On submitting proseOn submitting prose11 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
Okay. So you've written something. Part of a story perhaps, or a description. A prologue or a novel chapter. You want to post it as a deviation on dA.
You want comments? You want people to take your writing seriously?
Show us you take your writing seriously then.
1. Proofing and Polishing.
If you apply for a job and your CV is full of typos, spelling mistakes and poorly worded sentences, you won't get the job. Your application will go in the bin.
Most people on dA don't know you. If they randomly find your work and it looks like you dashed it off, wrote it between lessons, and submitted it just as it is, most people won't bother to read much beyond their discovery of the first typo.
And why should they? You obviously don't care enough to spend a bit of time polishing your work, so why should anyone waste their time reading it? Really?
No one cares about how on-the-spur-of-the-moment your writing was done. Saying "I wrote this at 3am" or "I was high" do
The Writing ProcessWhat is the Writing Process?The Writing Process8 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Many of us learned that the writing process is made up of five parts: Pre-writing, Writing, Revision, Editing, and Publishing. Indeed, this process has been so ingrained, and the vocabulary and terms have become such a part of our education, that some students (and adults) feel as if writing is a formulaic, rigid thingnot unlike learning mathematicsthat they simply never excelled in. Fortunately, this simply isn't true. While the five basic steps of the writing process are effective, they can only be effective if the people using the process understand the purpose of each step.
Experience has shown that many students do not know the purpose of drafting beyond a certain, vague understanding that you're supposed to "correct" or "fix" something for each new draft. Its unfortunate, but its also been shown that students who are forced to Pre-Write in certain ways, even when they have been
Troll Island of dA In the Universe known as the internet, there's a small planet called Deviantart. Now this planet had was mainly islands with a main island that was run by royalty who where called the admins. This island also where higher ups and sometimes underclass stayed. Anyone esle had an island to go to.Troll Island of dA6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Those who was on this planet stayed on the island they belong too. Each island had a steady supply of what ever they need, including tons of energy as a means of communcation for food, supplies, or just to chat. When ever life became boring for them, the islanders would travel or surf to other islands to chat and learn a new trick or two before returning to their own island. This usually helped their island more than normal.
The planet was peaceful sometimes but, drama was always there. If it wasn't complaints and ranchers milking lulz cows for all their worth before being marked and set free, it was troll island.
deviantART ListensDeviantART listens on a constant consistent basis. For starters, Premium Members have the option of becoming "Official Beta Testers". These OBTs have the opportunity to test unreleased site modifications and give feedback directly to dA's staff members. If that in and of itself doesn't prove that dA not only listens but is actually GEARED to listening to its members, then maybe some more facts will.deviantART Listens6 years ago in Editorial More Like This
In the most recent example of the power of the OBTs, version 7 of the site layout has been pre-released to the OBTs. Many of them found exception to the lack of customisable buttons in the top menus. A couple of days later, the deviantART logo drop-down menu had customisable buttons for quicker access to different parts of the website. What the OBTs said directly affected the site's appearance and features.
Also during the Beta Testing of v7, the OBTs pointed out the lack of an arrow next to the deviantART logo drop-down menu and the fact that invisible reply buttons might be difficult for
Parent NightYou know how kids are always using the excuse that their dog ate their homework? Well, that is a similar reason to why my parents couldn't go to parent's night.Parent Night10 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
You see, for as long as I can remember I have been greatly interested in Greek mythology, particularly the gods and monsters. Last night I was doing some reading in a very, very old book entitled The Lower World of Hades and after reading something about Typhon and Echidna (I can't recall what and sadly the book is now so covered with dog slobber that it is impossible to read) I came to some Latin that I couldn't quite understand. Naturally, when I can't understand what is being read I (at least attempt to) read it out loud. After struggling through the difficult paragraph of unfamiliar words I at last came to two simpler words that I read out with relief, "tantus canis" which basically translates to "really big dog". I realized then (much to my chagrin) that I had just read a very powerful incantation of some sort.
Naughty Nursery RhymesMary had a little pig,Naughty Nursery Rhymes7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She kept it fat and plastered;
And when the price of pork went up,
She shot the little bastard.
Mary had a little lamb,
Her father shot it dead.
Now it goes to school with her,
Between two hunks of bread.
Jack and Jill Went up the hill
To have a little fun.
Stupid Jill forgot the pill
And now they have a son.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the kings' horses,
And all the kings' men.
Had scrambled eggs for breakfast again, and again, and again.
Hey diddle diddle, the cat took a piddle,
All over the bedside clock.
The little dog laughed to see such fun.
Then died of electric shock.
Georgie Porgie Pudding and Pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry.
And when the boys came out to play,
He kissed them too 'cause he was gay.
