Remember 7 things foreverRemember 7 Things:Remember 7 things forever4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
1. You'll learn from all of your experiences.
2. You'll find wisdom every day.
3. You'll have reasons to be happy.
4. You'll be loved by me and others forever.
5. You'll be inspired to make new things.
6. You'll find peace and essential truths.
7. You're part of a universe that will never die.
There's no one on earth, who can stop you from changing and living your own way. Don't let others bother you. Live the way you wish. You don't need to worry about anything!
You can't even imagine all of the world's troubles, most of the time. You did not cause them. Let go of your past. You should set yourself free and be happy about your greatest accomplishments. Imagine beauty. Imagine life. Avoid death and destruction.
Proper Grown-UpsTime is staying still,Proper Grown-Ups2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
And it always will,
So it seems to you, my friend.
Lifetimes in your mind
Are the greatest kind.
Never let your wide world end.
Ev’ry feeling, ev’ry day,
Life runs ever on,
And when something’s gone,
It steals part of you away.
Some of it will slip
From your desp’rate grip,
All your world, your invention,
Who you really are.
Do not fling it far,
And don’t embrace pretension.
Wine spritzer with lime.
Iraqi Pilot Returns - StoryBy U.S. Air Force Staff Sgt. Christopher FrostIraqi Pilot Returns - Story7 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
KIRKUK, Iraq By age 15, his destiny was already set by Saddam Husseins regime he was to become a fighter pilot, a necessity in the bloody war with Iran. He took the controls of a Bravo, a single engine, propeller-driven training aircraft, and performed his first solo flight before most Americans could even drive.
Today, Iraqi Air Force Maj. Abbas, his name changed in this story for security reasons, serves once again in the Iraqi Air Force, but hes no longer asked to fly for the dictator but to fly for his country.
Abbas is an instructor pilot with the Iraqi Flying Training School in Kirkuk, Iraq, where he teaches initial pilot training to future Iraqi pilots. Like many instructor pilots who have returned to the school to teach, he was a fighter pilot under Husseins regime with a great deal of experience and training.
My education was only for flying, said Abbas, while he kept watch over a pitche
You Me and an Ass Makes ThreeYou Me and an Ass Makes Three4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The O'Brian Star sat fixed in space between two possible orbits. On maneuvering thrust, we could roll into a pattern over Telavor, shuttle down for some much needed rest while the ship was refitted and resupplied and plot our next supra-light slip. Alternately, we could drop through the nearly non-existant atmosphere of Tel N'akvar, punch a hole into the local mining outpost and load up with enough rare ore to be building a new ship at the other end of the galaxy before the N'akvarans knew what hit them.
It all seemed pretty simply to me as I sat in the upper gunner's turret, admiring the view, the two planets nearly perfectly aligned with their sun; Telavor casting its massive shadow over the smaller Tel N'akvar.
It was from this vantage point that I had been watching them argue through the window, the Captain and his first mate. They were alone on the bridge, the viewports unshielded and thus unusually transparent from this angle with the lack of outside light. The Captain seemed exa
BeaumainsSince the AI Liberation Movement, almost all forms of artificial sentience had been given the option of self-definition. This met with cries of "foul!" in a few divisions of the United Confederation of Worlds' military branches. One of the most lenient branches was the CASEDConfederate Administration for Space Exploration and Defense. These men, women, and others among the service welcomed their AIs as partners and neighbors. Most of the ships chose Fabricated Interaction Units that were ideal for working with their crews. The androids usually had pleasant, well-sculpted faces with superior physiques and were almost universally beautiful; this is not to say, however, that many warships avoided choices that were decidedly more warlike or domineering than was really necessary.Beaumains4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The CASEDS Gareth (known unofficially as the Beaumains, and with several instances of discreet graffiti courtesy of the crew dubbing her the Cute Bruiser) was due for the installment
The Final testThe sun was setting outside, leaving a multitude of fiery colours in its wake. A few stray rays stole through the open window whenever the fluttering curtains left a gap - light and shadow dancing over his features in a complicated pattern, illuminating a sort of rough beauty in him that was so perfect in its entirety, so pure and obvious in that one moment that I could not understand how I had missed it before. This wasn't the first time I had watched him fall asleep in the dying light of the sun but it was the first time the picture had struck me as so painfully beautiful, and I began to wonder if I was falling in love with him.The Final test7 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
I shook myself in a vain attempt to dispel the thought. Falling prey to those kind of emotions at a time like this would be akin to signing my own death warrant; we had work to do. I turned my back on the scene, oddly comforted by taking my eyes away although the picture still hung behind them, a beautiful backdrop to my disturbed dreams.
