|DDs that I have had the pleasure of featuring as a Community Volunteer.|
Twenty Ten FourWe never notice.Twenty Ten Four by Beccalicious
Our alarm doesn't ring, it sings
Pharell beating our mornings
till we remove from our snooze. We
forgot the tink-tinker or
and emerge the same.
The same commute to work:
Heads sunk, tired eyes drunk by
thumb movements. Our ears dumb
locked into a Will-I-Am trance. Not
a glance of the changing scenes;
the only birds we see are angry.
The same office echoes with
of emails blaming others and smack-talking.
instead of actual talking. We fall for
the hype of Skype and only Siri’s
voice drones narrow answers
we accept as truth.
The same playground, huddled corners;
Children pick a blackberry instead of
picking blackberries, for their late-night
Facebook fights. Words will always hurt see:
no kids to hit with sticks and stones. Unless
there’s an ap for it.
What do we do when stop?
Orwell you're too late
took thirty years to demonstrate your
doublethink and we all cling to
The Beard of intrigueHis beard was fascinating.The Beard of intrigue by Beccalicious
It was a loom, woven with intricate detail and so long it would put any wizard to shame. Each pattern in the coarse mound of hair seemed to share a secret. Perhaps they were memories- I’d heard others collect memories in such ways- etchings on their bodies, collecting objects and even journal writing. Maybe this man was his own journal.
The rest of him seemed positively ordinary. He rested in his chair in a blue business suit- albeit a little outdated for fashion, but suited the character I had begun to form in my head for him. His sorrowful eyes narrowed on a frustrated brow of greying features, illuminating a sense of tiredness. Perhaps the beard in all its might was weighting down. His skin was as rough as sandpaper, blotches and scars etching his hands and face with no revelation to the puzzle of his beard.
I wanted to move closer, debating whether it was rude to ask. The very notion excited me as I built up theories as to why his beard had the
Shopping and Wizards.A thousand bagsShopping and Wizards. by Beccalicious
shuffle down the high street between
clasped hands, scrunched with new purchase.
They’re buggy-dodging the determined mothers,
the rushed businessmen-- a pinball
machine shopping centre.
A green-robed man, tall with wand and hood
must be a wizard. He’s happily
procuring sushi and sparkling water
whilst his companion;
short with her piercings and jeans treats him
as if he wore the same.
Down the high street,
two track-suited parents
zoom past on their children’s scooters—
half-smoked fags between fingers yell
how fucking amazing this is.
spotted teen raps
his love for Jesus on a muffled
He raps for the Father,
He raps for the Son
and Holy Spirit.
He raps for peace, for hope, for you.
In a corner,
Brown eyes, hefty tears,
a snot-ridden face--
four years old.
A train runs through the mall toot-tooting
as grumpy shoppers move out of the way.
Napo 8- SusanWhy did you lock her out of heavenNapo 8- Susan by Beccalicious
and throw the key
into the lions land?
A beautiful girl enjoying
a new fantasy to live.
She'd stopped believing, but
faith stays in a heart longer
than a head.
"She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now,
and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age"
Napo 7- Teen of the 90'sI wanted to be Posh Spice because myNapo 7- Teen of the 90's by Beccalicious
hair was brown bobbed and she dated David
Beckham; I wanted to marry him. I
had no internet and recorded songs
on the radio to tape, daring to
pause and knock out the DJ’s droll. I sang
to S Club and thought I was the coolest
in my smiley faced top and my yingyang
friendship necklaces. You had to know the
Macarena not just for weddings but
school discos too and then every steps routine
to fit in. Slow dances with boys made me
wish again that they were David Beckham
and not greasy teens with bad curtains for
hair. They pressed themselves against you before
travelling to the next girl in leopard
print skirt. Viva forever was merely
a fantasy ; one I’d dream the whole of
the nineties, hoping my teenage self could
find her inner strength, her true girl power.
November 2012 ~ General Photography DD RoundupDaily Deviation Roundup from November 2012November 2012 ~ General Photography DD Roundup by 3wyl
Autumn Blues by juliart5 Calendar Girls 04 by danielescale
Platinum Fireworks 2011 - 01 by HariNgDuga .*.*.*. by thon94rt Strawberries by mojoshirl
Ninka by MaryaS
I Love My Nerdy Boyfriend by chibi-lilie hold your breath by StefanBeutler Paintball player by WalkingDreamsprod
cheerful insect by Yeden O-O-20 by Mer-k
Portfolio by aufzehengehen Dancing in the Fog by bee-eye drowning memories by Sleet613
VW rigshot by GIIFOTO russian doll by misstaisia food by FiorOf
April In Her Eyes by mrrezania
If you have any suggestions for (improving) the Photography Gallery, anything photography related in communityrelations that you would like/we could provide for you (features, interviews, contests, news, tutorials, etc.), or even anything Chats & Forums related, please do not hesitate to send me a note!