NightThe peace of the nightNight10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Calms my ever-active mind
The serenity of its darkness
Has a strange soothing power
All encompassing, ever expanding
Night goes ever on
And it is impossible to see its end
But somehow, I am comforted
It is not the dark I speak of, but night
The infinite beauty of her midnight cloak
With jewels of burning amber and midnight blue
Set among her coat of invisible velvet
Imagination is set afire when Night is across the land
Visions of far-off lands and fathomless seas
You can only see these things, and more,
When your mind is calmed by the Night.
An ethereal melody plays in the background,
What does it sound like? What is its rhythm?
Only you can tell me, and only I can tell you
For it is whatever we make it
Maybe a lonely piano, playing in the distance
Or a mystic flute, on the fleeting wind
Or perhaps a delicate harp you hear
As you gaze up at the stars
Or perhaps it is the chime
Haunting and ancient, soothing and lyrical
It feels the wind and dances accordingly
the rest of god's name"She misses you, you know, Jimmy."the rest of god's name8 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Yeah. I know."
There's a pause. He cradles the side of his face with square fingers, adult pound hands.
"It's in her sleep, too. She murmurs in the night. Sometimes it it rises to screams"
The hesitation rests on his lips. He licks it off, his tongue like a suspicious fish.
"Do you ever think"
"Go away, David."
"that maybe if you had stopped, she would still be oh - okay, and you wouldn't have to"
"I said go away."
"I mean this can't be living, not cowering, not like this"
Katuatagoing out with herKatuata9 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
was like World War One, except
it was over by Christmas
Hey Mr. EmoHey Mr. Emo9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Rain, rain go away
Corrode my eyes some other day
In my brain the maggots play
After all the rain will leave away
Crush me, crave me
Grain by grain
Slice my wings and burn my brain
Sacrifice intestine chains
Watch me struggle
Watch me scream
Watch as you slash dreams in dreams
Pull my heartstrings
Watch them bleed
Watch the vultures feed their greed
Roll the film
Oh monster me!
Ah monster my!
Cloaks and daggers
Eyes begin to close and drift
Heartrate stops to a riddling shift
Believing, feeling emo today
Mommy, where the hell is my razOr blade?
Singing softly, biting blood
That taste like batteries
As it floods
Down down down
Into the depths of the ghostly town
In my brain
In my brain
Where the rain will never go away
will.i.will.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i will not grant you pretty words
though they burn in my veins
and force me to breathe,
as if my fey-child scripture
ever could withstand you
and the scars you carved in my DNA.
they breed in my throat,
a transcendental code sacrosanct
as the prayers you whisper,
and the vows you took in obligation
only to hide your transgression
(twenty-six years, three months, twenty days)
and write in me the fear
of being erased.
so maybe you can't understand
how i made myself not hate you
when i thought you would die
just in case
i want to throw my fury
at your feeble body and
like zeus to your cronus
though i've always been cast
as hermes instead
for every second i've stared myself down
just to prove the balance of genetics
lies not in your favour
teaching myself to drive stick
so i could run farther
from who you wanted me to be
the six year old boy
with a near-perfect sketch
(but it wasn't
Davespertine ExclusiveDavespertine Exclusive7 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
davespertine is a man in London who has the eye that every photographer should envy. Flowing from soft
Out of ControlIt's 6:46 and thirty-one seconds when the doorbell rings. My mom runs to answer it.Out of Control9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Hi, Michelle!" I hear my mom call. It's my sister. She left her college friends to have dinner with us tonight.
I have four minutes before I can go out and greet her. I can only walk through doors when the number of minutes is divisible by five. 6:46 and fifty-nine seconds. Not happening.
It's the killer of what could be an okay life. I'm late for class all the time when I'm at school. A teacher will let me out at 1:50 exactly. I walk through the hallways in a straight line, starting with my right foot, ending with my left. I reach the door, but it's too late: 1:56. I lurk outside for four minutes before I can walk in. Late again.
Or I'll have a doctor's appointment. Do you have any idea of how many doors there are in a doctor's office? It takes me tw
Spankingpull the shade, shut the doorSpanking10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
loose the pants, kiss the floor
here it comes, moving fast
mommy's hand upon my ass
Love Letter from a VampireExcerpts from a Vampire's Love LetterLove Letter from a Vampire5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
November 20, 1888
My Dearest Friend,
I hope you do not mind I have taken the liberty of addressing you in this manner. The day I received the book you sent containing the letters between John and Abigail Adams, I read it completely through. Papa was very amused that I asked to forgo hunting so as not to disrupt my passion. He hunted for me and I drank with great haste so as to return to that most beloved volume without delay. I've let him borrow it, and he has been reading it aloud to Mama in the drawing room by the fire. Aunt Patricia and Uncle Boris, hearing about it from my mother, have taken to joining them and listening to my father read. The letters have touched so many hearts here. I cannot thank you enough for this most precious gift, my darling Caroline.
