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rad trad: august 12

Sun Aug 12, 2018, 9:00 AM


FishBoy by Duffzilla


Welcome to the August 12th edition of Rad Trad! :heart:



If you haven't seen the previous volumes of Rad Trad, you can catch up here:


Vol. I | Vol. II

If you like the artworks below, be sure to check out the rest of the artists' galleries as there are more treasures there! :love:

Sun Story by jslattum
Bright moorings by FredaSurgenor
SHAVING by MiroDesign
The market by RedWatercolour
Still standing by AlexandraSerres
623 by yag65


Skin by Dan Leveille

rad trad: august 5

Sun Aug 5, 2018, 9:00 AM


Squiddlepus 2 by Duffzilla

Welcome to the August 5th edition of Rad Trad! :heart:

In some related Traditional Art news, TokyoMoonlight is DA's new Trad Art CV! Send her your suggestions if you so please. (:

If you're enjoying the art featured below, be sure to check out the artists! They're fantastically talented and I guarantee their gallery will be a treat to wander through. :D

.Sunrise in the Forest of Invention by postapocalypsiaZebra Scratchboard by AmBr0
Inundation by LS-1302Sundown by XRlS
Katowice, Damrota Street by PawelGladkowAutumn Ashberries by Cyan707


Skin by Dan Leveille

rad trad: july 28 + life stuff update!

Sat Jul 28, 2018, 11:41 AM


Coral Wonders by GeorgieDeeArt

It's been a while since I've posted a personal life update here... like maybe a few years! Even when I was a CV, I didn't talk about myself much. Honestly, I'm like that in my everyday life as well, so opening up is not easy. :P

But for the last year I've been at my university studying Computer Science and it's been one of the best experiences of my life. It's allowed me to get over one of the worst depressions of my life, which is one of the reasons that led to me stepping down as literature CV last May. Lots of good things have happened since then, including rekindling old friendships and meeting lots of new friends along the way. Academia is challenging and rewarding, and helps me to keep my spirits up. I start classes again in a couple weeks and I couldn't be more excited!

Oh, and I've been trying to take care of my health a lot better and have been going to the gym almost daily! Counting calories, too, but that's boring. So far I've lost about 23 pounds and it feels soooo good. I think that's been helping my mental, too! Hopefully I can keep it going for a long time to come. :D

Anyway... onto my new feature: rad trad! (Where I feature traditional art I've found while browsing, and also from the new group I admin, TheArtistLounge)>


rad trad: july 28 edition


Leshy drawing by Bajan-Art

Mallorca - garden of Son Marroig Mansion by JoaRosa
Berliner Strasse by duytter
Figure.Pink dress by AndriyMarkiv
Brioude Basilique St. Julien external view by GreeGW


Natural Hair by KanchanMahon



Skin by Dan Leveille

pretty for the weekend.

Sat May 26, 2018, 9:36 AM


I just came across this amazing collection by Dean Alexander Photography: Hong Kong Ballet, and I had to share it!  I've been doing DA features through my statuses, but this one is offsite so I hope you enjoy. :heart:









Have a great weekend :heart:


Skin by Dan Leveille

March CVil War: Musical Madness

Wed Mar 15, 2017, 3:46 PM

Only 4 more days to get your entries in!  If you need some extra help, let me know and I'll tell you how music shapes your world. :D



The CVil war returns in full force this month with a new prompt, and the winners from January's CVil War!  Every month, the literature Community Volunteers post individual prompts that pits the literature community against each other—for the sake of literature!  While the monthly battle wages on, you're tasked with responding to one of our prompts (and only one! You must pick a side.) in the hopes of becoming the sole champion, and winner of that month's prizes.  Read on to find out what March's prompt entails!

March's Prompt

This month is all about music and the influence it has on your world or your characters within that world.  In real life, music is everywhere and plays a role in almost all entertainment. How is music used creatively in your story, to be unique and set it apart from what people would expect? For a fantasy story or poem, music could go hand in hand with magic. Or, in a romantic setting, music could be used in creative ways.  You may write prose or poetry for this prompt.


If you'd like an extra task: Comment below and I'll tell you how music shapes your world, but you'll have to figure out the rest. :D


So get out your guitar and get playin', lad.

The Rules and Prizes of War

The best storyteller of this battle, whose literary work exceeds all others, shall receive:
  1. 3 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A wondrous piano to suit all musical needs

And a runner up shall receive:
  1. 1 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A trophy in the shape of a harp.

Besides the rules in the prompt above, you must comment your submission below by April 9th 11:59 PDT.  In your comment, please also include whether you'd like Points or a Core Membership if you win.  Winners and next month's prompt will be posted on (or just after) April15th, 2017.


Winner's of January's Prompt


First place goes to:

Unwelcome GuestHector meandered through the open air marketplace with his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark trench coat. Elbows tucked in at his sides, he watched his feet as he walked. He strolled alone, though surrounded by many. The booming voices of vendors enticing the passing crowds didn’t reach him, nor did the lively plucking of stringed instruments emanating from somewhere near the center of the court. Little caught his attention anymore, not now. He spun the wedding band around his ring finger and the next intake of breath stabbed his lungs. The soft, alluring scent of honeyed bread pained his nostrils, the aroma of the pastries far too much like home.
His shoulders bowed inward and he stared unblinking at his boots, at the buckles clinking as he placed foot after foot from one stone paver to the next, one foot per tile of the grid. One, two, three…his chest trembled and he clenched his fists inside his pockets…four, five, six he counted his steps to restrain his t


And our runner up:
Lavender            The albino swept his locks out of his face before picking up his assault rifle. “Follow me,” he commanded, the others scrambling to their feet.
            Emro frowned, locking his eyes on the lieutenant. “But… where? We’re surrounded from every side.”
            Xepher stared into darkness, a maze of narrow hallways before him. “Just follow.”
            He had no plan. Yet, the cold embrace she gave him, her arms gently wrapped around his shoulders, they tried to tell him it was going to be alright.
            He didn’t believe it. Not from her. She'd hurt him more than once.
            She put her hand on his, a chill a


Congratulations!! :clap:

If you are a disloyal turncoat, then go defect to the evil doughboycafe's team for her prompt.




But if you are a good and honest person, join my side, and have an adventure! Get writing!

January CVil War: Learning Curve

Sun Jan 15, 2017, 9:01 AM

Just a reminder that your entries are due February 9th!  If you need any help with the prompt, shoot me a message! :D



The CVil war returns in full force this month with a new prompt, and the winner's of last month's contest!  Every month, the literature Community Volunteers post individual prompts that pit the literature community against each other—for the sake of literature!  While the monthly battle wages on, you're tasked with responding to one of our prompts (and only one! You must pick a side.) in the hopes of becoming the sole champion, and winner of that month's prizes.  Read on to find out what January's prompt entails!


January's Prompt

This month, your character will need to learn something vital in order to proceed with their story line/plot.  This could be in a typical school setting, or something completely unique such as learning how to defeat an evil dragon terrorizing your character's village.  You may write prose or poetry for this prompt, so long as you tell a coherent story.

If you'd like an extra task: Comment below and I'll tell you what your character must learn—this could dictate the direction your story takes! :D (Big Grin)

Your maximum word count is 2000 words for prose, or 100 lines for poetry. Aww




The Rules and Prizes of War

The champion of this battle, whose literary work exceeds all others, shall receive:
  1. 3 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A reserved plot on the beach.
  3. A trophy in the shape of a 1000 page textbook.


And a runner up shall receive:
  1. 1 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A trophy of a horrendous toad!

Besides the rules in the prompt above, you must comment your submission below by February 9th 11:59 PDT.  In your comment, please also include whether you'd like Points or a Core Membership if you win.  Winners and next month's prompt will be posted on (or just after) February 15th, 2017.


December's Winners

First place from November's CVil War battle goes to...

Mature Content



And our runner up is....

Disconnected“Dead.” Meghan sighed and tossed her phone on the old sheet-covered sofa, beside her purse. "Even if we had power, there’s no signal.” She turned back and closed the door behind her husband, watching as he dropped the load from the car onto the table in the middle of the room. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
Kyle looked back at her, still bundled in her winter coat, and waited for the ball to drop. He’d forgotten; the cabin didn’t have any electricity.
Meghan ran a hand through her hair and finally looked around the single-room structure. The only light came from the tall windows, as well as a good amount of cold air. The bed was in the loft above, up a homemade wooden ladder. The kitchen was just a corner, and the bathroom? Well, at least they’d moved the outhouse into the only closet and gave it running water a few decades ago.
“We’re free." She shot Kyle an amused look and moved to the grocery bags he was


Congratulations to the winners! Clap

If you'd like to commit a blasphemous act of treason, you can check out what doughboycafe has tasked her army with here.  Just know, you may never recover from the stress of committing treason.  Stare



Poetry Week Needs YOU!

Fri Jan 6, 2017, 8:16 AM by brennennn:iconbrennennn:
:iconprojecteducate:
:iconprojecteducate:


Poetry Week

Hello, everyone!  projecteducate will be hosting a Poetry Week February 6th through 12th, and we need your help to make it as informative as possible.  If there's something you could share with the world, whether it be a guide to poetry forms, or perhaps a how-to guide on polishing your poem before publishing it here at DA, we'd love to hear your ideas and have them be a part of our Poetry Week! Send a note to brennennn or CRLiterature with your idea to get it reviewed for inclusion.

