apology and Scratched: child's play

As many of you seem to have found yourselves, I was seriously taken hostage by the so-called real world. I'm quite happy to say that I'm comfortable enough now to tell most people, most of the time, when and where they can shove it.

So, back to the writing.

Collapse )

Let's get this party started, shall we
[and not die of amusement that I'm the one saying that]
  • Current Music
    [Rise Against] Swing Life Away

The Meteor

I've said it a hundred times and I'll say it once more: I'm not a poet. However, I was required to write a poem for my War Poetry class, and this is what came out. We were told to write something about war or similar. After the poem I'll write what this is about (under a cut) but I'd like your ideas without the knowledge of what it was before. This is due next week and I'm not at all excited.

The Meteor

When once the eagles flew
and fell, turned
to flames as shot stars without a wish,
meteor pinions trailed on
comets' tails, pierced through--and
out again--
on updrafts,
with feeble wings spread, soaring--
                                               the ground,

those land-locked lucky few
looked to the sky
devoid of stars and found
buried among the
rubble, six feet beneath
                                               their upturned glances.

Collapse )

Hello All

First and foremost I deeply and sincerly appologize for my innactivity in the group for the past months. School and then lack of internet this summer got in the way of my doing pretty much anything.

This is just a post for members of the group to say: Keep it around! I miss _chickenscratch, and will be glad to put in the time I once did to update and do applications and all that. So, let me know what you all think, and we'll see if we can't get this place back on track (at least from the mod POV).

Yeah, so hey. Stuff.

She came to flailing madly, instantly landing on ground that replaced whatever she'd just left behind. Stumbling to all fours, her hands buried into white sand and her knees jarred on impact. Closing her eyes to fight off a fierce wave of vertigo, she could feel her heart drumming madly in her chest. That Tauren had been so close. Thank Gods she had found that door...

It occurred to her that she didn't know where she was. She pulled her hands from the unnaturally clean and pale sand, brushing it from her knees and her dress. She began to stand, but made the mistake of looking up. What she saw made her sink right back to her knees.

There were thousands of them. The rush of waves met her ears and the smell of the wind was that of an ocean. Thousands. It was a forest of cloaks, all standing silently, separately, staring off towards a large castle in the distance. Figures in the mist. There was not a single indication that they were there save for their very figures; mere ghosts in a salty wind or etherael columns supporting the fog.

Then, one of them turned. A solemn, pale face looked out from the hood of the cloak. Intent eyes seemed to focus on her from far away, and the stare sent a shiver down her spine.

"He- Hello" she called softly, finally standing. More faces were turning towards her, and she looked around. The figures stretched behind her as well, so far that the thick sea spray swallowed them and she could not make out the ocean itself. Slowly, the ones facing away from her were turning in. "My name is Victoria, of the House of Banning."

No response was offered as face after impassive face turned to her.

"Hello. Hello?" the fear of being chased down by the Tauren had not yet faded, and was now being replaced by another, heavier fear. The fear of being surrounded. "I am Victoria, of the House of Banning. My father is Aoed Banning and my mother is Eirnin Kendrick. I am betrothed to Jarlath Dubaltach." Tears were forming in her eyes, "can you hear me?"

It was as if she was talking to the largest, most real painting she had ever seen. Finally, she took a step forward. The reaction was instant. The figures nearest her stepped back and the ones she had left behind stepped in. She took another step, again with the adjustment of the perimeter.

"Hello?" she cried, "Can any of you help me? I just need to get back home." She took another step. "May I speak to your master?" Nothing but pale faces, staring. Another step, "I can reward you. I can pay you" She clawed at her neck, stumbling through the forest of cloaked humans, finally getting her hands around a ruby the size of a child's fist. "This necklace was my grandmother's, Aodhamair Banning. Whoever can help me can have this." She squeezed the stone as if her life depended on it and fell to her knees, sobbing.

"Anybody?" she squeaked through tears. "Anybody at all?"
stock » make believe


Hi guys.

I realize I've been MIA for ages, but I'm back for good. Over the past few months, I've gone through a lot of upheaval in my life with health problems and all the problems that that caused. Kind of a domino effect, if you will. It totally stripped me bare in terms of original stuff. I hope you understand.

You're all brilliant and I'm looking forward to getting back into the swing of things and reading your work.

  • Current Mood
    alive, omg!

You make us worthless

so you want to be a writer?
by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Free yourselves from the constraints of your foolishness. Rating communities are no place for writers.

Mid-Night writing...

Around 1 AM, I couldnt sleep so i got this idea to start writing..usually i get my best ideas in the middle of the night when i am about to fall sleep..usually i ignore the writing away..but last night i pushed myself to turn my laptop on and type away..and although it helped me fall sleep, i still got a good focus to work with today..has this ever happened to anyone else?

(no subject)

I can still post here, right? I wasn't deleted?

So what happened was that my grandmother accidentally deleted all of my computer files, and my writing went poof, and I got really depressed. In August. Yeah, it's taken me that long to mourn my writing. I didn't even write in my LJ all that much, which is partially why I wasn't here. *pets lost words*

But I'm writing again! Don't laugh, it's fic, but it's helping me get back in the groove. Sorta. I'm intentionally writing out of my comfort zone with style, point of view, tense, and pairing. It makes me work harder.

Found this on something I'd printed right before the Big Wipe-out.

Collapse )