Zindigi Life Monsoons Ch 1When Pavarti died, the sunlight went with her. Any fledgling rays that had once, cautiously, shined down on a family so desperately in need of light, left nothing but the dust of Mumbai roads clinging to the windows. It was hastily snuffed out, like the lazy wisps of a tobacco beedi, purchased by a seedy rickshaw driver at cheap roadside stalls.Zindigi Life Monsoons Ch 1 by Near-the-Edge
We were the meager funeral procession, my father and I, the now oldest child, and we watched the two disinterested day laborers unfeelingly carry her remains to the cemetery of an abandoned church. The smug sunlight languidly settled into a distant horizon. Even as the blazing humidity diminished, sweat continued to trickle down my shoulders. The dusty white kurta pants were slowly coming apart from the makeshift knot I had tied.
Absently, I ruminated about the thick black plaits that used to run down my sister's back, how the perishing temperatures before the monsoon storms would make cotton salwaar kameez she wore to work stick to her body by
The Witching HourFreshmen don't get to choose their dorm rooms. There are a few that are set aside specifically for freshmen: the small rooms, the ones with awkward angles, the ones farthest from the Dining Hall. But when the entering class is larger than usual, some of the rooms usually reserved for upperclassmen are opened up. If you're lucky, you could get one of the best rooms available.The Witching Hour by anapests-and-ink
I had a large class. And I got lucky.
My room wasn't huge, especially for sharing with a roommate, but it was on the top floor, right by the Bell Tower. It had a soaring ceiling, with windows nearly as tall. The first thing I did was shove the provided armchair (1960's orange and hard as concrete) up against those windows. When I was satisfactorily perched (far too uncomfortable for lounging), I leaned on the window and gazed out over my kingdom. The room overlooked a private courtyard, filled with silver-green crabgrass a
A woman is missing.A woman is missing.A woman is missing. by OritPetra
My sweater is knit too loose and the wind blows through.
The leaves are done changing and are waiting to fall.
I think of them collaged against my morning-damp windshield;
they will mostly be red. My wipers will push them off;
I will forget about them. But inbetween these thoughts
my brain hums. A woman is missing and I cannot forget.
Two weeks ago the leaves were mostly green and yellow.
Two weeks ago a woman went missing.
I didn't know her but she went missing and today
I am standing at a wall covered with candles and
I am rolling her name over my tongue and I am thinking.
I am thinking and praying, but I am not hoping.
A woman went missing; a woman is missing.
I keep going to work, getting up each day.
I brush my teeth, comb my hair, pack my lunch, drive my car.
And mostly I do not think about her. But sometimes I do.
Sometimes the hairs on my neck stand up and the two blocks
between the library and the coffee shop are impossibly long.
WingsIcarus eats his breakfast in front of the TV.Wings by LyttleBlankyta
Balances his Wheaties on a butter knife
Big and strong on jagged silver cliffs.
On cloudy days, he watches fireflies
Blinking in Morse Code,
Hollering help to the tree sap they're trapped in.
He scoops ladybugs up in the crook of his elbow
To count their spots backwards,
To ask them where they've been.
He doesn't understand the morning news.
He feels it like a nosebleed,
Like a thick intrusion,
And when the worry clots on his lip, he trembles.
He says, "Papa, I wanna paint the world for you,
But it just won't sit still"
Icarus doesn't want to be in charge of hiding the universe from itself.
He's sick of kicking people out of his clubhouse.
He's got sixteen feet of imagination
Wrapped around the war monsters in his closet,
But he still can't imagine why the quiet is so tragic.
He can't figure out why he's got to hold his own hand
On the subway.