We've had previous poetry weeks, so be sure to make sure your idea doesn't overlap too much with those articles.  If they're similar, that's okay, but try to add something new the original article didn't share.



Possible ideas for Poetry Week:

  • Guide to poetry terminology
  • Updated poetry publishing guide
  • How to critique poetry
  • Anything else you can think of!



We look forward to hearing from you! :love:



Community Feature Project: Literature Round Up!

Journal Entry: Mon Jan 2, 2017, 10:41 AM
Last month I tasked you all with finding pieces of literature you'd featured as a Daily Deviation if you had the ability.  Many of you posted your own features, so thank you thank you thank you! :love:

Special thanks goes out to LualaDy, classic-poet, GladeFaun, byronycal, Malintra-Shadowmoon, ObsydianDreamer, JustACapharnaum, and LiliWrites for participating. You all are the MVPs. <3  Check our their individual features below and give the lit some love.


If I Could DD: LiteratureIf you could give Daily Deviations to literature, what pieces would you choose? Having once been in the position to do just that, I've learned it is a much harder job than you realize! Nonetheless, here are a few of my favorites that I would give DDs to, had I the option!
You can join in this project as well! Full details about this event run by the Community Relations team can be found here: Community Feature Project: If I Could DD
I hope you'll enjoy these selections! :heart:

A Worse Better Place by BlackBowfinA State of Flow by Nichrysalisto the left is uncertainty, to the right is death by ghostinafogan hour after losing by MisfitableGraeGarden by fainting-goat
  If I could DD....Literature More details about the project here: 

        once more with feeling by LeahShae
 
What would you DD if you could? 
  If I could DD Illustrated LiteratureThe Project

My second "If I could DD" journal.
Of course, you know me, I love featuring, I love featuring what I love, and I love when people love when I feature what I love... *sigh*
Anyway, here I am, showing you illustrated literature again, or storybook... enchanted pages where letters and brush strokes work together to captivate our imagination and show us the path to infiinite magical worlds.
Illustrated Literature and CollaborativeMinds 
:iconcollaborativeminds:
Storytelling, through words and images at the same time, an art form we love at CollaborativeMinds. If this feature has caught your interest, you might join us; we hold monthly challenges in which we encourage you to either write a story based on a selected visual art piece, or illustrate a chosen literature piece. We're a place where writers and visual artists come and artistically hold hands ^^

The Feature

If I Could DD: LiteratureHey everyone,
Here are some fantastic pieces of Literature that I would DD, If I could. Check them out when you get the chance :)
BlackBowfin's One More Reason: A powerful and poignant piece on the fleeting nature of life, featuring stunning imagery and metaphor.

successwithhonor's on the walls in the third stall: Another powerful piece, with metaphors and imagery that pack a punch.
 
drowsydoe's we don't feel the fire here, prometheus: a short but sharp poem.

comatose-comet's felling family trees.: Beautiful imagery, creating an emotional portrait of a flawed individual and the family they came from.
 
  If I could DD: LiteratureFrom December 5th until December 19th, dA community is bringing a project into life, in which everybody is invited to create journal features with the pieces they would like to see as a DD. Every CV has its special category and you can link back your journal to the corresponding CV. In Literature case it is brennennn: Community Feature Project: If I Could DD

So here we go:










The Real History and Development of Santa Claus by Revival-Tom
Unseen by KiTTYkATmEwMew
  If I could DD: Literature   Hi everyone! As part of the Community Feature Project: If I Could DD by brennennn, I decided to propose some interesting written pieces from my own literature favourites collection - Selected Literature.
Being a devious writer myself (and one who is still a long way from being established on this site ;P), I know all too well how difficult it can be for people dedicated to the art of words to achieve enough visibility for their creations, so I'll gladly add my personal effort to help, however little it may be. 8-)
HAPPY READING! :reading:

If I could DD...I love the 'If I could DD...' projects the CVs run :) ( being the current one)
So, rather than boring you with my words, allow me instead to point you towards some fine ones by other people...






Looking forward to seeing what everyone else has found DeviantArt 
  If I Could DD: LiteratureHey all,
This feature is for the awesome Community Feature Project: If I Could DD. I wasn't sure if I wanted to participate as I haven't been active on dA much of late but I thought I may as well show off some of the wonderful works I've read in the recent past! This is a really great chance to give the works you appreciate some exposure and love, so do check the features out even if you didn't manage to get a journal in on time. :love:
This feature is also a kind of thank you to the writers as all of these touch my heart somehow or make me feel very in awe. :love: Just by glancing at them, I can remember the strong emotions and connections that still linger there, reminding me of the very person I am. Maybe they'll do the same for you, forming human connections in some unexpected way. :aww:

             



December 2016 Literature DD Roundup

Sat Dec 31, 2016, 6:50 AM
HAPPY NEW YEAR!! :party: :love:


:iconbrennennn: Features by brennennn

Odds and EndsA cup is just a cup
until it's the last cup that she touched,
and a car
is just a way from a to b
until it's the way that she arrived
at z.
A picture in a frame
is lovely to see, even if only ever viewed
in the background, passively,
but when the image
locks in place
the last smile on her face
then your grief turns to regret
for the memory
trapped beneath the glass.
An old pair of slippers,
tucked neatly beside the door,
stepping over
every time you cross the threshold,
until the day
when you have to toss those old things away
and they are as heavy as anchors
and more treasured
than diamond.
A scent that fills your head,
the comfort of a familiar figure and
a warm embrace,
but when you can no longer detect it's fragrance,
it becomes a mystery
impossible to solve,
a memory lost to time
like the ghost of a kiss
lost somewhere among the rest.
A name is just a name
until it's torn from the tongue and carved
into the stone,
and a dream
is a just a thing between the nigh
so be itsome of us are content
      sketching out proofs in chalk,
      elbow-deep in the guts of mechanics
where sparks fly
     in a flood of associations/
          torment of carnations bursting
with the precision of an abstract language
                                which never
works            when some things clearly do:
a crystal clear sound,
a 7am fog
i don't understand; & i try harder
 with different starting points,
different trajectories
    looping off in mad hare tracks,
but it seem like it always converges
 
      to a cardinal landing  
                on a puffy pine branch.
in a few years, wordworts
              will sprout no new cones,
  all i hope for are new arrangements
o
Oh, PineDropping colors in the autumnal weep,
trees fast for fall.
Ambers and canary-camouflage
peel from twig scars
descending silently atop browning blades.
I rake,
fascinated in the layering dead,
in front
of a pontificating pine wondering why
all its neighbors are naked.
Nix BeatsAll you angel headed hipsters. Look how far you've fallen.
You flew too close to the moon, didn't you? For so long you were lifted up by soothing walking baselines and crooning saxophones intermingled with the rusty whirring thoughts of the rejects who loved you. You were underdogs who scavenged the streets for their next hit and abandoned the unis where students scrawled formulaic villanelles and had to be scared into realizing that sex was actually a thing people had.
Your starry dynamo sputtered and crashed and burned under the pressure, yet you survived.
You survived long enough to get the masses to agree with you. They saw your ecstasy-induced visions of technicolor and decided to reflect them in their rainbow hair and tacky jewelry, to mark themselves from the rest of the sheeple with fleecy flannels and problem glasses, and to write poetry. Just like you.
Well, I say poetry, but it isn't really. Not anymore. It's a political manifesto wrapped up in histrionics baked in narcissis

Bullets, Flowers, LeavesI have drawers for bullets
and flowers
and leaves.
The rain sometimes comes
more sometimes than other
times.
The sun sneaks out and splatters
waves on the wall; trees in the wind.
Bullets, flowers, leaves.
The world here is made of rocks
ground down some
and some leave me to wonder
about the works
of simple men
that do so little,
not even as much as the rocks.
Bullets, flowers, leaves.
Spring in Winter
Winter in Summer
and Fall never,
with the sea angry at your elbow
and the people the people the people
who drive the roads back and forth
howling the pavement to
the next whatever
that cannot ever arrive.
Bullets,
Flowers and
Leaves.
coolingat the tender grey stop street, i found a ballerina
with the phases of the moon stapled to her thighs.
above and around, the sun in the sky was soft and wet.
the floor tilted and jerked me back and forth but,
you know, the way you can't look away from a 
speck of dust,
she was milk dripping on ash,
one foot pinned to the tar,
the other calf swinging thickly, gently back and forth
a raindrop dangling off a leaf.
eyes folding over, her head rocked quietly on her neck
she was a small wind, a corner of my vision.
the quiet white fog sitting beneath my skin. 
a creation storyi. it is a time
of big peace
the strangest children
are at play in the neo-prairie
where the second peoples
seeded a native grass
named after the first peoples
no acidic thunderhead
or noxious gale will dull
their small sick body’s scampering
through stretches of wild indigo
& culver’s root
all these fresh souls
have not been on Earth
long enough to know
the hell it has been through
& are most frantically in love
with orb weavers
& parsnip butterflies
these divine children
do not care to distinguish
pollen from pesticides
as if they were
the last honeybees
on Earth
ii. it is a time
of great remembering
all these matriarchs
go binding together society
through communal chatter
& culinary delights prepared
in the fatback of feral swine or
the oil supremely pressed
of black walnuts
they drop spindle fur
plucked from great rodents
which sleep in the hollows
of lichen-crusted culvert pipes
& rear their young in the shelter
of collapsed automobiles
great greasy roden
scintillaincensed candles flicker
with hot dripping wax melting
coalesced between my cavities and
having taken the shape of my teeth
i chant the song of the fallen ones
within my ribs and broken fists
chivalry is the art of war” yet
i found it to be rather ominous
when they pulled my
filament bones out of my grave
and set me ablaze
in the vesper’s kindled ash to
bring solace for the fires quenched by
the wind

