you didn't have to
You kissed me goodbye with your
(sweet and soft)
then took off in the night
leaving a trail of glitter
Do You Love Me?i.Do You Love Me?6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"do you love me?"
"because you smile brighter
than an august sun
and you care
with every molecule of
"i love you, too."
"do you still love me?"
"because your hand fits
perfectly in mine
and your voice
is like a sweet
"i still love you, too."
"do you still love me?"
"because when i'm with you,
i feel like nothing else matters
and when we lie
our hands clasped tight,
"i still love you, too."
"do you still love me?"
"i still love you."
"do you still love me?"
"i still love you."
federal express EDITon wednesdays, anne would wake up at nine o'clock.federal express EDIT6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
she would take a shower at nine-thirty, after she made herself a small cup of coffee with a teaspoon of sugar and a drop of milk.
by ten o'clock, she was dressed. anne would spend the next hour and a half in the kitchen, baking cranberry scones and picking tea leaves from the small pot next to the coffee grinder.
at eleven-thirty, anne would be finished with the scones and fresh tea. she would take to pacing in front of the large picture windows at the front of her house- he would be here in thirty minutes.
anne's nervous tics showed when she was pacing. her fingers would wrap around her projecting wrists within the first few minutes; she would begin to wring them shortly after; then she would begin scratching along the veins with her always-painted-red fingernails, never drawing blood but leaving welts. her hands would move quicker the closer the minute hand crept toward twelve.
he would ring the doorbell. anne would stop d
Telling StoriesI got my first tattoo when I was seventeen. I remember going into the shop with my mom and nervously telling the tattoo artist what I wanted. My mom couldn't understand why I wanted a tribal symbol, but I loved what it represented: strength and passion. I told him I wanted it on my left shoulder-blade and he just told me to take that arm out of my shirt and started to dab my skin with alcohol.Telling Stories6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
At first, it hurt like a bitch. But the pain soon lessened, and after a while I couldn't feel a thing. A half hour later, the tribal symbol was complete. The artist handed me a mirror so I could see it. It was amazing. I grinned and nodded my head, letting him know he did a great job. It was at that moment, I knew I was addicted.
Now it was three years later, and I'd accumulated six more tattoos. Most were small, except for one that took a chunk out of the small of my back. I was now heading into the shop for my eighth. I opened the door and stepped inside. Rock music play
truthless heroesHe lived in his own little world.truthless heroes6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She lived in the universe of people.
He liked to watch droplets of rain falling down to the ground, shattering into a million little pieces.
She liked to let the water soak through to her bones and jump in the puddles.
He liked green tea.
She liked strong coffee.
He whispered, "I love you."
She, though, loved only herself.
He said, "I won't let anyone take you away, ever."
She belonged to the whole world.
He kissed her thin scarlet lips.
She let him kiss them.
She told him, "I don't love you".
He couldn't do any better than "I know".
She wanted to love him more than anything.
He couldn't prevent it.
She knows she can't allow it.
She knows she has to be cruel to him - only for the sake of his sanity.
She knows it now, when the strings have tangled them both so tightly, they could either cut them up with a sharp razor, hurting them both, or give it another chance.The last chance to cast the metal shreddings into silk strings, tying their hands and hearts
truth1i only started calling you baby because i forgot your name.truth15 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
word vomit.i.word vomit.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
was a bolero of everything
that was languid and tragic
(like women with long cigarettes,
panthers draped on roadkill chaise longues)
and it was like hearing
for the very first time.
i covered my ears and sang in my head
to block out your words that bounced
off the walls of my brain when they seeped through the cracks.
it's torture, i tell you.
stop it, i don't like it.
you are the worms
or maybe the maggots eating
at my mind,
at my skull
carving out a niche
in the pulsing grey-matter;
you're making my thoughts atrophy.
my brain is collapsing in on itself.
an implosion of body, mind and soul.
i'm fading more and more every moment i spend listening.
listening to you.
listening to your words.
letting them plant themselves in my brain-tissue.
it's a disease, i swear it.
you're warping me;
i am shifting with the weight
of your ten-tonne words,
the mass of your silver whispers
like flecks of mercury--
and you know what that did to the hatters.
Flutter By My Loveyou are r a i n b o w s onFlutter By My Love6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
silk clouds with diamond studs for
eyes, cherry lips and
a button nose that you
love to scrunch when you take your
dry cough medicine
you change the colours
so they fit into a world
thats not so greyscaled
you describe yourself
as the type of person who
who will sit in the rain
if it meant it would
help to make me smile, and let
me tell you, it would.
maybe one day ill
be able to see the world
in the way you do
and if i should be
so lucky as to k i s s the clouds
i would sing out notes
that would nestle in
the deepest, darkest cracks that you
thought were too broken
because i would love
to mend your torn angel wings.
i want you to soar.
20: DesecrateBroken nails, chapped lips, tired eyes, bleeding hips. You always sliced where no one could see, thinking I wouldnt notice that slight stagger in your walk as your backpack rubbed against the wound. You bit the insides of your cheeks when I asked what was wrong and mumbled, Nothing, Im perfectly fine.20: Desecrate6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I knew it was a lie, and you knew that I knew. I could see the pain in your eyes, those beautiful eyes of mud and hopelessness.
I went to sleep at night wondering if Id see you in the morning or if Id get the news youd overdosed on pills or finally cut deep enough to bleed out every drop of blood contained in your pale body. And every morning I saw you, I kissed your cheek softly and whispered, Remember that I love you.
That day my teacher asked me to look up desecrate in the dictionary and when I did I saw a picture of you. Thirty minutes later I found out I had a funeral to attend.
I wish I had been enough to save you.