|These could be from my 'world building', 'prints' & 'lierature' sub-sections of the favourites. The main faves folder goes without saying really. If you think you deserve to be here put up a link to it on the side and I will see where it fares amongst my faves.|
And we are back with week number 14 of TBT (that’s Throwback Thursday to those few of you not yet in the know). Before we start though, weeks one through thirteen can now be found all together in their own little folder for easy reference. Isn’t that nice!
Throwback Thursdays, the entire collection
Remembering uploads which have been given more than one ‘D’ on a project. I haven’t had two D’s since my old science teacher accidentally graded my potato battery twice (I used a radish). I say accidentally, she could just have been making her point absolutely clear.
They Also Serve Who Only Stand and WaitI don't know when we first went underground. I don't even know if it was one mass exodus, a swarm of mankind trickling through the earth's crust so vehement we carved our own caverns by the force of trampling feet, or whether it was a gradual process, perhaps even a repetitive one, a family here, a neighborhood there. For all I know, the echo of the damp subterranean machine has always reverberated off the cave walls, created long past by the Angels, who think of our well-being even while they shake their heads helplessly at our flaws.
They say that those who remained on the surface were raptured away in a great flash of light, like a million suns converted into raw energy all at once. While it was rumored once that the flash was our doing, our own horrid creation, we all know better now. It was the Maker who brought it forth from the void and cast it onto the earth's crust, as though shot from an immense sling, taking only those who were brave enough to trust in Him. We, who live in t
Choose Your Name“John Brant,” I whispered, and a dashing British gentleman appeared in my mind, arrogant and suave as the slim-fitting Italian suit he wore. He sounded classy, not overly pompous. But there was just something about him. He could be the cool confident charmer I was looking for. But he could just as well be a stiff stocky soldier with his pride shoved far up his ass.
“John Chase,” The name rolled smoothly off my tongue. Another man took form, both the same and different from the first. He was just as charming, perhaps a little lower in class with a bolder tongue. And was that a little mischief I saw in his eyes? Undoubtedly, he was smoother than the latter. He could work. A common name for a common man. Maybe a little too common. But he could work.
“John Davies,” I frowned, my eyes still closed as I wrinkled my brow. This man was full of question marks. Unlike the previous two, I couldn’t picture him quite as clearly. And I wasn’t su
The Drug OperaAs dusk dripped thick through a coffee filter brume, the edges of the sky blistered and curled in on themselves like a photograph aflame. The orphaned troupe Alamort marched - no, limped, dragged their fractured marionette legs over the macadamized road towards a sizzling neon sign, the vista bathed in its bright red panicked heartbeat. A plaque of hoary grout plugged the fossil veins of crack-toothed cobblestone, whispered salty scandal to their tattered shoes. Rainwater crept through seams in the jigsaw stone, trilling toward Canaan in days-long fingers of living mercury.
And they followed it, the five pairs of abandoned feet, walking the dew lines like liquid tight rope toward their aqueous juncture, to where the melted clouds converged in pulsating chrome puddles; at the grand and pompous feet of The Drug Opera.
Relic, Whimsy, Fustian, Antic, Sorry; kith ranging in years from seventeen to twenty-eight. They dissolved into a line, hand melding into hand like the grimy pearls
But wait! Brace yourself and/or hold onto your butts because this little beauty may just be the cream of the crop:
Here to remind you that ‘I’ always comes before ‘E’ except after ‘C’ (apart from when you run eight feisty heists on a weird beige foreign neighbour).
The NonVerbal Thesaurus
Not spoken > Body Language.
Latin thesaurus, treasury, from Greek thesauros.
n. pl. thesauri (-sôri) or thesauruses
1. A book of synonyms, often including related and contrasting words and antonyms.
2. A book of selected words or concepts, such as a specialized vocabulary of a particular field.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009.
Dialogue is VISUAL
-- Not just a bunch of words.
Watch the average conversation between two people. 90% of that conversation isn't in what's Spoken, it's in what they are DOING while they are speaking. It's in their Body Language. Body-language cues in your story alert the reader by SHOWING them what is going on in a character's head without Telling t
A Guide to Writing DialogueWhat is dialogue, exactly? The definition from Merriam-Webster’s dictionary was several lines long, so I shall summarize it in a short sentence for the sake of the readers; it’s the writing that illustrates conversations between two or more characters in a story. We read and hear it all around us, but creating it in your own work can be a challenge. However, if you find dialogue an obstacle in your writing, then don’t push the panic button. In this tutorial, you’ll find by analyzing what dialogue can do and how to use it, you can turn your greatest fear into your greatest ally in your story.
What dialogue is
Like I’ve asserted before, dialogue is basically what the characters are saying to each other. It can be found in multiple mediums such as books, movies, comics, video games, etc. We even engage in dialogue daily without even thinking. When you talk to your best friend, a co-worker, or even your dog, you create dialogue. It’s exchang
PE: Literature Basics SettingsLiterature Basics Week
Along with characters and plot, setting is one of the most important choices we make when we write. In the most basic terms, setting is where your literary work takes place. It's up to you, as the author, to use it and mold it to fit the needs of your writing, make it more than just a backdrop to your prose or poetry.
A good setting becomes like a character itself. It can be express moods, offer comfort or hindrance. The setting can even be the main antagonist - consider the Overlook Hotel in Stephen King's The Shining, or the island in the 2000 Tom Hanks' film, Cast Away. In both of these examples, the protagonist(s) have to survive their surroundings, one mundane, the other ... less so.
Make Your Setting Work For You
Everything in your written work must be chosen for maximum effect. When deciding on your setting, decide what you want to accomplish with it. Here are some possibilities.