Stopping By   a cricket sings
just to pass the time —
   quiet bus stop
:icondoughboycafe: Features by doughboycafe

A Haunted NightThe last drop of black coffee fell into the pot of her coffee machine. She took it, impatiently poured the coffee into her cup. Then she returned to her desk, her hands shaking but now both wrapped around the warm cup with the picture of a little kitten on it.
It was dark outside. Cold. The wind was rustling the few leaves that still remained on the shadowy trees. She closed her eyes and pictured the cold on her skin, and the wet smell she loved about autumn. Rotting leaves, earth and wood. Frail white traces of frost on the ground in the earliest hours of morning.
She shivered and took a sip of coffee. It would warm her up from the inside, although she knew only too well that the cold she felt was a different one and no coffee, no blanket and no fire would be able to push it away.
Her gaze drifted across the wall in front of her, covered as it was with sticky-notes, hand-drawn pictures, photographs, maps and pages torn out of several books. A wall filled with thoughts and chaos. Her r
Starting OverThe elevator took them to the basement of the hospital, and she followed the orderly left through the open doors and down the pale green hallway. He was speaking, but she found the hum of the overhead fluorescent lights and the exquisite clarity of her heels striking a staccato rhythm against the linoleum floor distracted her, and she missed most of what he said.
"...not uncommon for the initial emotional response to be overwhelming, but you'll find the dampeners will help balance it out if it gets too much. You'll find a comfortable level once you learn to control it..."
A set of double door swung open in anticipation of their approach, and closed silently behind them once they'd passed.
He stopped near the end of the hall at a single solid door, and turned to face her.
"Are you ready? I'll be right here if you need me."
"Yes," she spoke, the sound of her voice unfamiliar in her ears, "I'm ready."
He pushed through the door and stepped into the room beyond, holding the door for her un
The Dollhouse“Missy McIntyre is not a witch.” As the eight year old of the group, Erica felt it was her place to be the Voice of Reason. She smoothed her hair back under her cat-eared headband and glared at the two boys, her brown eyes matching the rich color of her skin.
“Uh huh.” Jessie, the louder of the two, asserted. His own chat noir costume annoyed Erica. His mom totally bought it for him, while she’d had to make do with what she could find.
“She is a witch, just like her Gram was!” Richie practically shouted. The zombie makeup he wore stood out in the late afternoon light. He was getting fake blood on everything.
“Shut up!” His brother shoved him further back along the fence, trying to keep them out of view of the house’s windows. Missy wasn’t answering the doorbell for trick-or-treaters, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t home.
“Melissa McIntyre is a dental hygienist.” Erica stated. Her mom had said so.

Mature Content

   Miles to Go1
 
“Can you move your leg over the edge of your bed?”
 
Already it’s been roughly two weeks since my rail platform accident. Still I’m bedridden, still my left leg is all plaster and bandages, and already I’m growing dangerously thin by comparison to my usually slim build.
 
I concentrate all of my energy into moving my leg. That’s when the excruciating pain quite literally kicks in, taking the form of a spontaneous muscle spasm.
 
I don’t flash back completely, but my leg does. I feel terrified and am ashamed when I break down crying with childlike abandon. But Jessica doesn’t scold me the way the therapist in the hospital did. Her voice, colored by a hearty Michigan accent, contains realism and optimism in equal measure.
 
“That’s all I need from you today,” she says, placing one hand on my shoulder and one on my leg. “I just wanted to see where you’re at.”
 
“Okay
The FaithfulIt had been a peaceful love. The radio remained bleating while Natasha gripped Vince’s arm, huddled underneath their home. A bomb shelter. 2300. Russians approaching any moment. Nuclear weapons imminent. Remember protocol. Remember duck and cover. Remember.
______________________________________________________________________________
The Cold War was one of intimidation, or at least, that’s what Natasha believed. Twisting the rags so that it could rid itself of food stains, she continued cleaning the dishes. Vince had a career at the capitol, and every Monday, would return home with roses and intel. Telling stories of McCarthyism, the communists, the Russians. Natasha shook her head, placing the dishes into the cabinets. It was all speculation.
The war pressed onwards. Natasha always played the radio. She played it, so she knew just the right way to fall behind benches and tables and furniture. She’d perfected, in a little under a year, how to collapse with poise, an
The Economic Theory of ErosThere is no fair exchange rate
from the currency of affection to
intellectual stimulation: I promise,
it's not that I don't want you but you
never want my thought about it.
  The silent watcherBefore I can remember, we were poor.  When I was older we were never well- off, but we had enough money for the things we needed as long as we didn't buy too many things that we didn't.  To my child's mind, our basic amenities - soap, toilet paper, toothpaste - were so easily and automatically replaced as to seem practically free, yet I had a deep understanding of which foods cost too much to eat very often and why our house was so cold in the winter.
There were also the relics from the time before I could recall, "before we had money," as my parents would say.  One such relic was several large blocks of harsh, dirty-white soap, bought in bulk at a good price back then but now undesirable for use, and permanently occupying the back of the closet in the laundry room.  I was eight and my sister was twelve when she decided to carve it.  She started on simple shapes, hearts and stars and eventually leaves, which she gave away to relatives who left them on shelves i
<da:thumb id="643585356"/> The World's EndWhere ravens feast on mortal sin,
The world ends at a clifftop inn
Whose greeting is a fleshless grin
From pirates' gibbet at the door.
This lonely structure is adorned
With bodies of those men unmourned,
With sign proclaiming Ye be warned,
And always room enough for more.
Our story, though, tells not of this,
This feared, this known, this bland abyss,
But rather of the promised bliss
A spyglass offers to these men.
For if, once fear has gripped his mind,
Our pirate's hand, then eye should find
The spyglass hidden just behind
The rotting gibbet post, well then...
Well, then he runs, or jumps, or flies,
(That is to say, the fellow tries,)
Enticed by promises – no – lies
Of life at sea forever more.
A sultry mermaid beckons him
To where no mortal man can swim,
He knows he'll gain a fish's limb
If he can just escape the shore.
No mermaid waits for him out there,
No mermaid sits and shakes her hair,
No mermaid even set the snare,
For she is only in the glass.
Though life


   We are always looking for more DD suggestions! Self suggestions welcome! Check out each CV's profile for their suggestion guidelines, and help us spread the word about great lit on DA!


December CVil War: Stress Relief

Thu Dec 15, 2016, 9:00 AM

Only 6 more days to get your entries submitted for this month's CVil war! :love:




The CVil war returns in full force this month with a new prompt, and the winner's of last month's contest!  Every month, the literature Community Volunteers post individual prompts that pit the literature community against each other—for the sake of literature!  While the monthly battle wages on, you're tasked with responding to one of our prompts (and only one! You must pick a side.) in the hopes of becoming the sole champion, and winner of that month's prizes.  Read on to find out what December's prompt entails!


December's Prompt

For many, December is equated with stress. Whether it's the impending holidays, winter setting in for those in the northern hemisphere, or tests/finals at school, you may have reason to be stressed.  This month, I'd like you to begin your poem or prose piece directly following something that caused your main character an incredible amount of stress.  You can begin the story on the beach, showing us how your character is dealing with the aftermath of the stress.  Or, perhaps the character is leaving their school from their last final.  The story or poem must still have a beginning, middle, and end!

For added effort: Comment below and I'll tell you what stressful event your character must recover from. :D

Your maximum word count is 2000 words for prose, or 100 lines for poetry. Aww



The Rules and Prizes of War

The champion of this battle, whose literary work exceeds all others, shall receive:
  1. 3 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A reserved plot on the beach.
  3. A trophy in the shape of a coconut.


And a runner up shall receive:
  1. 1 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A trophy of an benevolent nun!

Besides the rules in the prompt above, you must comment your submission below by January 9th 11:59 PDT.  In your comment, please also include whether you'd like Points or a Core Membership if you win.  Winners and next month's prompt will be posted on (or just after) January 15th, 2016.


November's Winners

First place from November's CVil War battle goes to...

Last Fish Swimming“Gotcha!” Owen, the tank’s blue betta, bit down on the tip of George’s tail fin. The angel fish gasped and dashed to the far side of the tank. They watched as she hid behind one of the coral trees propped up in their home.
“He’s gonna eat her for sure.” Richard moaned to the little neon tetra beside him. The glass fish twitched and hovered, his pounding heart visible through his side.
“Not if the food comes. Why hasn’t He come back?” Sam swam up to touch the surface above them before turning about and diving back down to him.
“Who knows?” Richard shook his head. “The food won’t come and neither will He.”
Sam’s bright color flickered in the water as he wavered. He scooted back up, looking at the dark outline of the barrel poised above the water. He could see the flakes, some tiny bits dangling from the ramp above, but none had dropped from it since before the big one left. It had been days si


And our runner up is....