Our family here is doing well. As you may recall, 13 Oct last was the one hundred eleventh anniversary of Uncle Boris and Aunt Patricia's marriage. Think about that. John and Ab
Odd BallTitleOdd Ball4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I find things funny,
but I don't laugh.
Yet, I'll find
for no reason at all.
I'm a fish afraid
nervous of flight.
And an illiterate
When I feel
my face is
as well, plain.
When I'm sad
And when I'm
still, it is the same.
I'm a caged
A book of truth
I'm a fly,
on a wall
compulsory throne in
the farthest corner
of the spotlight.
I'm a lover of poems
for a dime.
the lame rambler.
draw a straight line.
The happy cook
with no sense of
I'm red-wood tree,
flourishing in death valley.
Introduction - MeHere I sit, staring at the screen,Introduction - Me4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Trying to figure what to write about me
An introduction is what I am supposed to do
But I have no idea what to say thus far
I always stumble and fumble
Never able to write about myself,
Yet I always have the words
To help others in need
The words flow like water
Smooth and comforting,
But when it comes to me,
They are filled with stormy waves,
The only time they honestly come free
Is when my emotions are running high
Then my fingers run across the keys
At a fast amazing speed,
It is like a burning need
A deep fire inside,
To release what has happened
And no longer hide.
I should be honest and say what I feel,
But that is so not easy for me,
That is why I took this challenge,
To force me to write,
To no longer bury these emotions
That lay buried inside,
To free me from the chains that bind,
Maybe then I can find the real me.
Northeast In Power: Day 10Battle cries were ringing all over the field: Crew members dashed across the slippery snow, some falling, never to get up again. The ice were battling back fiercly, drawing their icicle swords and piercing the crew members so that they fell to the cold ground. Soon the battle was over, and as soon as the dusty covering of snow settled, the ice looked over the bodies of the crew members. They had triumph in their faces, for their king, the northeast, would be back in power. Soon, the whole world would be cold for eternity.Northeast In Power: Day 107 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
To Go FarTo Go Far9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Woman, you said you wouldn't
leave the world behind. All the pieces,
you had all the pieces in a line and you were measuring
and drawing routes, bus trips back to where
you think things start. This suitcase
on the stoop, then, mustn't be yours.
Woman, you said you'd got a ticket out
and a ticket out for me, that we'd both be
over the moon by now. But you live limpid
in the city lights and I live the same nights
and between us, we can't weave enough of a day.
There is no fading, love, and no saving.
This white-on-white hospital light
you've brought outside with you
is all of your strength. You show up against
grey skies, you ghost in lamplight,
you love your children unborn. They are
dreams, as you're a dream, as is the hand
warming your palm. There is no hand, woman,
warming your palm, you've left it behind, named
for a dream dissolve. So no one is saviour, or victor, or love.
There is just us alone. Why remove us
from the road? Why remove us to jasmine
and this melancholy star? Woman,
All That I AmAll That I AmAll That I Am5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A monster, yet still human
A sinner, yet still a saint
A liar, yet still truthful
A dog, yet still a being
A loser, yet still a winner
A creep, yet still normal
A corps, yet still alive
A waste, yet still of value
A corrupter, yet still clean
A king, yet still a peasant
A beggar, yet still rich
A curse, yet still a blessing
A whore, yet still pure
A ghost, yet still flesh
A criminal, yet still honest
A boaster, yet still humble
A bastard, yet still caring
A nerd, yet still a jock
A wimp, yet still strong
A fool, yet still wise
All these things I am at any given time, at any given day,
I am proud to admit these and yet,
I am sure to deny them all.
An Introduction - In VinoAn Introduction - In Vino9 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
If you were trying to tell the story of your life, where would you begin? What about the life of someone greater than you? Someone you could not even imagine your way into the head of? Someone who lived every day capable of anything because they made their world and all the people in it. How would you begin to speak of a man who'd risen above the status of man?
"How do you begin to tell the story of a man like Geoff M. Malone?"
My story is written in the streets already. It is written in the blood of my enemies. It is scribbled on the faces of those I have condemned, and those I have saved. It's eagerly poised on the tongue-tips of the garcon who have worked with me -- eager to impart the stories they have been a part of and the sights they have seen. Whether you believe it all began with the beat of a twisted tiny heart, the first time a bullet bit into flesh, or the instant that spit found its way into the bloodstream isn't the quandary that will ultimately vex you, my reader