See, Icarus watches the world like an opera in ancient Greek:
He feels the words but he can
JoshuaI would like to tell you about Joshua. Not because he is particularly unusual, or anyone of note. But rather, because he is not. I would like you to bear his utter ordinariness in mind as you read what follows. Joshua is just another person, and although by the time you have finished reading this you may develop a feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you differently, I urge you to resist that feeling. Joshua could be anyone. If the stars had been aligned differently, or the genetic crap-shoot altered just so, he could have been you or me.Joshua by GregStevens
Joshua had the look of a thing delicately made. At 17 years of age, his skin was pallid to the point of translucency, matching almost exactly the shade of his white hair. A slight upturn and fullness of the upper lip, and a similar upturn in his unusually small nose, combined with angled cheekbones and large eyes to give his face a slightly "pinched" quality. The end result was neither particularly attractive
Opaque Seas of TransienceHeidrich walked briskly down the open hall, his feet echoing sibilant metallic notes between the polished steel support beams. He wasn't in any particular hurry, though his quick pace said other wise. He figured it was the many years spent living in this bustling city, running to and fro in the almost oppressive crowds, every single person he had ever met always in some kind of urgent hurry. He mentally berated himself for missing this opportunity and slowed to an even walk. The appointment was still a good thirty minutes away, it made no sense to run. Heidrich was determined to glean a small portent of unhurried peace before he found himself busy again.Opaque Seas of Transience by Delta-Hexagon
And, for but a few precious little minutes, he found his peace, and that made him happy. He had never really thought to stop and actually see what he saw every day. The thought had simply never occurred to him. And yet here he was, thirty long minutes away from a procedure that would change his, and humanity's, life for good, at perfec
|DDs that I have had the pleasure of featuring as a Community Volunteer.|
eclipse.my eyes well-up constellations for you,
they shine bright. though my tears aren't precious anymore,
far too common for the tormenting night.
whoever told you about those squinting stars?
they strain to see those in this world;
gifted yet challenged by the sun and the moon.
and if all of earth's paradoxes were to stand up like soldiers,
we would be out of place.
try not to cry about such trivial matters
and live life as if we will not die.
and if such aspects are set in stone,
why does our molten flow so smoothly as
we seep out venus' volcano of infidelity and trust?
and they tell us that lust leads to consequences.
our brightness attracts those moths who perish in our heat.
we give a warm welcome to everything that we
untitledThat guy thinks he's heartless;
I watch him as he buys coffee
and gives it to everybody he passes
on the street who looks sad, and
his lips curl into a smile because
he made a joke that gave someone a laugh.
He holds his mother's hand on top
of hospital sheets, pressing the button
to pump morphine into her system
before he signals a nurse. Tears cascade
down his face when he watches
his mother take her last breath.
And his lips curl into a sneer as he walks
past a cloud of lung choking smoke,
thinking of the fume filled air
his mother suffocated herself in.
He thinks he's heartless, but
his heart is bigger than anyone's.
| Or just confused?|
If you are new to the Literature community or don't know where to start to get involved, then adding CRLiterature to your watch is a good start! The group is the central cub for the literature community relations team, and we encourage community interaction!
CRLiterature chat room
Lit Community Volunteers
These sexy people are so full of awesome you won't know where to go first!
Ye Pirate Tales (Talk Like a Pirate Day!) 1 week left, don't forget to send me a note with your entry!
Space LootingA high pitched blaring came from the control panel, accompanied by flashing lights on the hologram screen. Half a dozen heads turned toward the commotion before a figure calmly strode toward the panel and pressed a button. The noises ceased, and the lights grew from random specks to a clear formation of merchant ships.d-e-l-e-t-e-d
"Captain Jones," said a man stepping from shadows to light. "I do believe that," he pointed to a certain star-ship lagging behind the others, "is the one we're looking for. What do you think?"
The woman who pressed the button turned around, smiling as she pulled out a sleek mag-gun and checked it for charges. "Sil, I say we give 'em hell."
Commotion overtook the crew deck as humans and aliens alike checked their armor and weapons. Still more sat in chairs facing personal holoscreens, calculating trajectories for mass teleport. Once each member stepped aboard their designated plate a green light flared above their heads.