ArthritisDay 1
There is a white, powdery substance in my food this morning. I wonder if this is only the first time I have noticed it and if Master has been poisoning my breakfast with this concoction for months. It could explain the now constant ache in my bones that I did not feel last winter. Or perhaps this is the work of Master's small minions, which he and his housemaid call "the children". Those pesky creatures that look like miniature humans but continue to grow in size (rounder in the case of the male minion) through the years. I've yet to find the machine that created these demonic minions but I grow more and more convinced that they are the cause for this suspicious turn of events.
My growling stomach betrays me and I nose around the white powder, careful to eat only the unblemished pieces of meaty delight. I feel a presence behind me and my hair stands on end. I turn my face to see the housemaid watching me with a frustrated expression on her face


Congratulations to the winners! :clap:

If you'd like to commit a blasphemous act of treason, you can check out what doughboycafe has tasked her army with here.  Just know, you may never recover from the stress of committing treason.  Stare




00213 by pulbern
Didn't you wish you could DD some works sometimes because you found them amazing and thought that they deserved more exposure? Well, this is your chance! 


This December we are encouraging you to feature your fellow deviants with a journal of artworks that you would feature as a Daily Deviation (commonly called "DD") if you could. So let's embrace the Holiday Season and spread some good cheer by joining in and featuring our community!


How does it work?

  • Create and publish a journal feature of images that you would choose for a Daily Deviation Feature from your preferred gallery. (i.e. Literature writers and/or people who enjoy Literature would feature from the Literature gallery.)
  • When your journal feature is live, link it back to the appropriate Community Volunteer's Community Feature Project Journal in the comments area. (i.e. If you choose to feature Literature, then you would need to link to my journal.) 
  • After all of the features have been linked to your Community Volunteer's journal, we will publish a master journal feature of all the community features!

Dates and Times

  • Start Date: December 5th, 2016, PST time 
  • End Date: December 19th, 2016, PST time  (All features must be linked to your gallery CV's journal by this date.)
  • CV Feature Dates: December 20th - 31st, 2016

We can't wait to see the fantastic art that you find and feature!







Bullet; Blue Here are the links to the other CV's journals:Bullet; Blue

    -> Digital work: lovelessdevotionsCommunity Feature Project Journal 
    -> Space Art/Sci-Fi: cosmicbound's Community Feature Project Journal
    -> Photomanipulation: ErikShoemaker's Community Feature Project Journal
    -> Pixel Art: ValaSedai's Community Feature Project Journal


If a category isn't represented officially in the project, don't hesitate to get creative, find pieces and feature them anyway!





Skin by Dan Leveille
:iconthemaideninblack: Features by TheMaidenInBlack

polarisi.
The North Star once fell in love with a girl.
But she was only human, and she passed away.
ii.
When he first saw her, she was very young—fifteen, maybe sixteen, her hair falling into her eyes as she bent down to pluck a dandelion from the ground. She was so small in that field of grass, so golden in the daylight.
She took his breath away.
He floated downwards, hoping for a closer look. He was almost invisible, save for the hint of stardust that trailed behind him in the late afternoon sun.
Though he made no sound, she turned. The dandelion seeds sprayed into the air with her movement. Her eyes widened—such eyes, dark and dazzling, the color of liquid shadows and obsidian. He lost himself into those eyes, fell into them so deeply that he could not speak. They studied each other in silence.
"Who are you?" she said at last.
"I am the North Star," he said, in a voice as soft as the whispering breeze. "I come from the skies."
She laughed. Perhaps she did not bel


:iconbrennennn: Features by brennennn

settleThey traveled out east 
at the edge of the sink
while the sun crept west 
toward the soft harbor lights.
They dripped from the ceiling 
like heavy-love dreams.
And hid from the moonlight
as she growled like the sea.
They spun 'round your fingers 
and tusseled your hair.
Coiled on paper 
and carried conversations… 

There were always shadows here, darling.
Tired beautiful cold things that filled the bed.
Froze the sheets, 
and threw open the windows.
They don't breathe in slumber 
but nest like memories…
… 
I think they loved you more than I did.
5 Things Every Writer Should Know About PacingSorry for the inconvenience, this text has been relocated off-site. If you're still interested, the link is below. GraceThe hands that cast the mould that made the plough
that dug the dirt for crops to make the dough
that makes our bread - they let us grow.
The souls who drive the trucks each waking hour
from farm to store to shop give us our power -
it makes them dead - and we devour.
Each morsel grows from dirt to plant to food
we tear a piece and sell so it's construed
we do our bit - we don't - we just collude.
And while each toiler keeps us from our graves
so we keep them trapped in their enclaves,
to tell ourselves each night - we don't own slaves.
This Side of the Cloudsthere is soil
that will never produce flowers,
rain that chokes
more than it quenches,
and some stones, unsatisfied
with being near-impenetrable,
still opt to wage
slow crystallized war
beating back the plague of man
for we are willful, but empty,
a collected misdirection
that lost so much more
than just its way,
our mineral eyes may be diamonds
but the setting is loose
and their cut has no character
merely fluid, taking the shape
of situation and its spoils
we're dead as an uncelebrated christ
dead like old grain in the silo
vermin crawled, rot riddled
awaiting a further processing
we must so richly deserve,
and a lick of salt and bite of lime
chase the delusion down the rathole,
and its unproductive rubbery chew
may make you think
there's peyote in this shit
for there is a savior dancing
atop wires of various tensions,
one named death
who, himself, died years ago
sank into the same human soup
we're all being digested into,
his hell is not a fire nor a place
not hands holding you to f
The Chase        Run.
         Cold, damp air seeps through skin to bone. Soil stained soles pound along a winding, barely-there path among the trees. Trees. A laughable word for behemoths that, at the smallest, is four times as wide around as she is. Swaths of leaves shape a dark green expanse, blocking out nearly all of the sky. The light that does find a way down is weak, pinpricks suffocating in the umbrage. This is a true weald, dark and deep.
        Run.
         She wishes she could deviate from the path; delve into the endless shadow and hide. A ruinous wish. Thin strings threaded with countless trinkets crisscross all empty spaces. This is old magic, learned from the spiders to catch those that stray. One step, one trip, one stumble off of the path is certain death.
         Run.
         The wind kicks up, sending a song si
traffic on the overpass under the fingernailsand while alacrity
is still
quite far out of reach,
my hands stretch, spreading out
like skeletal maps, each bone
finding breathing room, each vein
a highway being built
even as the cars continue to drive
      (trying to fix a train as it moves down the tracks)
and they disassemble,
they pull themselves apart
at the joints,
to build a floating bridge of
little white hopes,
thin little ribbons
licking the potential
to fly
      (but the road is anfractuous,
      and they’ll drive forever,
      circumnavigating the potholes
      and finding their way back
      to where they started)
our cognitive maps don’t have
blueprints for the fingertips,
for the hands, the palms
with their intersections made of
aged creases
abandoned freeways
backed-up parkways
and empty driveways
the traffic light
only turns to red
the traffic light
only turns to red
it’s dark
and it blinks (winks
too (iso)late(d)touch-starved waistlines
recollect memories in old text messages
and incomplete composition notebooks
they argue with themselves
about self-preservation in a predatory
wilderness: the privacy of homes
and thick bedroom walls
with birds calling them from hiding spots
amongst the fear and hope
unfounded and unfound
& steady hands let go of their centers
to grip reluctance in pens
recording the songs of bluebirds
outside, outside, outside
as growth sets in with resignation smiles
radiolaria 40x afterwards i am flayed down to
 sinewy overpasses and dermatic  
flotsam
 am regarded in the bathroom
mirror
 with particular attention
 to negative space
supposition
 that is just how  [   ] coagulates
 catches on the rim of the sink
drain
 froth that gurgles and bifurcates
 its tendrils like elkhorn
white tumor
 both the same bleach-burned
anxiety
 that someone will cut me out
entirely
 or put me somewhere else
 while i throb and
 swell against my ribcage
through it
 extend my pulpy arm
and seep  
 pull myself from my brittle body
 and slink away maybe
 stand back watch my minerals
twitch
bend themselves into the void
inhale
reach for the [   ] substrate
and panic
The Mute King and His Songbird, Part 1       It was when the castle started groaning that he realized all was lost.
       Amidst the chaos, Alastair Ehn struck down his opponent with his cane and released a warning snarl at his pursuers. The armored men, startled by his animalistic expression, flinched – and that was all the time the crippled king needed.
       Briefly flicking liquid scarlet from his sword, Alastair returned the blade to his cane and swiftly limped down the hall, only one person on his mind. The ominous moans of his home echoed around him, becoming louder and louder with each deafening, explosive shell that impacted against its ancient walls. A high-pitched whistling demanded his attention, and Alastair swiftly ducked down against the side of the wide hall, bringing his tattered cloak over him. Not a second later, the entire world seemed to jump. Light and flame erupted behind him, fragmented stone and debris
grow up they saidhere's what it is to be an adult
you pay off your credit cards
and a day later, your hot water heater is no longer working and is leaking all over your garage
you didn't bother to research options
so when you finally realize you can get a cheaper alternative to your fancy coffee drink
you've probably 'wasted' at least $75. on coffee.
you buy things on other peoples' recommendations
and are quickly disenchanted
either with the things, the people, or just buying things in general
you stop hearing
or is it listening
and the magic settles into your bones instead of your eyes
and sparks up at new moments, the baby's laugh,
the way your husband grips your face when you're sobbing, suddenly terrified of everything,
a dog's sloppy lick on your ankle
sepulcheryour body is jerusalem,
he’ll tell you
coveted first, then plundered.
– you’re my backwater bedroom
martyr, he’ll tell you
as he nails your wrists
to bedposts,
seizes your tongue like
a white flag,
pulls stones from your parapets –
little sister,
i’ll tell you
the children’s crusade
is lost:
and you’ll kneel at his sword and know
you were always his
to take


