How To Get Noticed on deviantART V2.0The tips that really work...How To Get Noticed on deviantART V2.01 month ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
It's been a while since I wrote one of these guides and, since V1.0 and V1.5 proved to be so popular, I feel it is about time I update my guide to getting noticed on deviantART.
So, you want to get noticed on deviantART but you're not sure where to start? You've come to the right place; pull out your note pad and pen, you'll need them.
Before beginning to read this article, ask yourself why you want to get noticed on deviantART. Do you want to play more of an active role in the community or do you want to raise attention to your commissions and make a living? Do you want to get noticed to meet more deviants, or do you want to be able to say you are "popular"? It is vital to know what you are searching for before you embark on your journey to reach your goal. This article will sh
Game Review: Among the SleepAmong The Sleep AnalysisGame Review: Among the Sleep4 months ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Hey there, every-peoples. AMX-269 here, with another one of my video game review/analyses. Over the last few days, a game I've been looking forward to was finally released, and today, I finished it. I first became interested in "Among the Sleep," the first big game created by Norway's Krillbite Studios, by watching Let's Players Pewdiepie, Cryaotic, and CinnamonToastKen play through the demo. From there, that led me to the game's Kickstarter page, and that led to me donating a bit of money for the cause.
The fact that a horror game was able to capture my interest is actually surprising to me, since I normally tend to steer away from that kind of thing. But after playing through the game, I think I've realized something: in terms of psychological horror, that really doesn't seem to bother me much. Ironically, I find jumpscares more frightening, probably because I'm so sensitive to noise. But enough about that. My point is, jumpscares aside, "Amo
Children's Literature, Morality + Changing IdealsIntroductionChildren's Literature, Morality + Changing Ideals2 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
With the invention of the printing press in the fifteenth century, and its gradual integration into society, people at last had access to literature. It was William Caxton who first saw the opportunity to make money by printing and selling those stories and fables hitherto told by word of mouth.
At this time, literature did not have age-specific target audiences. Inevitably, some stories appealed to children more than others. Robin Hood was especially popular, while Aesop's fables offered entertainment and life lessons to adults and children alike.
It is, of course, impossible to say exactly when and how literature was identified as a useful tool in teaching morality to children. It is speculated that there was no concept of 'childhood' before the eighteenth century, although historians debate this, as historians are apt to do. Whatever one's view on this, it cannot be denied that the older generation has throug
A Short VisitIn the country,A Short Visit1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the scarcity of humanity,
our ability to stand outside and be alone,
holds an undeniable appeal to me.
Even in the cold, the quiet can be
a great friend. The sun was out today,
pleasant on the skin. The wind had subdued
from last night's blowing. I sat in my
great-grandfather's metal lawn chair.
He kept this one outside the barn.
Told me once how he found a meteorite
in the chair. Said it hit the barn
and bounced right down to sit a spell.
Said it gave him a little shock,
a space-spark he called it,
when he picked it up from its resting spot.
How old was he then?
My age? I only recall an aged,
bald, weathered, cowboy who still preferred
to do his business in the outhouse
instead of the indoor room with water
from pipes. He told me
he knew when I was being born
because his knees itched from where
I would sit and his hands stung
from where he would spank me.
He and Granny shared a small house,
blown by the horrid western Oklahoma wind,
on a hill that overlooked their pond
The Poetic Mind as a MuscleThe Poetic Mind as a MuscleThe Poetic Mind as a Muscle1 year ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
As a poet at any given skill level, you might ponder different ways to advance your mastery of the craft. You might spend weeks dissecting famous and not so famous poets. You might read countless articles on poetic technique. You might just plow through any and every collection you can get your hands on, track all of the most well-know journals, follow all of the contemporaries. All of these things add up to a knowledgeable poet. However, does this necessarily make you a better poet?
No. The reason is that most of us equivocate poetic skill with divinely gifted talent. We often think of poetry as a latent ability that we merely possess or do not. This leads to certain diseases within the mind, whether it be the idea that our words are beyond reproach because they are "self expression," or we decide that words come out and that's all there is to it. Other times we are stricken by the undeniable flaws of our work, even t
Masquerade Villanelle IILife is a masquerade.Masquerade Villanelle II2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
You're only safe when in disguise.
Remove your mask and be betrayed.
There's every reason to be afraid
A stranger's frozen face, flashing eyes,
Life is a perilous masquerade.
A look sharp as a tempered blade.
Honeyed wordsdo not listen to their lies.
If you remove your mask you'll be betrayed.
Dance, smile, and nod; a silent shade,
Hide deep your heart and beware of spies.
Life is a dance, a whirling masquerade.
Difficulty comes with your temper frayed
Take courage, and let no one hear your cries.
Dare you remove your mask, risk being betrayed?
Discover who you are, before you fade.
But keep part of yourself secret, if you are wise.
Life is nothing but an unending masquerade
Remove your mask and be betrayed.