Jones was the last one to step on her teleport pad,
The Legend of the Haunted LighthouseNot many folk know of the lighthouse on Saber Island. But not many folk know of the island itself, for it's a hidden place, a good distance off the trade routes and surrounded by vicious currents that will smash your ship against the saber-sharp cliffs that have given cause for its name, so that if you get anywhere near enough to find the island, you'll have no way of ever getting back to tell the tale of it. Well, that goes for regular folk, who come across it when they get lost to sea, not for hardened sea dogs who go about looking for trouble. An island that's hard to find and dangerous to approach is a boon to any pirate, and there's never been a time since man sailed these seas that there wasn't a pirate den on Saber Island. And legend has it, some three hundred years ago, the island was home to a pirate known as Captain John Cutlass, the greatest pirate to ever rule over Saber Island.dparparita
Captain Cutlass was a strange man, strange as they come. Some say he was no man at all, b
Trouble on the Dead Strait The sailing master was dreaming of warm, sandy beaches when the cabin boy shook him awake. “What the hell are you doing, boy? It’s not even sunup.” He started to raise his hand to deliver a hard slap to the boy, but his pale face and wide eyes caused him to hesitate. “What is it?”Tobaeus
“It’s the helmsman, sir. He’s taking us into The Strait!”
“What?” He found himself throwing open the door to the deck before the sleep had cleared properly from his eyes. The sky was still pitch dark; sunrise was still hours away. And sure enough, that damned fool helmsman was steering them right toward the Dead Strait. He marched over and sent him sprawling with one punch. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The helmsman rubbed his jaw and glared at the deck. “Shaving two days off our trip, that’s what. Your route takes us right by this strait, a
MajesticSpace travel was old when I was young, yet those were the early days still: when a man could look at the stars and feel their pull as more than mere gravity. We made our living then largely from shipwrecks, a lucrative trade, much more frequent than they are now. Much of the seas were uncharted; navigation systems unreliable across such vast distances; bulky hulls ungainly and difficult to manage - it was not uncommon for vessels in transit to disembowel themselves on a comet or asteroid. Ships failing to arrive were traced back along their route to the point of shipwreck, but this took considerable time. Our business was to be there first, and our ship, the Ulysses, was designed expressly for this purpose. We were rebels and renegades, explorers and adventurers, the archaeologists of the deep waters between the stars...samjo989
Among those of our trade there was one name whispered more often and with more hushed reverence than any other: the Majestic. A luxury starliner, one
Hunting PiratesI witnessed the plundering from my safe vantage point, eyes glued to a fancy telescope and neck screaming mercy.HtBlack
Devotion never stood a chance against them, I have known for a long time: it's the defenses you have that make a difference, not the stubborn utopia that some "god" is going to rise and defend you instead. If I lower the telescope's magnification there they are, weird-shaped ants kicking down doors and putting our livelihood to the torch.
But it doesn't begin like that. It begins on your skin, like when a cool wind blows and you know you'll get goosebumps. Soon enough, the villagers see it for you - "black sails! Black sails coming!" and you choke on your tea. And even if a storm has been gathering in the sea almost like divine protection and a few ships have burst against the rocks like bubbles, you know you are exposed, maybe when those rainclouds will bring an early sunset and a sleepless night, or maybe tomorrow; your heartrate is just a countdown.
And there it is. I've
Not Damsel FodderThere's tales of a woman sailing the seas, they say. Her nails be painted black as night, and quick with a gun she is. She comes from a family of brothers ungrateful, a father with a streak for abandonment. A place where women remain in a stationary spot of the house, over the stove or cleaning the clothes. Good for nothing more than just a housewife -- or even less, with the little ankle biters that may cling to their skirts.BlueBlueFox
She sits in the corner of a bar, or to the side of the deck, a leg crossed over the other. Tap tap tap of the boot on the wooden surface -- be it the boat or a table or hell, even both! Sharp green eyes and a quick wit, but don't call her a wench or you'll make her twitch. Anything but, in spite of the opening tunic, if she catches your eyes wanderin' well... she may just shoot'cha.
"I'm not bossy, I'm the boss."
Those eyes watch the world around her from the mass of brown tumbling about her shoulders and crossed over her face. When not seated, a h
FocusOnLit - What is it?Simply put, FocusOnLit is a group that caters to chaptered prose writers. If you're a poet or only write short prose, this isn't the group for you. But for those of you that write novels, you'll want to keep reading because we're probably exactly what you've been looking for.GrimFace242
The concept of FocusOnLit is basically taking a real world crit group and putting it on the internet. We're not beta readers, mentors or professionals (well, maybe some of us are). We're friends that read each others' work and give feedback.
How does it work?