:icondoughboycafe: Features by doughboycafe

Spunion GambleOctober:
a shitstorm sober,
an overdose of
overdoses, disorder,
a postcard from
nowhere you want to be.
Believe me, the scenery
sucks, syringes sticking
up from heaps of ugly
dead   leaves
twenty-somethings lining
sidewalks by the morgue
door, babies trading bodies for itty
bitty bottles of more
snow falling on wasted war-
torn faces glazes wide unblinking
eyes, white light erases
places, ages, life
flies away to where
I haven't got a clue but
I can't solve  the problems
of insolvency by dissolving
decency- can you?
GuamPicture pink twinkling twilights
statues shrouded in plastic shadows
low lying clustered clouds
   hovering over jungled mountains
Parrot fish pecking dead coral
purple pointed poisonous spikes
teal and azure foam flecked waves
   breaking a hundred yards from shore
Humidified walks in rapid rain
counting mini blue butterflies
coconut palms bent from wind
   reminiscent of arthritic fingers
Circa 2004
The Latest Omensnew omens in the henhouse
what fresh hell is this (fragrance)?
new as eggshells.
I read you old poems
you keep me up to date,
upright and in the stillness of your breath
are ballooning sentiments
inside you.
We want to try, peach and whisky tea;
in the fall we brew it like witches
like Cormorants.
We can't wait till summer...
In a backwards year
leaves fall up and squeam green,
I swit and stammer
first in the pool, pickling.
Its hot out
and I have such a need.
  In Vain of VenusThis is the tale of the beauty of Venus
and how she was showered with love.
Men would come from afar to sail
to her and profess, How I love thee, Aphrodite!
their tries, however, ended in vain and death,
and while she lived, immortal, on her planet.
Twas not until Hermes came to her planet
And cried, oh great Venus!
Let me have thee, even if death
doth end my life tomorrow, love.
Let me give you my heart, Aphrodite,
and together, around the world, we could sail.
But the goddess did not want to sail
and she felt weary of leaving her planet.
I do not love thee, said Aphrodite
And sent heartbroken Hermes from Venus.
He traveled back to Earth, rejected, unloved.
and after many eons, found Death.
However she may not love you, said Death,
and may reject the beauty of your sail.
You will find solace in my love.
Though I may not have a planet
as beautiful as her Venus.
I will love you more than Aphrodite.
psychosomatic serenade.Schrodinger has been writing me
love letters, and he hasn’t. he
catcalls me from closed boxes
while I flip coins trying to figure
out what’s breathing, what isn’t.
your coffin, floating in earthen
rivers, hinges gleaming iridescent
as salmon scales, I am sitting here
guessing if the cat is dead or alive
in that imaginary vacuum, ignoring
Pavlov’s set ringtone on my phone -
the bells make me think of your
throat, how your Adam’s apple
rang when you swallowed down
another of my placebo promises.
I love, loved, you. and I didn’t.
Freud keeps dropping business
cards through the letterbox asking
my mother to call him, I scribble
down sketches of your mouth on
the back, how it curled when you
stumbled over the words ‘death’
and ‘love’ alike. and maybe the
answer to it all lies therein, that
when you died everything else did,
and nothing changed, all at once.
my shrink is expanding my vision, and
all I see are our hands, rotten and r
RightHere's the bad news:
tomorrow
there will be a bird
on your doorstep.
Dead or dying, you think
it has something to do
with me. It does not.
There's the crux
you always think
the bird should rise up
and proclaim its killer,
its savior, should point out
which cat only watched and which
opened its mouth; which cat
is not a cat but a storm
or a window or another bird
and to be honest,
I would like these things too.
But it owes us only its death,
incapable of shaming
our compulsive involvement,
our need to make the bird
about ourselves.
You want to be jury
in an empty room. You want
to hold court
for every little thing
that makes you feel.
                                    The good news:
                                    walking in the woods,
                   
  1666st. peter, arsonist to the center of the universe
          london bridges burning through the twilight
                      while its people fled into the stars
              terror in the form of white hot heat
       scorching st. paul's house of rest -
                  he carried a grudge like no other;
 
    shattered glass litters the cobblestone
         while the clock cries into the night
                               we count the dead, the ones that mattered
                        keening the lament of the lost
                        where their bones rest he
  DAILY DEVIATION: The Old FishermanThe old fisherman pulled in his nets as chill salt wind stung chapped lips. There were but few small fish to feed his thin, weathered frame. It mattered not. He bore no wife at home, no child at hearth to roam. He was alone.
The fog hid land from view as he pulled at the water-sodden oars, but this too mattered not to the old fisherman. He knew the way home. The fish he would roast o’er stone and fire with potatoes he’d grown in soil of his small plot. A lob of pork-fat would make his feast, and within his gut did growl at the very thought. He whistled a tune to cover the sound as he lent his back to plow the waves.
A resounding tune came to his ear, of maiden’s voice clear as bells. The old fisherman cocked his head to hear, such lullaby as to bring a tear. The sound it seemed pulled at his very heart strings. It made the old fisherman lean to his starboard side with oar and ear, to this he must better hear. The song, the tune, was some such melody as to draw him hit
A storm in springtimeNo draft of wellspring draws
the same effusive sigh
as wildflowers on the grass
when windstorms fly
in violent, happy, gusts
through speckled shoots of blooms
and cattail reeds bent over banks
cut deep with clouding plumes.
I feel in weathered breaths
this sudden shock of spring:
then drops of rain; your parted hair
to which they cling,
and suddenly the flush
of overburdened clouds
all rushing to the drier ground
to weep their desperate joy aloud.
The dampened scent of sweet
enthralling gentle flowers
enraptured in the air,
weighed low from bowers
of starlit blossom trees
now settles on your skin
and draws between your dusted touch
to cloud the rushing blood within.
I drink of clouded wells
deep in the draining earth
where water tastes of blood
and then--of birth.
Boiled Frogs (Historical Fiction Poem)Boiled Frogs
13-8-16
With wimple snatched from bared head
I bend before my fetid fate;
Hands tied in more ways than one.
Flint flickers with a speckle of sparks,
Kissing bare branches with baby flames;
They catch their own tails
As they climb to lick at my feet.
The heat reminds me of baking bread,
And briefly I wonder if I will bubble like pancakes
Or merely burn like bacon too long in the skillet.
Tears steam from my face like warm breath on a winter’s day,
And the dirty tracks they leave behind only serve as a reminder:
I am human;
Born a babe in the woods,
Dead at twenty in the square.
I raise my face, defiant to the last;
I am not owned by any man
And will bow to none;
Least of all a priest and flock,
Who are so single-minded they wouldn’t know a witch
If she turned them into a frog.
The TravelerShe blew in on the last day of summer, arriving just as the wind began, clutching an artist’s portfolio and a hatbox. There was wonder and wisdom in her bright blue eyes, softened by time and crow’s-feet, and a perfect maple leaf the color of flame was caught in her unruly red hair… her perfume hinted of woodsmoke and oak tannins and the spice of faraway, foreign ports. I helped her carry her hatbox from the train station, and when she smiled at me, I knew everything was about to change.
We shared a cab to the little seaside town where we were both staying, there on the cusp of the world; it had long been one of my favorite places, my secret getaway. When life became too stagnant, the city sweltering in summer’s re-radiated heat, I spent a few days on the shore, staring out across the limitless horizon and dreaming of shanghaied sailors and full-bellied canvas tugging the great ships to the Orient, groaning hulls full of timber from forests that once seemed inex
Eden EternalIn a world where the chatter doesn't cease,
and claps for the hollow silence
I cling to the voice in my head,
the one I don't wish to lose.
In my wounded city,
the scents of spices and copper,
lingers in the old markets,
along with the shadowy figures
of merchants and people,
that no longer tread these roads.
The mad man who once sang
words that were long disowned, 
rode a black horse, and set fire
to the golden wheat field he called home.
In my city, the one that now runs red with blood,
I wake to scorching bullets, 
and tank barrels aimed at my chest,
every single day, and every morning,
I promise myself this is the last day,
we'll have to endure war,
but the sunset never draws near.
The story teller has gone insane
and we're still waiting for his tale to end,
but he set fire to his books
and coated his stories in ash,
he threw at the wind.
A thousand nights went along,
people marched into darkness,
holding on to matchboxes that threatened to blow,
and yet we escaped w
For Gus on His Last DayCat lies like rag full of chicken bones,
shallow inhale, maraca purr exhale,
the tufts of his back fur like a mohawk
not raised, haphazard, the mosh is over.
His head presses against my thigh in the old
scrunched sleep, his bald ears twitch as
the bed rocks, his deafness a mercy against
the lament of my scots blood, the marrow deep
keening of the pipes.
He is a whisper now, the hum of the speakers,
an echo of the speeches of kings,
orators he will join in the mill, down below the
tree of the worlds, his soul to return again,
like mine.
Someday, when I'm not me, and you are not you,
we will meet, and perhaps know that we loved.
My Great-Aunt, Ms. Tara DactylA Poem by Tennysonosaurus Rex
She barrels through clouds after coffee,
Triceratops shudder beneath an
Ear-rending squawk; the day's paper
(Jurassic Tribune) sits, forgotten.
It's time to be up, up and at 'em—
Which trust me she is—hit the skyway,
(Archaeopteryx officers:  stay calm)
"Ma'am, easy. Don’t scream Bloody Mary..."
"But young'uns, I’m late for my dinner!"
Then dinner appears just a wingbeat
Away, "Pardon me, catch you later!"
...
"This vole has exceptional merit."
I suppose that it does; I couldn’t tell you
As I go in for larger game myself
But Aunt's mind is sharp as an arrow
God bless her, and her Latin bookshelf.
Not to mention the mat in the doorway:
Pterodactylus Anciens, Salve!
FingerprintsThe movie credits rolled and I handed her another tissue. It wasn’t a sad movie. I chose a funny one to cheer her up. It must have been the wrong kind of humour then. I didn’t know her that well. Guess I should’ve asked her. She was like thirty something,  so she probably didn’t care for this stupid stuff.
“Do you have anything you wanted to see? For next time? Anything. I’ll get you anything.”
With her mouth behind the tissue, she coughed a sob. I’m never going to do this again. He can’t make me do this again.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“You can have stuff that’s still showing in cinema if you want. Really good quality too.”
She gave me the name of a comedy she wanted to see. It had a lot of women in the cast, but sometimes those movies were good. Hopefully it’ll take her mind off things. I promised to get it and then stood to take her back to her room. She didn’t look up.
DeathmatchSchmidt held the gaussgun to her chest, eyes closed, practicing her breathing. Calm, she repeated to herself, calm calm calm…
When the Akari warrior saw her she froze and her breathing went to hell. Jesus Lord it was huge.
The Akari locked onto Schmidt and lumbered towards her, 2.5 meters of articulated chrome battle armor, servos whining and thumping as it approached. The beast stopped a meter away, gazed down at the human in her relatively simple combat armor, free of mechanical or cybernetic boosts. It cocked its head thoughtfully.
“Hyooooman, you are greeted by Akari,” its vocoder grated.
Calm, calm, calm. She did not want the thing to read her fear.
“Akari, you are greeted by Human,” Schmidt returned, gasping for air. It couldn’t kill her yet. Not yet. Not outside the Arena.
“Hyooooman, your armor is simple. Your firearm primitive. Cede this combat and Akari will be merciful/swift in your defeat! Akari will even grant