By the time I awoke
on and onMonday morning Sonia woke up to jackhammers drilling across the street. She groaned at the stray bed spring digging into her side. It hurt like shit but she ignored the pain. She needed a new mattress like sex: fast and easy to get.on and on5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
DC humidity sucked when you couldn't afford an air conditioner. Sleeping naked wasn't enough to keep her cool. Sweat rolled down into her tear ducts and burned so bad her vision blurred. Her hand clawed around beneath her pillow for the Marlboro box and uncovered three cigarettes and the bent pack of matches.
She rolled off the bed and pitter-pattered to the window until her tummy pouch pressed the glass. She lit up a cigarette and watched the world from above. Seven stories protected her from most curious eyes. Sonia believed A-cup wasn't worth a peek, no matter what the ex said.
The hard hats in orange continued to uproot Southeast's foundation. Anacostia, Washington Highlands and her Congress Heights caused many problems for the District. Now they all sh
Blood Ties- Alternate MoralityThe Monastery was quiet, most of the paladins attending the evening services. There were no sounds in the nearly empty interrogation room, save the occasional whimper or gasp emitted from the currently singular prisoner as she slept. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a rather unique sight- a draenei paladin, clad in the red and white of the Crusade. She was obviously quite healthy; her pure-white skin and hair practically glowed as she stepped silently into the darkened room, a vast contrast to the thin and anemically pale elf. She carried a tray laden with bandages and canteens of water- though attendants were forbidden to give the prisoner food, it was her job to provide medical attention, and that included keeping the elf hydrated. Vishas had decided that a blade would be his instrument of choice when the elf hadnt responded to unarmed blows, which meant she had to be quick- otherwise the captive would bleed to death before she could provide any useful information.Blood Ties- Alternate Morality7 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The Critic's Toolkit: LitThe Critic's Toolkit: Literature EditionThe Critic's Toolkit: Lit5 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Critique, the examination or analysis of a work of art (in our case, a written work of course), can be an enjoyable, educational experience for both the critic and the author. If that sounds like something a teacher would say to you about a subject that makes you alternately fall asleep or want to throw up, don't despair, because it can actually be a great experience. You just need some tools to help you.
The main component to many critiques of beginner's work tends to be technical. This can be as basic as misspellings and punctuation errors, which can be an easy thing for you to put in your critique in order to give it more substance, but the technical aspect can also take on a wider scope. Technical critique can examine sentence structure in terms of general readability and how clearly an idea is portrayed, to even the metaphoric and the way imagery was used.
Christmas Dinner With DmitriNow, now, Margaret. Thats hardly polite. You really ought to wait your turn. The gravy will come round soon enough.Christmas Dinner With Dmitri6 years ago in Horror More Like This
Margaret stares blankly back with all the enthusiasm her shiny button eyes can muster. Which is the normal amount.
And you, Jeremy, stop that! Youve almost knocked over the candle! Do you want to set us all on fire?
The candle in question lets out a faint sputtering sound of remonstrance.
Dmitri sits placidly carving a lump of pinkish flesh on a large blue platter, his arms akimbo as he simultaneously attempts to watch his guests and slice the meat into tidy strips. He is a tall man and thin, with a look of pale Silly Putty, as though he could be stretched to any length one might desire, and then postured, jointless, in some awkward fashion upon his seat. His eyes are dark and twitchy, his hair straggly, supplanted spider legs on caterpillar brows, and his clothes have the weighted, fuliginous look of something that has been dragged thr
Rehab for Roleplayers - Part 2Welcome to Rehab for Role-players, a series of articles aimed at helping role-players more successfully make the transition into writing fiction.Rehab for Roleplayers - Part 25 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Part Two If It Walks Like RP and Quacks Like RP, Then It Is Probably Not a Novel.
As I have already discussed in other parts of this series, fiction and roleplay are two very different things.
Here, I'll be discussing those differences as a means of illustrating why the bulk of roleplay-style writing is not conducive to selling your work to an editor as fiction, nor in many cases providing an enjoyable reading experience for anyone unfamiliar with your personal RP.
Primarily, this segment of the series is dedicated to examining the structure and the purpose of each, and comparing the two.
I feel it's important to make clear at this point that I am not suggesting that concepts, plots and characters originating from RP cannot make the leap to fiction.
Indeed, several very popular series of books have been bor
Human Beansalien space menHuman Beans4 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
wish they hadn't eaten
Gravedigger - OneGravedigger - One7 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
And after the storm
The body of Rafell the Magistrate lay in state beside the hole he was soon to inhabit. The family, of which there were few, and the friends, of which there were even fewer, had already deserted the graveside. They left Graves and his apprentice to nail down the lid and lower the Magistrate into the earth.