ControlThe feeling came over Bill when he was out checking his trap line in the dying light of a winter evening. Eyes on the back of his head. He knew the wary scrutiny of the deer and the hungry yet restrained gaze of the wolf. This didn't feel like either. It didn't belong to this place any more than he did. He would have preferred the wolf.Control2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He turned around, shook his gun at the reddening sky, and cupped his other hand to his mouth. "I know you're out there! This is private property! I don't wanna use this, but you'll leave me no choice if I catch you hanging around here!"
A soft rustle from somewhere deep enough that the trees obscured his vision. He waited until he felt he was alone again, then trudged through the snow to see what he could learn about the intruder. There were prints made by boots similar to his, though smaller. The thought that he outweighed whoever it was offered little comfort.
He cast one last disgusted look in the direction the tracks took as they moved away, then re
letters from the seai.letters from the sea9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
sometimes when i wake up
before the sun rises, when i’m all alone
and it feels like i might be the only person in the world
i notice that my face is wet
and i wonder if it’s because
i’ve been swimming with you in my dreams
i remember you
in the summer nights under the corsican stars
and the warmth of your skin in the cold seawater
how the phosphorescence coated our bodies
as we swam together,
the salty tang of the ocean and your fingers up my spine
and us glowing like soft stars in the night
i remember how i wished it could last forever
now i wonder if the tides and my tears
were so different after all
Confession.I sold hope.Confession.4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Out of stock.
Ninja Santaninja santa in the nightNinja Santa4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
silent while you're sleeping tight
slipping down the chim-a-nee
hiding in the christmas tree
ninja santa in the dark
eating cookies while you hark
the harold angels sing along
singing funny chistmas songs
wash the cookies down with milk
santa moves smooth as silk
leaving presents wrapped all nice
flying through the snow and ice
dasher, dancer, prancer, too
ninja santa's raindeer crew
ninja master old saint nick
ninja elves are sidekicks
a present for the first noel
jingle jingle ninja bells
he comes prepared with mistletoe
ninja santa -- ho ho ho
supernovae"Wouldn't it be great if we could watch a star explode?"supernovae1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was just like her to say that. The violence of another world's ending was, to her, poetic. If our own sun exploded, I think she'd open up her arms to embrace it.
"I don't know that I'd want to be that close," I said.
"That's the cool part. You wouldn't have to be." But she still didn't think we were close enough.
That was how we always ended up like this, sitting in a car, driving to nowhere, with nothing but the sound of the tires on the highway and the company of the stars above us. She couldn't sit still long enough to color in the details, so we never did. We just kept driving.
She leaned back in the passenger seat and kicked her feet up, staring at the ceiling of the car as if it wasn't there.
"When stars exploded a long time ago, they painted pictures of them and wondered if the gods were looking down on them. What do you think we'll do when we get to see one?"
"Take a picture."
She shot an expression at me that I
The Death of LanguageThey say that every fourteen days, a language dies. The statistic isn't alarming, after all there are supposedly seven thousand languages in the world. That a language dies every two weeks, is just a statistic. The concern comes with the knowledge that a language dies because it has been forgotten. Thus it dies without recognition, without farewell and without acknowledgment. It was merely there before, a communication bridge once upon a literary dream - now a nothing. This fascinating tool that we use to interact with our fellow human beings is lost. And we don't care. The Eskimos, they say, had a hundred words for snow.The Death of Language2 years ago in Editorial More Like This
That favourite pair of shoes that you love all the holes and splits into because they are so perfect and fit you so well - gets a better send off than a language. That coat that's become too small or too big, or too much last years fashion and too little of this years craze gets more of a farewell than a languag
Why Spirit Day Is Not EnoughPrefaceWhy Spirit Day Is Not Enough3 years ago in Editorial More Like This
This essay was written in October of 2010 after DeviantART released this article supporting the Spirit Day movement to bring awareness to LGBT bullying.
I wrote it because there were so many comments on the official article that were defaming to one group or another that I felt the true issue had been lost in the rhetoric. The point of Spirit Day is to show solidarity and compassion for your fellow human beings. Not gay or straight or ill or handicapped - those categories don't matter. We're just humans, each flawed and each perfect. Spirit Day was an attempt to remind us of that.
I was confronted with two major arguments to this editorial in the original posting. One was that singling out LGBT suicides meant that I was putting more importance on that group than any other. For the purpose of the article, I suppose that's true. Spirit Day focused on LGBT issues, so the article (
EEnE's NBC-chapter 1EEnE's NBC-chapter 17 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
October 31. Halloween night. The night when ghosts and goblins come out to play. The night when young children obtain massive amounts of candy by going door to door in costumes. To some kids, the greatest night of the year. And then there are others who dont exactly have the same idea . . .
In a small town of Peach Creek, a young junior high student by the name of Eddy had just gotten home after serving his almost daily routine of detention. He remembered how the same thing had happened on last Halloween. But this Halloween was going to be different. Because Eddy had made the bold decision that he and his two friends, Ed and Edd (known to everyone as Double D) would not be trick-or-treating that year.