Mature Content

21.15 MnemonicsHe awoke to sunlight in his eyes and the smell of her. Every day, he would stay in bed just a little bit longer than he ought to, just to bask in the glory of smell she had left behind. It was roses and mint and sandalwood and woman and a million other things he couldn’t have described, even if he tried, but it was her, and he would never forget it, as long as he lived, and probably not for a long time after he died.
But every day, the smell grew fainter, the sheets seemed to grow colder, and it was one more day since the last time he woke with her actually there.
Old SpiritsI've worked at the Green Bull Pub for around a decade now. It isn't a fancy place like some others in Ireland. Nay, Hermitsgrove is a small town, a tight-knit community full of farmers and masons, all earning just enough to support their families. The buildings have that rustic feel to them, as if you'd been plunged back through time to the eighteen hundreds. Ivy crawling up the faded brick walls is a common sight here, complimented by the cobblestone walkways on either side of the streets. Everybody knows each other, and you can't do something without another person finding out about it. It is somehow quite comforting and horribly irritating at the same time, but most of us don't mind. Usually people stop by the Bull at some point in the day, seeking a reprieve from the mundane task of working.
As for myself, I don't mind working. Sure, the job can be demanding at times, one or two guests even making a fuss, but I enjoy it. Besides, if anyone gets too rough Tam gives them a tongue-las
Who's At The Window?'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'
                                                                                                                                                         
JudgmentalGerald stepped out of the fitting room in a floor length evening gown, slinky and figure hugging.
“Oh, God,” said Cynthia. She put her head in her hands.
Gerald frowned and retreated back behind the curtain.
He reappeared in a pencil skirt and pussy bow blouse, both fitting rather snugly.
“Gerald!” muttered Cynthia. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Looking daggers, Gerald disappeared again, reappearing for the last time in a catsuit that left nothing to the imagination.
“Well, I am not going out with you looking like that!” said Cynthia.
Gerald straightened his shoulders. “You know, you could be a little more supportive.”
Cynthia sighed. “Gerald, you are really going to have to face it. You’re just not a size 10.”
<da:thumb id="598750341"/> Sobre Leopoldo-Está muy quieto ¿no?
-Está muy loco, sí.
-¿A qué hora llega el doctor? Está bastante retrasado.
-Psiquiatra, y no sé. ¿Dónde se supone que van a ubicar al nuevo?
-Acá…
-TNP si no me equivoco, los cuatro de esta sala.
-Este sufre TID, entre muchas cosas más. Váyanse señoras, nosotros los atendemos.
-¿Pero él esta consiente de su condición? No estaba tan mal cuando llego ¿verdad?
-Puede que sí, en sus últimas luces de cordura, al menos cuando hablaba, parecía estar al tanto de lo que yo llamo la separación de mente y personalidad.
A Sudden FlightInk-black birds scatter,
Writing lines of free verse
Across a paper sky.
stellatarumwe shared a kiss so green it flourished
under the mantle of stars and
i've never felt so whole, or so undone.
an unrelenting passage of time had
kept us apart, not unlike the waves
that separate the shores.
but now there is honeysuckle and
wildflowers where our pale shadows touch,
overlapping limbs causing murmurations
and gooseflesh that could rival mountains.
together we are boundless like
howls echoing in the fallen snow,
the birch-whites of eyes,
and evening midwinter fires.
we are embers in the twilight, circling,
addressing the other as
age-old paramours.
Lamentos del verano...Lamentos del verano tardío
Abrió el ventanal del cuarto al sentir la primera gota de lluvia besar con la avidez de un amante añorado la tierra reseca del recuerdo de sus labios libertinos, y hechizada por el sofocante gris del cielo de tarde de verano tardío dejó su mente acompañar las nubes en su imparable llanto de mujer desconsolada, y sintió cómo sus penas se mezclaban con el agua que caía a raudales empapándola en caricias húmedas y cómo la tormenta se desataba en su corazón encapotado arrastrando los lutos de amores no correspondidos por los surcos marchitos de tantas y tantas lágrimas desterradas.

   We are always looking for more DD suggestions! Self suggestions welcome! Check out each CV's profile for their suggestion guidelines, and help us spread the word about great lit on DA!

Only 6 more days to enter!  Now that NaNo is over, you should give this prompt a shot.  And don't forget about the prizes you could win!



The CVil war returns in full force this month with a new prompt, and the winner's of last month's contest!  Every month, the literature Community Volunteers post individual prompts that pit the literature community against each other—for the sake of literature!  While the monthly battle wages on, you're tasked with responding to one of our prompts (and only one! You must pick a side.) in the hopes of becoming the sole champion, and winner of that month's prizes.  Read on to find out what November's prompt entails!

Sidenote: No one submitted entries to my side of the CVil war last month, so there are no prizes to hand out. :)  Also, based on the feedback from my last poll, these will continue as scheduled, even if participation is down.


November's Prompt

This month you may submit a poem or a prose piece, but the story is to be told from the perspective of a domesticated pet (can be bird, dog, cat, lizard, snake, spider, even a panda if you're really into pandas) who believes their owner is out to kill them. That's right, your main character, the pet, is highly suspicious that their human has it out for them. But how is their human trying to kill them? What are circumstances that lead to this distrust?  Who will be victorious?!

Your maximum word count is 2000 words for prose, or 100 lines for poetry. :aww:




The Rules and Prizes of War

The champion of this battle, whose literary work exceeds all others, shall receive:
  1. 3 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. An empty birdcage.  Where'd the bird go?
  3. A trophy in the shape of a gerbil.


And a runner up shall receive:
  1. 1 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A trophy of an angry alligator.

Besides the rules in the prompt above, you must comment your submission below by December 9th 11:59 PDT.  In your comment, please also include whether you'd like Points or a Core Membership if you win.  Winners and next month's prompt will be posted on (or just after) December 15th, 2016.