FocusOnLit admin will create teams of varying sizes (3-4 at most) based on genre. Once a team is created, all team members will be sent a note with instructions on how, when and where to submit their deviations for feedback. The first chapter and blurbs will be requested by FocusOnLit admin into our gallery. In order to submit further chapters, team members will need to include links to their feed
Love dA Lit: Issue 183Welcome to the one-hundred eighty-third issue of Love dA Lit! Every Sunday this article will aim to promote volunteer opportunities, various resources, prompts, challenges, and workshops, as well as highlighting various contests. This is by no means a complete list of all the literature going-ons, merely a tool to help you get involved and stay informed.IrrevocableFate
Note: NaNo Fever strikes again, it's getting closer and closer to November. Are you participating? Not participating? Let me know in the comments. I want to cheer for you whether you do it or not because I like you.
LITplease's Community Portal
A Smattering of Lit News
Horror-Writers-Unite's 2 Sentence Horror Contest! Congratulations!Gingersanps
You have been chosen to participate in this fine competition. It is a fine day indeed. Lots of prizes are involved, and it will be worth your while. Listen to this message carefully ...
You can be hurt. The message will he --
So, keep reading to understand. We will be wat --
The deviation must be uploaded between October 15 and November 25. The piece must be a new piece. The entries must be two sentences -- no more, no less. The genre is horror. [This is a horror group after all.]Link your entry to the official contest journal. Be creative. [It will be judged on its genre.] (1) Entry allowed.
Digital Drawing (courtesy of CrypticGrin) 3 Month Premium Membership (courtesy of Gingersanps)Journal Feature + Interview (co
Ready, Set, NaNo!So it's that time of the year again and we're all racing around trying to get our bits together for NaNoWriMo. OR, we're laughing at the people running around trying to get all their bits together for NaNo. In the past, I've written articles on what NaNo is and how to prepare for it. This isn't one of those articles. Well, not entirely. Let's start with the glaringly obvious.GrimFace242
What's the point of NaNo?
If you answered "To write a 50k Word Count Novel in a month's time," you're wrong. NaNo is about conditioning writers to write regularly, keep those creative juices flowing and to work under pressure. November is a busy month. Students are back in school. Parents are dealing with said students. In the United States, we have Thanksgiving and of course everyone is getting ready for Christmas. Add in clearing 1,667 words a day and we're talking about some major pressure. But that's the poi
Pimps and Whoas - Oct. 8, 2014Moonbeam13
Official dA News
The Shape of Things to Come
A Guide to Effective Tagging
Celebrating Deviousness - October 2014
Feeds, Tags, Today, Navigation, Collections
Site Update: Testing New Features
October Literature NewsSeptember was super busy! Summer has melted into Fall, (and Winter into Spring for you in the other half of the world ) It's almost hard to believe it's October, Halloween lurks around the corner, waiting to pounce. Are you excited? I am because there are tons of events, contests and prompts that are going on!IrrevocableFate
News Articles, Interviews & Features
Opening a News Gallery Folder
Needing Your Help Bringing Back Daily Lit Deviant
Love dA Lit Loves You: Vol. 7
Operation: Throw the Cake Results!
Ye Pirate Tales (Talk Like a Pirate Day!) 1 week left, don't forget to send me a note with your entry!
Entries are starting to come in now and will be stored in the contest folder for all to see! Can't wait to see the entries roll in!
Behold me literary feather-bearers, how fair ye in on a week where we celebrate talking like yon pirate? It's time we took the celebrations to a new level and test ye wits in a tourney!
To pit ye writers against each other, we arr asking for your best pirate legend. Give us a tale of mystery, of cunning and wit- be it stupendous or just plain stupid. We're looking for humour and exaggeration, we want intrigue and excitement- do ye think you can do it? Then lets hear ye!
September 19th is International Talk Like a Pirate Day
I am a 29 year-old mother of one who has been writing since around 9 years old. I have a keen interest in scriptwriting, and write plays for commission for local schools and theatre groups. I have a BA in creative writing and theatre studies and currently studying for a Postgraduate certificate in Business Management. (day job!)|
I love dA because you can see what others on here have to offer. I appreciate any artwork simply because I could never do half of the amazing work I find on here.
As a writer, my main focus is on Scriptwriting and Writing for Performance, most of what I produce doesn’t appear on dA as it is used professionally. I also enjoy writing prose, and poetry and have participated in several “wrimo”s over the past few years.
If you ever want to chat, come find me in #CRLiterature, or any of the chats on the dAmn network. I am also active in the literature forum and don't be afraid send me a note! I am always willing to help answer any questions you may have or say hello.