A Guide to Writing StyleWriting Style - The Bottom Line
Words are like sunbeams. The more they are condensed, the deeper they burn. - Robert Southey
Prose is architecture, not interior decorating. - Ernest Hemingway
Writing style is made up of two things: cadence and variation.
Good style is clear, readable, and invisible. Its purpose is not to attract attention to itself but to transport readers into the world of your story. If your readers notice your style without purposefully intending to study it, your style needs to be improved and refined. Good style, however, is transparent so that your readers simply see the characters and world of your story rather than the words you use to portray them.
To write with cadence simply means that your writing should sound natural. If it sounds right to you, it probably is--but if it doesnt sound right,
Prompts, solving writers block for centuries. Disclaimer: don’t try them out on a cinder-block for that is something really quite different.
20 Writing Prompts20 Writing Prompts
This shouldnt hurt. She said quietly, soulless eyes downcast.
An empty street, once filled with colour and life, was far more desolate than one that had always been barren.
My shadow crept across the wall as I waited; the clocks ticking dragging me through each long second with hope for the next.
Id read between the lines, but it didnt mean I liked what Id found.
He dropped his head, the fatigue of days finally seeping into his abused muscles; the last of his strength finally gone.
Look, hed said softly, pointing at the night sky and the only light that littered the velvet night; the stars. My eyes shot back to him quizzically, the unspoken question on my lips. He laughed as he always did, eyes creasing in his merriment. When youve finished counting all the stars in the sky, he said, voice dropping to a whisper, thats when Ill come home to you.
You could see h
10 Writing Prompts"The purpose of life is to fight maturity." -Dick Werthimer
"Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep."-Fran Lebowitz
"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed."-Carl Jung
"Sometimes when you look back on a situation, you realize it wasn't all you thought it was. A beautiful girl walked into your life. You fell in love. Or did you? Maybe it was only a childish infatuation, or maybe just a brief moment of vanity. "-Henry Bromel
"Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love." -Jane Austin
"There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered."-Nelson Mandela
"When someone allows you to bear his burdens, you have found deep friendship."
"I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don't believe I deserved my friends." - Walt Whitman
"It hurts to find out that what you wanted doesn't match what you
ScreamPrompt #27, August 2012 + group changes!We're gonna do something a little different. Here's the prompt for the month:
Write a story. It should be at least 1000 words but no more than 2000. It can be a vignette or a short story. It can be any genre. It can be any POV. Hell, it can even be in 2nd person!
It can't be that easy.
You can't use any adverbs.
Remember where you are.
Lolwut? No adverbs?
There are many types of adverbs and uses; the following information is a quick overview. Read through that and then I will explain further what I am looking for. I RECOMMEND YOU READ THE SOURCES LISTED BELOW because I don't want to just copy-paste from them and they will explain more in-depth than I want to get into here; this is a prompt, not a workshop.
Simply entitled ‘Chapter 1’.
Magic's Secret Chapter 1Chapter 1
Fog clung to the early morning, its grey mantle shrouding the earth with an ominous sense of melancholy. The icy bite of the frosted earth stole past the thin straw pallet which served as a bed. Victorious in its onslaught, Helene awoke in a wave of irrepressible shivers.
She brushed honey-gold tangles away from her sea-green eyes, peering into the morn's gloomy ill-humor. "Pox on the weather," she mumbled, keeping her voice low. She slipped free from the woolen rag of a blanket and the tangle of her little sister's arms, careful not to disturb the child's fitful slumber. Her freed hand brushed back Annel's damp ringlets -- no fever.
At the light touch the child jerked, and a weak whimper preceded a spate of rambling words. "It's emerald. I seen I seen it. Emerald!"
"Shush, Nel. It be okay."
The child's eyelids barely raised
FOX09T Book 1 Chapter 1F09T Book 1 Chapter One - Larissa Of Foxwood
As the first soft gray wave of pre-dawn light filtered in through the open bedroom window, there was the slightest movement beneath the blankets. He detected it of course immediately, his peaked ears twitching and rotating like tiny radar stations, his ever-vigilant amber eyes flashing fully open. Yes, she was stirring. Soon she would be awake. His guardian duties were done for another night. He carefully raised himself from where he had lain curled up at the foot of the bed and alighted with a little jump from the bed to the floor. His four black-stockinged paws made no sound as he padded across the hardwood floor. Then came the short hop to the dresser top beneath the open window. There he hesitated to turn and regard his sleeping charge for a moment before departing. He wondered how such a seemin
Her bare feet struck the ground, lacking any sort of rhythm. Brush, thorns and brambles caught on her toes and heels, but she refused to stop. However, she remembered to curse them. She mumbled profanities and harshly informed each prick that, if she had the time, she would have ripped it to shreds.
The woods seemed to enclose around her faster and faster with each rugged rise and fall of her chest, trying to trap her and tie her to her fate as a mistreated plaything. Smoky, soot-ridden air swept from the dismal town behind her and pricked at her eyes. The wind picked up her hair, making it whip and slash her face. She wanted to rip it all out, every strand, and throw it into the woods to join the infuriating high-heels she cast aside earlier. However, she would not dare pry her concentration away from the stretch in front of her. She was determined to escape and she would not let herself st
1) Has there been anything you regret not writing in the past (specifically talking about ‘finished’ projects)? If so, what?
2) If ‘yes’ to question 1, do you intent to rectify this by going back in the future? I hope so.
Once again all features in this article are older than two years old, which should mean no more nappy changing – but you all saw apocathary’s delightfully wondrous DD in this week’s selection. So I’ll simply finish by reminding you that if you have any suggestions for future TBTs you can feel free to note CRLiterature or any member of our team.