If you'd like to commit a blasphemous act of treason, you can check out what doughboycafe has tasked her army with here.  Just know, the pets will get you if you do.  :stare:


Novel Writing Basics Week Wrap-Up

Sun Oct 30, 2016, 12:53 PM by brennennn:iconbrennennn:
:iconprojecteducate:
:iconprojecteducate:


Novel Writing Basics Week


Whew, it's been one crazy week!  Novel Writing Basics Week has come to a conclusion, and we hope you enjoyed it as much as we did sharing our essays with you. :)

Special thanks to the contributors: Ragemoon, neurotype, Pepper-the-phoenix, illuminara, Cobrateen, WhiskeyDreamer, RowanandKatrina, justMANGO, and doughboycafe.

Good luck to everyone participating in NaNoWriMo next month! :la:  Keep an eye on CRLiterature's blog for our NaNoWriMo events to come.



October CVil War: Secret Uprising

Sun Oct 16, 2016, 9:53 PM
The CVil war returns in full force this month with a new prompt, and the winners from August's CVil War!  Every month, the literature Community Volunteers post individual prompts that pits the literature community against each other—for the sake of literature!  While the monthly battle wages on, you're tasked with responding to one of our prompts (and only one! You must pick a side.) in the hopes of becoming the sole champion, and winner of that month's prizes.  Read on to find out what October's prompt entails!

October's Prompt

An uprising has been forming in the underbelly of a secret organization, and soon the forces from the uprising will face their opponents in an epic climax.  Your task is to determine what the secret organization is (are they good or evil? sinister or philanthropic? why are they secret?), why people are uprising within the organization, what the conflict is, and what happens when the uprising reaches its climax.

Your maximum word count is 1000 words.  Make them count! :D



The Rules and Prizes of War

The champion of this battle, whose literary work exceeds all others, shall receive:
  1. 3 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A key the city.  Not just any city, the city.
  3. A place to hide.


And a runner up shall receive:
  1. 1 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A trophy of an all-seeing eye!

Besides the rules in the prompt above, you must comment your submission below by November 9th 11:59 PDT.  In your comment, please also include whether you'd like Points or a Core Membership if you win.  Winners and next month's prompt will be posted on (or just after) November 15th, 2016.


August's Winners

First place from August's CVil War battle goes to...


The Legend of Chief Black Pipe by MaggotsX!

You will take home:

  1. 3 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. Their own private island!
  3. A lifetime supply of coconuts to do with as they please.

And because I skipped last month (sorry!) I'll be awarding TWO runner ups!  They are...


Beachcomber by PolarAnemone!


Beach Memories by Malintra-Shadowmoon!

Who both win:

  1. 1 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A trophy of a dolphin!

Congrats to the winners!  :clap:


Last month, The Nefarious Networking Project was unleashed on the world, and the response from everyone was fantastic.  Now, CRLiterature is proud to see it return for its second month, but with some slight changes.

In case you're new to the networking project, on the 10th day of each month, we'll post a new networking journal where you can come, announce yourself to the world, and hopefully meet like-minded individuals to expand your writing circle.  How it works is you'll fill out the questionnaire below in a comment, and then "mingle" with others who've responded by reading their responses.  We've set up a response questionnaire that you can use as a template to form your response.  Be sure to be as detailed as possible in your initial comment so that like minded people can know what you'd like to get out of networking! :) (Smile)

Once you've responded to some people, what happens next is up to you.You can check out the deviant's gallery and get to know their artwork, you can send them a note and introduce yourself and what you'd like to get out of getting to know them, or you guys can interact with each other right here on this journal!  Our goal with this project is to help you grow your writing presence here on DeviantArt, so that you can gain more from your experience here.



Initial Networking Questionnaire

As stated above, please answer these questions in a comment below. Because we're no longer pairing up people (and instead you are finding your own like-minded deviants), the questionnaire is the same as last month's.  That means if you filled out Septembers, you can easily copy and paste your answer! :) (Smile)  Last month's journal: fav.me/dagy5wk

  1. Introduce yourself.  What experience do you have with writing (studying it, getting serious about it, etc)?  Would you consider yourself a total newbie, someone who's taken a few creative writing classes in school, or a published professional?
  2. What are your writing goals? (Writing for fun, writing to publish, etc)
  3. What do you hope to gain from networking? (You could say, "finding a beta reader," or someone to proofread and give feedback on your writing; you could say, "find a friend in the business"; or, "a friend who can teach me stuff"; or, "looking for a mentor")
  4. What genre do you typically write, and are you interested in trying new genres?
  5. Post one line of your work you're particularly proud of.
  6. Share one thumb of someone else's writing on DA that you really love.

Response Template & Ideas

When you find someone who matches your goals and ideals, you'll want to introduce yourself by replying to their questionnaire.  Summarize your own answers to the questionnaire, and let them know what similarities you found within both of your answers.

If you're both looking for a beta reader, for instance, you could initiate setting up a time to share a piece with each other for feedback.  Or, perhaps they're an experienced writer looking to mentor someone.  Let them know you're interested in learning from them through this experience.

If you need help with your response, reach out here, or via note to me, brennennn, and I'll be more than happy to help!


As always, please leave your feedback for future iterations of this journal.  It will continue to grow and develop based on the responses we receive, and we hope you all enjoy!



September Literature DD Round Up

Wed Oct 5, 2016, 3:59 PM
:iconthemaideninblack: Features by TheMaidenInBlack

Big and Little SinsFather, have I sinned? Karol wondered, for at least the hundredth time tonight. If it was a sin to listen at the kral's door, was it compounding the sin to speak those secrets? Surely not. Not if it saved a life. I will confess it tomorrow. 
The boy ran as fast as he could through the halls ending in a breathless mess outside Svatopluk's rooms. One knock on the door. Two. A dishevelled woman answered, impatience in her sharp tone. "What is it?" 
"I need to speak with with Svatopluk. Please." Karol leaned against the frame, putting his foot in the jamb in case she tried to close it.
"He's sleeping." She tried to shut the door and pushed only harder when it got stuck on the boy's shoe.
"It's important," Karol insisted. "Please. You have to listen!" He tried not to raise his voice, but up it went anyhow, cracking at the end. 
The woman opened the door and glared at him. "Speak to him tomorrow at the feast. That is soon enough."
"It won't be. At the feast I'll
  
 

:iconbrennennn: Features by brennennn

       With a 4.0 You Should've Known Not to Drink PoisonA murder most foul, they say.
It’s a shame really. You had so much to live for. You had a promising career ahead of you; you had a good internship, a 4.0 GPA, you probably would’ve graduated top of your class.
It’s a shame you swallowed that arsenic.
I guess I can’t blame you though. It wasn’t really your fault. How could you have known that someone laced your drink with poison? But with that 4.0 GPA one would think you’d be smart enough to notice.
Apparently not.
They talk about you a lot at the college. They say detectives have gone looking for you. Your parents are worried sick. No one really knows about the arsenic. I suppose they think you’ve just disappeared; kidnapped maybe. They’re worried; if only you could see them.
Sometimes I miss you so much I wish I could remember where I hid your body.


:icondoughboycafe: Features by doughboycafe


   

Mature Content

Unreliable PoetI confess I don't remember
    Whether you wore your hair down
    Or tied it back into a sort-of pony tail;
    Whether your dress was red with black spots
    Or black with red spots,
    Or something else entirely.
But I perfectly recall your smile,
    Like Spring’s first sunshine
    Whose warmth lingers even now.
I may have already forgotten,
    The cadence with which you spoke
    Your intonation and inflection;
    The questions you asked me
    And the answers I found
    Down amongst the butterflies.
But I know that your voice
    Was an unchained symphony
    Was angelsong
    A spell of sweet restlessness.
I cannot forget, for I relive
Those precious, timeless moments
Each

