
SO I GOT PAID
So, it's been a while!
I've been recovering from my operation so I've not really had chance to update anything. Not much is going on in my life except physio and recovery… OH
AND I GOT PAID FOR MY EDITING INTERNSHIP!
Basically, the company forgot to fill in a form with the tax man that allows them to take on interns without paying, so they had to pay me or pay a much bigger fine… so I got paid! YAY!
Enough about me, onto the rest of the journal:
Groups

This is a great new group for UK writers. There are some active users and it's nice to be able to chat with people in the same time zone. Feel free to bob on over!

lacoterie is kick starting back up and is looking for new enthusiastic members to join. There's going to be prompts, critiques and competitons, so get on over there.
:icondaily-deviations:
Over at :devdaily-deviations:, we're looking to recruit some admins. Come over and drop us an application form, or even some of your best work.
Favourites
Here's some of my favourites for this week:
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Sorry there's not many, I've been busy.
Recent Commented/Critiqued Pieces
All the critiques or constructive comments I've done since my last journal! I recommend you give some of these pieces a read, they're pretty good 
The Devil's Conscience
I swung the door open and stepped into the bank. As I walked over to the queue my heart jumped into my mouth, this was the moment I had been building to for the last month and I could feel my pulse hammering around my body like a jackhammer. The queue was lengthy and I knew my bosses were proud of the haul they had managed, though the time it allowed me to contemplate terrified me.
Knowing I at least owed these people an acknowledgement I glanced around at the many faces surrounding me. My heart sunk when I saw families with small children, elderly couples and teen lovers, though I knew targeting emotion was the plan all along I guess I had forced myself to push all feelings of empathy from my body. I watched as a young mother crouched down and began stroking her child’s hair; he couldn’t be over the age of five. I desperately tried to conceal the emotion from my face but a lone tear began to roll down my cheek.
I was now nearing the end of the queue and with it everything
Treat Ella held the little plastic box between her hands and ran her fingers over the edges. The lid felt waxy and fake, not at all delicate and pristine and she wished her box would be. She sat in her bed the covers pulled over her young head and a jar of fire flies lighting up her immediate area. It was a cold night, fall would soon be coming and she cupped the box in her lap and pondered whether she really wanted to give up what was inside.
She barely ever got treats, and she knew that if she gave it away she would not get another anytime soon. Her family was very poor, but so was her village. They were not the only ones suffering. She knew - even at such a young age - that even though times seemed hard for her family, they were blessed. The house may not have had heat but they had a roof over their head. They may not have had a lot of food but they were not starving. They did not have winter clothes but they had plenty of blankets. They did not have mone
Taking Life She didn’t understand her current circumstance. It wasn’t a big deal, at least, it was the thing she kept telling herself. Her parents gone to a fancy restaurant a few hours ago. She couldn’t remember the length of time they had been gone. Her eyes dimmed as she thought about her predicament. It had gone well. Her parents left near 5:00 P.M. She had made a turkey sandwich with a bagel for supper. Her favorite show was coming on, and her mind was at peace since her parents weren’t home. She gripped the crowbar tight that her knuckles turned white. She didn’t want the intruders to knock it out of her hands. Her breath came in short puffs as she leaned against the back of the bathroom door. The bathroom door was always closed in the house, so it wouldn’t have been out of the norm for her house. The lock was engaged, so she was hoping they didn’t try the door.
Same Person Everybody has been annoyed at the world. I’m still annoyed at the world. Everything I do is looked down upon; my choice of clothing is the major source of such scrutiny. When I was little, I was like all the other girls. I wore my hair in pigtails; I wore pink religiously. I was a normal little girl. It had all changed when I turned 12. My family had moved from our home of 12 years to a new place. The people weren’t as welcoming to us as our old neighborhood. They consistently looked down upon us since we were the new people. My family didn’t know the ‘ropes’ of the neighborhood. Everything we did was wrong. Eventually, I started to purposely do these things wrong. It occurred to me that they were trying to control my life; I was not going to let that happen.
“Crystal, how many times do I have to tell? Your hair is not supposed to be dy
High War - Chapter 1.1
“Doom!” he cries out, his voice hoarse from shouting, “Doom!” The old man is dressed better than any beggar, but all the same he sits against the cobblestone-walled shop and caterwauls to the unimpressed late-morning market crowd. “Doom comes for us all, none shall be spared!” A few throw him coins that he seems not to notice, though they tend to disappear into his pockets when no one is looking. “Flee this place and you may survive the night, but war comes from on high!”
“Move aside please.” A woman in plate mail made from what looks to be bark shoulders her way through the crowd, “I said move aside.” Those who recognize her quickly allow her though without further difficulty, and as she enters the open space around the old man she puts her hands on her hips and scowls down at him. A round wooden shield, dyed a subtle green, is strapped to her left arm and a maul heavy enough to brain a troll hangs from her hip. &
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Interview With a Killer Part 2I looked down at my watch realizing that it was way past the time I had planned to leave. Mr. Douglas had been more open with me than I had anticipated, and this interview had certainly been more than I’d expected.
“Well, time’s up. Besides, I think I have all the information I came here for.”
John Douglas smiled and leaned in as close to be as his hand cuffed arms would allow. “Oh, there’s plenty more I could tell you Mrs. Parker,” he whispered, “and not just about me.” The cops whose presence I had almost forgotten all together yanked him back and stood him up.
“That’s enough for today, John, it’s about time you said goodbye.” They started leading him quickly out of the room but not fast enough to keep him from getting one last word in.
“Don’t be a stranger Mrs. Parker,” he replied in an almost endearing tone, “I’d love to see you again.”
I stood there alone in the
Interview With a KillerIt broke. I’d heard a snapping sound and knew that for whatever reason my tape recorder had stopped recording. I sighed feeling extremely frustrated that this had to break right now at this particular moment.
“Why has the interview stopped Mrs. Parker? Surely you haven’t run out of questions to ask me just yet,” John Douglas asked me in his monotone voice that somehow managed to hold an air of condescension.
“It’s just the tape recorder. Give me a moment and the interview will start again shortly,” I picked up the stupid device that I knew I shouldn’t have brought with me in the first place. I’d wanted to bring my own camera crew, but Mr. Douglas had requested not to be video- taped, which I should’ve guessed.
I pushed the button on the tape recorder to get the tape out, but when I did, I noticed that the reel was stuck, keeping the tape from recording. I sighed. I had been waiting my entire career to be assigned t
High War - Chapter 0
The small creature, no bigger than a badger, pulls a hefty twig from the sack on its mossy backside. It has many more to chose from, including those to be found on the ground around it, but this twig alone is held up for appraisal in the scant sunlight that reaches down through the treetops. Heft is roughly measured, the straightness is deemed satisfactory and one stumpy protrusion near the end seems to particularly fascinate the creature. And if the creature had not been moving around so purposefully, it might itself be confused for a mess of sticks and leaves animated by some odd wind. Its skin has the look of bark, with a soft moss-like fur tufting out in groomed patches across its hide and clothing that is none other than carefully woven leaves. The arms that sprout from its upper body end in thin claw-fingers that look sharp enough to cut, while the knobby knees of its legs are bent slightly under the weight of the sack it carries.
A low, rumbling hum with a song-like tonality beg
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Green's noirAs soon as I tasted the salad, I recognized that dressing. Lights dimmed, surrounding me.
I checked the clock and wondered why I couldn't recognize the color of the dressing spread in the lettuce by simply looking at it, that noble opal.
I swallowed slowly and, profusely, my eyelids became ajar like a falcon preying upon, miles away, its hunt.
That aroma, that fresh, acid aroma of jitomate. Red explosion extracting my passion.
The nights I drove in the city under the moon light, lonely as a wolf, guided me to the salad with the dressing- mystique flamboyance-, my destiny. My only companion, that everlasting raincoat, no one else knew.
I never needed all that money from Don Marcelo´s death, a single drop from the dressing would have been enough. Only one drop.
I laid down the fork in the plate, put two fingers near my nose and deeply smelled the light fragrance of the lost recipe.
The bottle which contained the heavenly liquid did not belong to the brand of the exquisite fr
A Summer Afternoon in 2013.'… from 1 upwards. Cuisinaire rods are distributed, in the following...'
“What are you reading?”
I looked up at my intruder. My younger sister was standing at my bedroom door, leaning against the door frame with a cheeky look on her face. I fixed my eyes back on the top of page 81, adjusting my place on my lovely, comfy bed. “It's a book about maths pedagogy.”
She pulled a face that resembled a curious mixture of confusion, but with an undertone of amusement. “Peda-what?”
I tried to suppress my annoyance. “Pedagogy. It means teaching technique.”
Her expression didn't change much, so I decided to elaborate.
“Look, it's like this. The way maths is taught right now is rubbish. It's boringly inaccessible to most students, who are forced to go – against their will most of the time – to classes taught by teachers they don't like. If I'm going to be a teacher, I'm going to be a good one, darn it, so I've got to kn
Quote of the Week
"Where I'm from, we believe in all sorts of things that aren't true... we call it history."
― Gregory Maguire, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
Picture of the week