Rain was falling. Graves glanced up at the drab, weeping sky. 'Rain's puddling. Good wood that. Going to spoil fast, mind.'
His apprentice gravedigger nodded simply to acknowledge that he had heard.
Graves shook his head, looking left, down the slight incline of the hill towards the great iron cemetery gates, through which Magistrate Rafell's nearest and dearest had hurriedly left, encouraged by the first heavy drops of rain.
'T'aint right, Perin, my boy. Family should wait 'til the departed is proper interred. T'aint right for them to leave like that.'
Perin said nothing. He was not a dramatically intelligent boy but he knew enough. He knew enough abou
Lindor's Luminaries 2Wystan left a gold coin on the table and strode outside. I followed him, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the afternoon sun. Wystan went directly to his horse, leaving one of his guards, a tall man with a short blond beard, to help me mount up this time. At least, I reflected as I nodded my thanks to him, whatever magic had gotten me here had given me a well-mannered horse. I nudged the bays flanks and it stepped forward, content to follow Wystans beautiful chestnut.Lindor's Luminaries 26 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Wystan was apparently ignoring me for the moment, and I was content to let him. I needed time to think over everything I had learned, and guessed that he did too. Slightly bored, I let my mind wander freely, and it eventually settled on the fact that my horse did not have a name, or at least a name that I knew of. I patted its neck with one hand and murmured, What shall we call you?
The horse flicked one ear, which I took to
The MoonriseThe Moonrise3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I'm proud to be an outcast
But I'm proud to lead the fight
For though the dark is rising
We will always see the light.
I'm proud to lose my body
But I'm proud to lift my eyes
For though the pain is sharper
We will always break the ties.
I'm proud to sweat and suffer
But I'm proud to stand up tall
For though the others stumble
We will always break their fall.
I'm proud to watch the moonrise
But I'm proud to end the day
For though the season's over
We will always find a way.
illuminate my heartSeptember falls outside his window and the two-story house feels June. Time tilts here, the days canted to the left like the apple tree their grandchildren planted sometime last winter. It hasn't grown much since then, a few leaves on dry branches but no blooming flowers when spring arrived.illuminate my heart4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Today his fifty years seem like thirty. Sitting up in bed is easier. He doesn't feel as weak as before. The Pacific breeze touches his hair, chills his pale face and he thinks, Maybe Anna and I could drive down to the beachfront today.
He rolls to his side. She's burrowed under the covers, a blue blanketed lump, white hair poking out over dark blue pillows.
John reaches his hand out and presses down.
The lump rolls over. The lump doesn't breathe.
The lump deflates like a balloon.
The lump is blankets and no flesh.
"Mmm, good morning," Anna murmurs in his ear.
Cold lips kiss his cold cheek. John frowns.
There's nothing there--
Anna squeezes his hand, drags him out of bed. "Breakfast?"
Six-Word StoryAll stores closed on miracle street.Six-Word Story4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
midnight, minus threewinter comes to beijing like an old coat,midnight, minus three4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or perhaps a threadbare tide;
not a hurried cold--no, not yet so old
as an angry man--but careful, slow,
and weaving herself from wind after wind,
snow after snow--
like a shroud for a warm corpse
laying itself out on the street
at last to rest,
then, tugging like a baby at her own sleeve
she sees to them, the hot potato women,
the quiet men crying corn,
to the dusty coats and supplications,
and the sparrows blown like buttons
in a storm.
ActingDoctor Andreessen ran his hands through his hair and pushed back from his desk. Amid the chaotic disarray of acting and animation books in front of him, the keyboard he'd been hammering away at for hours stood finally at rest. The panorama of monitors rising up from the literature displayed a scrolling expanse of code as the computer compiled, linked, and built before downloading to the animatron sitting immobile on the edge of a worktable to his left.Acting1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Impatient, the Doctor picked up a volume on method acting, flipping again from cover to cover. Inside were meticulous instructions on how an actor could portray every emotion with body language. His was the second signature on the sign-out card, the first dated in the late eighteen hundreds.
"Compilation complete," the computer intoned from a speaker buried inside an articulating desk lamp, the fixture turning its shade to point at the Doctor while its light pulsed gently in sync with the force of each syllable. The lamp, a nod to an ear
consequenceto hold your eyes openconsequence4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
or to keep them shut
you tried it all and everything
and if you look
you cannot bare the pain
but once you look away
it all slips out and falls apart
it's not just mere 'to be' anymore
but to know just who you are
and how much they can take
before you'll fade away
to keep your mind open
or to lock it up
not knowing what the night may bring
try hard to make it through
to eventually fail
or just to give it up for once
and risk to never feel the same
no punishment, no reward