Mature Content

<da:thumb id="619417821"/> Princess“See that rectangle of stars? I guess it’s more of a trapezoid, actually, but anyway, that’s the Big Dipper.”
    He lifts my hand from where it hangs at my side and directs it towards the cosmic picture formed by the gas giants millions of light years away. My gaze is fixed on the Big Dipper, taking in the starlight that has traveled billions of miles to reach my eyes.
    They say that stargazing is like time travel—because the light of the stars takes so long to reach Earth, the star is probably dead and gone by the time we can see it. I always thought that was beautiful, even if it isn’t true. With their dying breaths, the stars fling their light into the endless vastness of space and lend their lives to the mythological creatures and people that we see so high in the diamond-littered night sky …
    “And there …” He moves my hand to the left until I am pointing t
Wolbachiawhen it begins
Diao Chan knew of three ways to break a man's arm and had practiced them all several times in the short course of her life, for the most beautiful woman in China was often also the most harassed. That she knew how to defend herself made the situation twice as intolerable.
Broad nails bit into her shoulder as the usurper pressed her to his side, a crude display to the court and his silent, watchful son. Lord Dong Zhuo’s limbs were thicker than most, but she could still punish him. She thought of how satisfying it would be to snap his bones, sink her nails into his eyes and rip through his skull. But purpose was a bitter mistress and she stayed quiet.
________________________________________
before everything
Diao Chan was an orphan, a runaway, and a thief.
She lived on the outskirts of Luoyang, right where the boulevards of the Heavenly City bled into endless rice paddies fed by the threads of fresh, clean water from the Luo. Nobody knew who her family
Romance : An Abridged VersionShe will drop another tincture in her tea
And say that it's for me.
But I know without asking
Where this conversation is going.
The hand holding is over.
Another summer in the books.
I've been reading noir all year -
Suspicious of everything.
What clued me was her breathing
Lesson learned.
Once more an abridged version
Of something like romance passes.
She will drop another tincture in her tea
And say that it's for me.
While I've known without asking
Why it wouldn't have lasted
Long enough for anything
But this -
An abrupt
Ending.
Get In Losers, We're Going VikingThe ships always instilled fear into those who saw them. When minuscule sails dotted your shoreline it was too late. They had begun their battle. The banshee call that emanated from their decks could send the most hardened warrior sobbing to his mother, praying that he could hide far enough inland. Some people braved the coasts regardless. Stupidity, dumb luck, bravery, perhaps all of them, contributed to the people's resistance to the ship's whims. After all, they were only gangs of teeny boats going viking, right?
Teeny boats with blood lust and an intense rivalry.
Mother had told me to come home if I saw the sails on the horizon and that it meant impending death if you stayed. "They can see you," she would say in a whisper, her eyes darting to the windows before she pushed the chair to the side and drew the curtains closed. I listened, of course, I'm not foolish. Curiosity ached throughout my bones, but I ran home. My first words to her were that of excitement, sa
FFM 2016 6: Birds Bring the RainThey ran through the rice field, crops crunching golden underneath their bare feet, Lucia bounding ahead like she always did.
“Wait!” Mateo gasped. “Listen! I. Need. To. Show. You. Something!” He tried grasping her saya, but it slipped out of his fist like buttery silk.
The sun on her shoulder, Lucia stood on the crest of the hill and looked down at him. By the time he reached her, her black eyes gleamed with starry glitter.
“What is it you wish to show me? Is it a new game for us?”
The stars twinkled.

“So you see, at the current state of things, weather at the archipelago is not exactly optimal. The infernal heat and the fickle typhoons do not entice investment. That is a fact.”
A cough from the American in the second row.
“But there is another thing that is taken for granted as a fact — that the weather is the domain of God, and that we humans cannot control it. But that’s why we are here today, gentlemen. I am
FFM11: Hide The KeyYou are supposed to be alone. You are, but the footsteps come from upstairs. The wood groans. It creaks. You are afraid.
The footsteps are too heavy to be Meredith's.  You glimpse his face. You know.
You run. You fumble with the wall tile, but there is nothing but empty space. The key should be there. Meredith keeps it here. Always.
You don't see the blow that kills you.
He always thought Gloria was pretty. It's a shame. The boss swore she wouldn't be here.
She runs. She fumbles with a tile on the wall but finds nothing. Must be a panic room, he thinks. Why else would she be so desperate to get inside?
But it doesn't matter. The money's gone and she'll recognize him if she turns around.
Those earrings look expensive.
So does the watch.
In a town this small, there is no chance I wouldn't hear the sirens. Everyone goes to the window to watch.
"Wait. Is that your house, Meredith?"
It is. I run to the door and I hope anyone who looks at me sees horror on my face. It is hard not to smi
old wives' taleopposites do not attract.
me, with my soft body
does not want your hard
hands, fists around my
throat.
bathtub sunk, i stay
at the bottom and
watch peach bubbles pop
on my skin. your needle-
nails puncture the
fruit of me. suck the
juice from me. water-
logged, i hop on my
left foot. tilt
to shake you from me.
you are vicious and
sharp. the Anger. i am candy
floss, gummy teeth. the Sadness.
you lick your fingers
clean of me
drop my clothes
on the pantry floor.
NaPo #29 - Sub-Zero SonnetShall I compare thee to a Winter’s day?
You are surely no kinder or less harsh.
Sometimes it seems you delight in foul play;
How did I not see your smile was a farce?
Like when you subtly blocked me on Snapchat:
Cold and unyielding like unending snow.
Even a frozen lake would be less flat
Than your character - it’s all just a show.
No, your eternal winter will not thaw,
And your frozen heart will not let it go.
So let all the boys stare at you in awe
While in these shadows I will walk alone
And long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
I hope you choke, and I hope their balls freeze.


   We are always looking for more DD suggestions! Self suggestions welcome! Check out each CV's profile for their suggestion guidelines, and help us spread the word about great lit on DA!

Novel Writing Basics Week at projecteducate!

CRLiterature is proud to present its latest educational week held through projecteducate: Novel Writing Basics Week!  For the week of October 24th to 30th, we'll post articles about the novel planning process, how to determine chapters, writing drafts, editing, publishing, and so much more.

Why yes, it does conveniently happen one week before NaNoWriMo. :bademoticon: 

But we need your help!

If you think you have an article you can contribute to this week, we'd love to hear and consider your idea.  Send CRLiterature, projecteducate, or brennennn a note with your ideas to discuss!  Some topics we'd like covered are:

  1. Writing long pieces of prose
  2. Genres (what they are/how to decide which one to write for your project)
  3. Do's and don't's of editing
  4. Understanding your audience/writing for your audience
  5. NaNoWriMo planning
  6. Creating story arcs
  7. Dynamic character development
  8. Anything else you'd like to discuss!



Thank you, and we look forward to your ideas!


We've heard your pleas, and we know what you want: a community-built, community-minded networking system where you can find new writers, friends, and writing partners to enhance your every day writing life.  After much deliberation, the CRLiterature team is proud to present to you, The Nefarious Networking Project!

On the 10th day of each month, we'll post a new networking journal where you can come, announce yourself to the world, and hopefully meet like-minded individuals to expand your writing circle.  How it works is you'll fill out the questionnaire below in a comment, then a CRLiterature admin will try their best to pair you up with another person.  The pairing will be based on your answers, so make sure you answer honestly and as detailed as possible.

Once you're paired, it's up to you on what to do next.  You can check out the deviant's gallery and get to know their artwork, you can send them a note and introduce yourself and what you'd like to get out of getting to know them, or you guys can interact with each other right here on this journal!  Our goal with this project is to help you grow your writing presence here on DeviantArt, so that you can gain more from your experience here.



Networking Questionnaire

As stated above, please answer these questions in a comment below so we can do our best to find someone with the same interests, or networking goals, as you. :D

  1. Introduce yourself.  What experience do you have with writing (studying it, getting serious about it, etc)?  Would you consider yourself a total newbie, someone who's taken a few creative writing classes in school, or a published professional?
  2. What are your writing goals? (Writing for fun, writing to publish, etc)
  3. What do you hope to gain from networking? (You could say, "finding a beta reader," or someone to proofread and give feedback on your writing; you could say, "find a friend in the business"; or, "a friend who can teach me stuff"; or, "looking for a mentor")
  4. What genre do you typically write, and are you interested in trying new genres?
  5. Post one line of your work you're particularly proud of.
  6. Share one thumb of someone else's writing on DA that you really love.


Before you go...

So, we hope you enjoy this project and hopefully we can fulfill the needs of the literature community more completely.  Whether you're a new deviant trying to find your way, or a long-time DeviantArt member who wants to expand their reach, this project could be for you.

As this is the inaugural article for the project, we'll be taking your feedback and experiences and using it to enhance future iterations. If you have a suggestion, addition, or qualm, please let us know below!  We'd love to hear your feedback.

Happy Networking! :heart:

August CVil War: A Picturesque Party

Wed Aug 17, 2016, 12:59 PM

Friendly reminder that you have until September 9th to get your entries in! :)


Hello everyone, and welcome to August's CVil War battle!  Last month, we sadly lost the battle as my Harry Potter prompt didn't inspire anyone to submit anything.  Oh well, we can't win them all!  While we unfortunately had to concede that TheMaidenInBlack and her followers of The Many-Faced God won in July, let's all look forward to August and the Picturesque Party that awaits! :D

Each month, TheMaidenInBlack and I go to "battle" by asking the literature community (that's you!) to respond to our prompts in the hopes of becoming the sole champion of our monthly battles.  We pick one winner and one runner-up out of the entries we receive, and award them graciously for their valiant efforts in the CVil War.  Read on to find out what August's prompt entails!

August's Prompt

Last month, I gave a prompt that may have been too precise, so this time around I'd like to have a more general, open prompt that hopefully everyone can respond to. (:

My fellow literary soldiers, in order to take part this month, you must respond to the photograph below in any genre or style, meaning you can write a poem, a piece of prose, or create a visual or found poem--so long as it's literature.  If you're writing a poem, your maximum line count is 50 lines.  If you're writing prose, your maximum word count is 1000 words.  The photograph is abstract, so what do you see? How does it make you feel? What characters do you envision in the scene?  Tell me in your writing! :)



The Rules and Prizes of War

The champion of this battle, whose literary work exceeds all others, shall receive:
  1. 3 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. Their own private island!
  3. A lifetime supply of coconuts to do with as they please.


And a runner up shall receive:
  1. 1 Month Core Membership or equivalent in points!
  2. A trophy of a dolphin!


Besides the rules in the prompt above, you must comment your submission below by September 9th 11:59 PDT.  In your comment, please also include whether you'd like Points or a Core Membership if you win.  Winners and next month's prompt will be posted on (or just after) September 15th, 2016.


To see what TheMaidenInBlack has asked from her band of thieves, go here.  Why you'd want to is beyond me, however. :shifty: