What is this business?!
This is a small update on what's going on around the literature community, that's what this business is. The idea is to try and make the community more readily accessible for everyone, whether you're new or have been here for a while.
Please note: these updates will not be all-encompassing in terms of community happenings, as the community is quite frankly rather large. Instead, this article will focus specifically on things that are currently ongoing, or happened within the past fortnight. If you're looking for something more general and comprehensive, why not give `IrrevocableFate's Love dA Lit a read?
If there is something that is not included in an update that you would like to be included, please note #CRLiterature about it!
Things going on in Lit:
- Writing Exercises:
- ~TenderPassion's Dinner and a Movie (ends 15 March)
- ScreamPrompt 24 (ends 18 March)
- #dA-lta's Satire Prompt (ends 24 March)
- #HammeredPoetry's Prompt 7: Reality Television (Extended to the end of March) Lit Contests:
- #lacoterie's Non-Linear Prompt (Ends 24 March)
- #Lit-Visual-Alliance's Launch Contest (Ends 25 April) Events and Other News:
- `thorns was brought on as a literature Community Volunteer!
- Modernising Myths Results
- Chat Tour Wrap Up: theWrittenRevolution
- An Interview with LadyLincoln
- The Ladies of Lit XIX
- The Favorites Project Features 120-122
- #Expose-Lit's Tips to Getting Involved in the Lit Community
- SixWordStories Showcase, February 20 - March 5
- Lit Linked IV
- #Critique-It is focusing on poetry until the 20th.
- Exquisite Corpse Round 4 results and sign-ups for round 5
- Name Your Droppings 2 featuring `thorns and `GrimFace242
- News on Dear Teen Me
New to the community?
Here's a few starting points for the community-at-large:
#hq is deviantART HQ's hub, so you'll be seeing some pretty big updates from them when things happen.
#communityrelations is the hub for the Community Relations team, which means it's a great place to watch for updates of all sorts.
- The CR Literature Chatroom: #CRLiterature
The past week's Lit DDs
what have I doneI don't know what I am going to do.
I was thinking of the ship I fell out of when I was wading through the kitchen,
my pants heavy with the flood, gentle suds and tender buttons that belied the undertow,
the current that pushed me deeper. a responsibility germinated of shame.
some man reminds me he is not my fucking father, his words not daggers, not anything
resting my fair head on the window, my jeans dragged down by soapy blood,
eating my salted hair and choking on the pureness of fear, not deadly enough.
in the back of the police van, my sleeves were a wet barrier between red scraped flesh
and the unforgiving cold of handcuffs a l
One morning she awoke to find workmen in her garden. They had already pulled up the sage bush, dumping it unceremoniously, root side up atop the rosemary, atop the basil so that it looked like a miniature baobab, or whatever they call those trees in Africa with the habit of growing upside down. She wished she could shrink down and scurry off into that diminutive landscape. She wished she could call to the workmen and tell them to get out of her yard, to tell them that sage could be burnt to ward off evil spirits. Instead, she let her teacup slip through her fingers. It greeted the floor with the expected crash, a hundred tiny shards singing a
We're all just Meat and BonesHolly,
I'm going to die.
No, I'm going to change into them. I should probably write this down directly, quickly, and to the point. In about an hour I will cease to be Ryan, English major at Lander University in Greenwood SC, and I will start my life anew as a zombie. Yea, an undead corpse that stumbles around all day searching for human flesh. I will be nameless just one undead among thousands.
Which is exactly why I'm writing this letter on this stack of blank receipts. I'm holed up in The Dixie, a local burger joint. Ironically, I always thought the old-timey and weathered neon sign out front would make a perfect apocalypse bac
ObsessionIt takes 14 minutes and twelve seconds to walk to your home from mine every day. Your mother never fails to smile at me when she opens the door. I never fail to notice that it doesn't reach her eyes anymore.
You leave your door open an exact two point three centimeters. I don't think you do it on purpose. There is something wrong with the wood that has left it that way. I pause one foot outside the door and listen to you cough, trying to determine how sick you feel today. I hate that every time I think you are particularly ill, I am always right.
Six months, seventeen days and fourteen hours. That is how long its been since the d
Sweetheart in A-Sharp "You're the knife."
Words. Clumsy words. Taught to me by my father, and his before, and worn into my skeleton like a bad habit. This was a bad habit, and still is.
"Be the knife."
A hoarse whisper in the dark against the swinging, hanging light. Ten competitors, thirty spectators; all losers. Two in the middle. All my life I've practiced and trained and pained for something so much greater than this. Means does indeed, unfortunately, make the man.
As I grip the soft leather of the knife handle, circa 1909, I hope these letters find you well. I hope they find me well, too, and I'm sorry for the three of us that it's come to this, c
Auditor of the Ashes"I am an incalculable rhythm of distinction.":thumb268016406:
Those words being uttered from the other side of the cubicle wall were not expected, but they could not be labeled as "unexpected" in my inventory of daily expectations. "Is that so, Rod?"
"I am a paradigm of undiscovered configurations."
This second phrase fell on me as the first. "Well, that may be true, but you know how much they love it when you talk to me over the cube wall like that. I hope this audit project hasn't finally pushed you over the edge."
"I am a master of untamed neuropathic swings."
It was that statement, I see now in hindsight's tremendous focus, when I began to worry. "Oh, you're the Jonas Salk of neuropathy now? I thought you were an accountant?"
"I am the King of Spades, and I have an ace up my sleeve."
I heard his chair push back, the plastic wheels rolling across the plastic mat, and his Oxfords made a few taps on the mat until they transitioned to the carpet. He was go
living the universeliving the universe
the rain has yet to lick wan
pavement, thick with rooted
sprouts of green, and we
depart arriving slipping inch
by brazen inch between
the forested assembly and
eradicating stones. ever
comradenemies and lovers
forth from earth, delicately
kindled within galaxies'
tight curves, finding paths
through untamed distance
swallowing horizons we
embark on every second
and are surely made of
BraveryOn Saturday the twenty-first of January, Elliot took a gun, pressed it to the strip of bone between his eyes, and shot himself. The bullet shattered the frontal bone of his skull, warping his features past recognition, and burrowed through his pre-frontal cortex into the midbrain. He died before the sound stopped echoing through his empty apartment.
This story isn't about that.
I worked with Elliot for only a little while—less than six months. Most of what I knew about him came from his desk. Unlike the smaller ones the secretaries and other reporters had, it was a stately, imposing thing. It would've been terrifying, especially to a
This is how women walk away.
In broken heels
and secondhand jackets,
cigarette smoke in their hair
and no kiss goodbye.
Do not mock.
It is what it should be.
A girl in a car,
hanging a u-turn
on a glistening, empty street.
Her body is a road to be traveled.
A shipwreck to be plundered.
She does not know how she got here,
and she does not care.
And it does not matter.
This is how women smile.
though her cheeks are sore.
Though the wind
is blowing right through her clothes.
Though there is no good music
on the radio, and no food
in the refrigerator.
This is just an impression.
An idea of nir
I found him in Happy Hollow, the woods that's on the outskirts of the city. He was a little ways off the path me and my sister, Nahla, take to school, 'cept Nahla was sick that day so it was just me by myself. It's not the fastest way to get to school, but we can't go through Northampton or else the bullies that live there will throw dirt clods at us. After I found him I took him to this old shed out there. It's got a hole in the roof but I figured the little guy'd be safe there on account of it's a good ways away from the Northampton houses; plus you can't hardly see it through all the leaves and branches and stuff. His fur was real
March the Secondmy sweet little cyclone
ripping through the valley
what have you got for me today?
you've got fire in your fingers
it's whipping through my hair
i'm dancing in your tears
under a thundering stare
what have you got for me today?
and i'm sure destruction lays before
a wilted path, i'm headed for
i see the calm before your storm
tell Talula I can't wait no more
That's it for this fortnight, if you've got questions or concerns, let us know! :]