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St RainI called him St Rain. He didn't go by any other name; he was as nameless as a baby in the Middle Ages and he didn't seem to care. He came to school in bare feet but wore his school uniform with pride. Even as the dust of the desert came sweeping over from the plains, dirtying the white of our school shirts, he would smile and simply turn to the clouds.St Rain by julietcaesar
That's when I thought he had something to do with the rain.
The drought had been going on for more than ten years now and the dam levels were reaching critical levels never seen before. Five years ago, we could still skip stones across the plummeting water but now they just go plop in the ooze, or sank into white crystals that were spilling from the earth as the waters fell. Someone pointed out it was free salt and we didn't have to go rummaging the city stores for our ever diminishing supplies but we all knew this was the type of sodium chloride we should avoid.
St Rain didn't care.
When the sun popped over the horizon and the kangaroos
Me and My Shadowi.Me and My Shadow by julietcaesar
My shadow slips to silence among the aquatic acacias. Even here, leaves abound, draped over the fuzz-curves of his figure as he soaks up the moonlight. Papa's soft voice turns my gaze to the moon. Remember, Carlos, our shadows are but imprints of the moon. Remember the Eclipse. I shiver and hold onto an acacia branch. I'm careful not to let my shadow near the shoreline where sea meets sand. That's why acacias are aquatic; they drowned their fate with the sea, Papa says. We cannot, we must not let it be our shadow's fate. We are nothing without our shadows. And yet the tide sweeps towards my toes as the moon charioteers across the silver nightscape. I leap back onto the thorns, onto the blue leaves and pray my shadow seeks dry ground. Sometimes he doesn't pay attention.
My shadow ripples to the privacy of the umbrellas. Some aquatic acacias were born like that, shaped like the human plastic as though it would dispel their liquefied sin. I think about joining him, bu
Summer SnowDecember 3rd 2010Summer Snow by julietcaesar
"Daddy, can we take a photo with Santa? Please?"
John Snow glanced at the bulbous red shape on the sleigh and scowled. It was only midday and the line stretched from the sleigh to the bookshop fifty metres down. It twisted and turned with the hundreds of Christmas shoppers that packed the shopping centre, their hot sweaty bodies jostling against him and his daughter Maddy. She strained towards the line with her head, eyes wide and desperate.
"Please, Daddy! I want to see Santa."
"You can see him from here."
Maddy's lips formed into a pout. "You know what I mean, Daddy."
John could feel the blast of cold air from a hidden air-conditioner, but it was not enough to dry up the sweat running down his face. The temperature outside was fast reaching thirty degrees Celsius and set to hit mid-thirties. He pictured his car melting alongside the pitiful Christmas shopping they had done so far: a couple of books, some toys, wrapping paper that was already torn on the corner. Madd
The ListenerIt's funny how we choose to walk the path opposite to the one Life offers us. We choose to endure the hard times when we could easily pull the plug. We choose to hurt ourselves so much the only way out seems to be kicking the bucket, and yet we swing and miss deliberately. Personally, it confounds me. What are people scared of? The glaring nothing that is death, for those who don't believe in the afterlife? To me, the answer is pretty damn simple: just do it, because you won't be frightened about it when you're dead.The Listener by julietcaesar
Mind you, that doesn't mean I'm encouraging suicide or anything. I might be, I could be, but you can interpret almost anything weird nowadays. Partly the reason why I keep my mouth shut. The other part's because it's more interesting to listen; it's amazing what sort of shit comes out of people's mouths if someone stopped to just listen. I make it my job really. I'd spend hours in a park listening to mother griping and days in the local McDonald's listening to f
you'll suffer unto meI was a four-year-old fatherless pageant baby when Mother found the listing for Challenger. For weeks she complained about the California public school system. Said I wasn't fit for it, wasn't right for it. "We live in a shithole. Public school systems rely on money and the income in this area sucks. They're all hoodlums here. You'll get raped, mugged, killed, murdered and then what? All the I'm sorries in the world won't bring you back. I'm not letting that happen to you. You're getting a better foundation than I did at your age."you'll suffer unto me by rushingtide
Mother always wanted the best for me, didn't care about the cost. She scoured the Yellow Pages for private schools, called them up, visited them with me in tow, dressed in pink and bouncing brown curls. Harker was the better, more expensive school, the rival to Challenger. Uppity kids wearing blouses, sweaters and in-fashion light-up shoes roamed both places. We settled on Challenger in the end. Mother didn't like the whole "boarding school" atmosphere at Ha
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The Ultimate Writing GuideThe Ultimate Writing Guide by Cheyanne-Author
Have great tutorial that you want to show off to help others? Or need a great tutorial yourself to make your characters shine across the battlefield? Then check out the description for more information.
Character Profile OutlineCharacter Profile Outline by KittyFelone
Okay, before anybody starts to think this is some weird idea, let me explain.
For anyone who knows how to write (and I mean, REALLY knows how to write), you understand that a good story has everything written out on paper first. You know, stuff like Outlines, Plot Triangles, Character Profiles. This might be of a challenge to some of you and tie you down, but unless you are capable of keeping every piece of information in your mind, this is a good resource to fall back on. If you do not need this, then fineyou arent required to use it. According to Science Fiction Writers of America, do character sketches and plot summaries but do not let yourself be locked in by your planning documents.
In time, I will devise a website that will help more than just creating your character. On said site, I will post other outlines that will help YOU with YOUR writing, along with some very useful information.
How to Write Villanelles Villanelles can be quite discouraging; they look simple but are actually quite difficult. However, when mastered, it becomes technically easy according to Conrad Geller. Just like riding a bike, right? The name Villanelle is derived from the Italian villa, or country house, which is where aristocrats went to refresh themselves. Strangely enough, the form is originally French and only appeared in the English language in the lat 1800s (19th century). Out of the 19 lines in a Villanelle, only two rhymes are used. Furthermore, two lines repeat throughout the poem; usually the first and last lines of the first stanza are repeated interchangeably throughout the second, third, fourth, and fifth stanzas (starting with the first line of the first stanza) until the last stanza where both are repeated in the same stanza.How to Write Villanelles by Mattiello
ClerihewThe Clerihew is a form of comic verse invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley, and championed by his friend, the novelist Gilbert Keith Chesterton. It consists of four lines of irregular length, rhymed AABB, or two uneven couplets, if you prefer to think of it that way.Clerihew by poetic-forms
Clerihews are almost always biographical, and the first line usually consists solely of the subject's name, perhaps the most famous example being:
Sir Christopher Wren
Said, "I am going to dine with some men.
If anyone calls,
Say I am designing St Paul's."
They may also be about a non-human subject:
The art of Biography
Is different from Geography,
Geography is about maps,
But Biography is about chaps.
Or, indeed, about a fictional ch
|I don't know if I will have the time to write anymore letters|
Because I might be too busy trying to participate.
So if this does end up being the last letter,
I just want you to know that I was in a bad place before I started high school
And you helped me.
Even if you didn't know what I was talking about
Or know someone who's gone through it.
You made me not feel alone.
Because I know there are people who say all these things don't happen.
And there are people who forget what it's like to be sixteen when they turn seventeen.
And know these will all be stories someday
And our pictures will become old photographs
And we'll all become somebody's mom or dad.
But right now these moments are not stories.
This is happening.
I am here and I am looking at her
And she is so beautiful.
I can see it.
This one moment when you know you're not a sad story,
You are alive.
And you stand up and see the lights on buildings
And everything that makes you wonder,
When you were listening to that song
On that drive with the people you love most in this world.
And in this moment, I swear, we are infinite.
I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. The Book Thief, Markus Zusak|
Seven years is a long time to be here in deviantART. I basically grew up here surrounded by many wonderful people who have taught me important life lessons. And there's still so much to learn.
I'm a writer and will always be one, because I believe in the power of language and the imagination to transform people's lives, whether in words of poetry or a well-written story.
In the real world, I am a medical journalist but here I relish being a short story writer. I have dabbled in novels, poetry and flash fiction over the years though as I've pushed the boundaries of the writing craft.
I've been published in a flash fiction collection. And outside of dA, I've been published in print, online, radio and TV on news, features and even opinion.
But the most important thing for me is to strive for improvement and enjoy above all the inane madness that writing brings to my life.
When I can afford time, I lurk a lot around the Literature Forum, suggest Lit DDs, occasionally critique and join in the madness of prompts set at awesome groups like transliterations. I also run a List of Useful Writing Blogs. I am a strong supporter of the Literature Community here. I've wandered off looking for other places for writing, but I've always come back because the community is equal to none.
Thanks for dropping by!
If you have a DD suggestion, send one of them a note titled "DD Suggestion" with the link to the piece and if you like, provide a description on why it should be a DD!
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