Eddy was completely disgusted by Halloween after what had happened last year. He had fallen for another one of his older brothers stupid jokes (the so-called map to Spook-E-Ville ended up sending the three friends in a big circle), and he and Double D had been beat
A Guide to OCTsOriginal Character Tournaments are all over deviantart and keep growing in popularity, but not everyone knows what they are or how to participate in them. Since they're hosted by individuals and not actually affiliated with the website itself, there are no guides available to help explain how they work. Hopefully, this FAQ will be helpful to anyone looking to get involved in OCTs.A Guide to OCTs5 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
What is an OCT?
OCTs, or "Original Character Tournaments" are contests held here on deviantart in which you can pit your original characters against other people's characters in a comic-style battle-royale. To put it simply, it's a cross between an art competition and a storytelling contest.
OCTs can be hosted on someone's account, or they can have a tournament account of their own. OCTs are usually open to anyone with a deviantart account, although some are invite only. Information about who is eligible to audition will usually be clearly stated s
YGO-Corners of Time-Chapter 1Corners of TimeYGO-Corners of Time-Chapter 15 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Chapter 1-Fighting for the Future
People scattered one by one, hand in hand with the things they valued most. For some it was riches, money or gold, other it was their families, friends and loved ones. Tonight it didn't matter who you were. It was every man for them self. The empire that had successfully remained peaceful for years was long over due for a vicious attack. Even the most vicious of attacks could have easily been foreseen by the Egyptian Empire and would have been countered by now. This was no ordinary attack. It was pulled by the strings of fate.
"Hurry north you three," a male who had experienced far too much for his young age insisted as he gently helped two children and a young woman off of the white horse. The children looked up with pleading looks, desperately wishing to stay. "Now!" he stated hoping back up onto the horse's back, his hand pointing to the north. "You will find caves among a nearby Oasis, wait there until the cost is clear. Do n
Thank You To The SoldierThank you to the soldierThank You To The Soldier2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
that's gone away to war.
Thank you to the soldier
aware of what this fight is for
Thank you to the soldier
that serves beneath our flag.
Thank you to the soldier--
that posses courage I don't have.
Thank you to the soldier;
a life forever changed.
Thank you to the soldier
who can't come home the same.
Thank you to the soldier
that never saw the battlefield.
Thank you to the soldier;
a sacrifice forever real.
Thank you to the solider
that never made it home.
Thank you to the soldier...
who knows there's more to come.
Expos-EDExpos-EDExpos-ED7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Lets see over the shoulder, thick over thin, wrap the thick, run the loop, pull, straighten.
Usually such a procedure delighted Eddward to no end, but not tonight. Not under this circumstance.
Dolefully, he straightened his tie and took a good look at himself in the full-sized mirror in front of him. He was dolled up in a straight white suit, so bright in its whiteness it nearly blinded him. Despite the time he spent to make it look as neat and clean as humanly possible, he was less than confident in his appearance. The blazer was obviously too big, the cuffs hanging past his wrists, and for all he knew, his argyle-patterned tie couldve been completely clashing with the striped shirt underneath. Hopefully no one would notice.
With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the mirror to face the over-stimulation that was his best friends room, from the shag carpet to the disco ball glit
DID is not schizophreniaDID is not schizophrenia5 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
I am so so so sick of people thinking that DID is schizophrenia... sick of explaining to people over and over that they are NOT the same and that one DOES NOT develop into the other.
So, I would like to compare the two disorders, Schizophrenia and Dissociative Identity Disorder. To shed light and more understanding about these two mental disorders.
Schizophrenia is probably one of the most stigmatized mental disorders. It seems that in so many cases, dealing with this disorder is just too much for some family members and the person suffering from the disorder loses family support and any help that they could provide. People suffering from this disorder tend not to stay in treatment and tend not to take the medications that have been prescribed for them. This can definitely cause a lot of upheaval within the family. Schizophrenics sometimes hear voices that seem to come from outside themselves. Not all schizophrenics hear these voices, but many do. If medication is
OK Doc - A Doctor Who Western (p.1)The Ninth Doctor gets to play cowboy as he and Rose accidentally end up back at the OK Corral. But something new is brewing in Tombstone, involving an ancient culture, a myth, a legend, and a bunny rabbit.OK Doc - A Doctor Who Western (p.1)2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The Tardis materialized.
The Doctor stepped out and took a look around the small dusty courtyard. "Oh, so not going to happen," he muttered in disgust. He turned around. "Back inside, Rose," he said, shooing her before him.
She sidestepped. "Why? What is it? What's wrong?" She looked around the small cramped yard, tall wooden fencing blocked out any view to speak of, but it was hot, with a dry heat similar to a desert, and it smelled of animals and rotting garbage. She held her nose and looked over at the pile of moldering onions that stood at the back door of the ramshackle, clapboard building they'd apparently materialized behind. "It stinks."
"Yes, it does," he said, giving the words an ominous ring that indicated something more dire than onions.
Rose gave him a sou