I Have HopeI have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have to remember to breathe every time those words come, I dont want to believe it. I still cant believe it. I remember the first time my counselor looked at me and told me that my depression and anxiety might be something more. Great, I thought, What could possibly be worse than this?
"The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places."
-Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
You Were Not An Aquarium BoySea-glass became your bones,
I'm a contributor at CRLiterature where I help approve news submitted to the group and do other secrety things.
Expose-Lit is your lifeline in the lit labyrinth! The group is here to help every type of writer find their place in the dA lit community. I, along with a great string of wonderful people, will be posting articles to help you find that place!
Over at LITplease I manage and update the Community Portal which is a sister journal to my own news article, Love dA Lit. I'm always open to suggestions to put in the journal and news article!
I run and update theWrittenRevolution's Literature News journal! I also help out with their affiliates feature as well.
As an assistant at WordWars I do things to help thorns and GrimFace242 do Word War related things and let them know they're fantastic and stuff.
I'm one of the coordinators for the December Form Challenge [and all other group-related projects]! ProjectDFC is the headquarters for it all.
I'm a contributor at BurdenedHearts which means I update things, greet new members, and whatever else is needed of me.
I'm a supplier at Authors-Club which means I supply information [top secret information] and do back room things.
TheFulkrum [the founder] says I'm to help with literature related things at dALinkSystem [which I love!]. You don't refuse The Godfather. Besides, linking is wonderful!
Phildelphia Aids Walk
Rest in peace, dearheart.
Enough is Enough
Some of your fellow deviants are in need of love.Here are some of your fellow deviants who are in need of love:
Reasons To Love dA Lit Community
Reasons to Love dA's Lit Community: Part 1Over a month ago I asked "Why do you love dA's Literature Community?" and I received an amazing response, with well over 60 participants! For the sake of length I'll be splitting this article into two parts, with the prize winners at the end of the second article which will be posted tomorrow!
Reasons to Love dA's Lit Community: Part 2This is the second half of my Reasons to Love dA's Literature Community. If you have no idea what is going on this explains it a bit more. ♥
"WritersInk is a place for storytellers, writers and poets who want to bring literature out of the ashes. Join us, and help strengthen our community. "
"We are a collective group of novelist writers on DeviantArt. "
Welcome to The-Novelist-ClubWelcome!
As a long time novel writer, this organization on DeviantArt is a project that is very near to my heart, something that I hope that everyone can find joy in - while sharing their writings, critiques, and ideas with other members.
Our goals here are simple: share, critique, grow.
We are now an official DeviantArt group, and do no fret, we are still accepting submissions, along with new members and watchers, and as always, we look forward to hearing from you.
To send in your pieces to us via the "contribute deviation" button under your user ID box up at the top left corner of this profile listing. FYI: ONLY official club "members" can contribute, so if you wish to do so, click on "join our group" and go from there!
And please try and limit your submissions - we will only be accepting one story segment at a time from each author for our featured box so that everyone who sends their work in will have an opportunity to have a recent deviation posted on ou
Broken All around me the tongues of fire cracked their despairing tune, filling the night air with the dejected orchestra as the flames arrogantly ate away at the metal bones of vehicles and splintered artillery shells. Vultures migrated far and wide to indulge their thirsty desires on the abundant feast that lay strewn before them. The flowing blood of my fallen brothers and sisters quenched their thirst, their flesh nestled pleasingly in their bellies.
I longed to thumb my weapon's safety and shower the avian scavengers with heated metal. So much of what I once knew was now nothing more then a desolation of evil brought about by what was once good. The inherent faculty of man always danced the art of destruction upon man. The reasoning of many pinned the origins to frivolous beliefs which ignited war in itself. The depredations of time and man's influence stood as a shining testament to the verification of the daunting truth.
A broken race living in a broken world.
I, along with
DarlingThe elevator doors opened and it took all of Linny Lark’s willpower to not rush in and repeatedly press the close door button. Instead she forced herself to enter, press the button for the bottom floor, and wait for the doors to close on their own. When the elevator stopped again just one floor down she struggled to contain her annoyance until Sam entered the elevator.
Sam didn't bother to hit the button again. Instead he took her hand in his and squeezed lightly.
“Twenty years, Linny,” he breathed.
“I wouldn't change a moment of them,” she replied.
Linny pressed her shoulder against his and they lapsed into silence. She watched the buttons in the elevator light up one by one as they plunged down to the deepest subbasement of the laboratory. As they approached their destination, Linny dropped Sam’s hand and took an eager step towards the doors.
When the doors opened she didn't bother to restrain herself again and instead hurried down the hall. Compar
The Destroyer : 11.
Summer was a burning blade rippling through the streets of Manhattan. It made ovens out of the tenements in Harlem and mocked the struggling window units that dotted their brick facades. Perspiration coated the nameless faces that passed beneath the open mesh of Mallorie Ortiz’s fire escape. She sat, leaning forward against its bars, her hair hanging loose in a tumbling cascade, her tan, sandaled feet dangling high above the broiling pavement. Traffic was grid-locked and noisy at that hour; the poisonous smell of diesel exhaust just typical city incense.
“Eat something.” Her mother hurried past the living room window, fixing a final bobby pin to a neatly restrained bun of black hair, her feet twisting into a pair of sensible shoes. Stopping at the mirror, she applied dark lipstick and tossed the tube in the pocket of her apron. “Mallorie!” she shouted, glancing out the window while she clipped on a small teardrop earring. “You’ll be late.
Mink: ConstantinopleI have tasted death, and it tastes of brine.
The ship bucked and another wave leapt up the side, lapping at the wooden railing. The smell of salt filled the air and sat on my tongue. I wished I had found a way to travel that didn’t taste like blood.
Sabeen appeared beside me, latching onto the rail and hanging her head over the side. Her scarf had blown back, tendrils of her dark hair escaped the knot on her head and waved to the receding shoreline.
‘I forgot you grew up on boats,’ she said with a faint laugh, still clutching the rail with white knuckled hands.
‘One boat,’ I corrected. Felicity had been my father’s pride and joy, the merchant vessel on which he had sailed the Mediterranean. Keeping a woman on a ship was considered bad luck, but on Felicity I was a mascot, a token of good fortune. It had been my home and my namesake, its crew my family, until Yusuf had offered my father a small fortune for my hand.
I did not look at Sabe
Guardian - Chapter 1Ice rippled under my skin. It was coming. I couldn't control it yet, it just kinda happened on its own. I got up abruptly from my chair, the sudden movement sending it crashing into the desk behind me. I could feel all eyes on me as I gathered my books and picked up my bag from the ground and made my way briskly to the door of the classroom. Everything sounded distance as if it were miles from me. At the door ice flooded through me again, but this time everything became overwhelmingly clear, each breath from a person behind me sounded like a gasp. My ears picked up another person breathing and another until I could hear the whole room breathing in unsynchronized tidal waves of gasps. Louder and louder they became before a voice sounded on my left. The breathing stopped and my ears rang. Then the voice spoke again.
"Is there something wrong, Mr. Duke?"
I froze at the door. It was like realizing I actually understood something that was happening, what was happening to me.
The Doctors In"He's probably dead," Roger exclaimed as the two kittens giggled mischievously behind him.
Krystal and Amanda had arrived at Coleman Park appropriately attired for the evening. Their previously decided-upon costumes seemed much sexier in person than when Roger was helping them choose outfits at Wal-Mart. Being the edgy person that he was, he had politely declined their offer of buying a disguise for him. He had never celebrated the holiday, and instead purchased a t-shirt that furthered his rebelliousness with bright yellow text that read, 'I don't do costumes.'
His head down and his hands in his pockets, he paced himself up the paved hill that lead to the local, haunted legend. Krystal swung her faux tail playfully and adjusted the large black ears that wouldn't stay in her curly hair despite the obscene amounts of hairspray she had employed. Amanda clicked her heels across the ground. She sprinted in front of Roger and slowed to a smooth strut seemingly fo
The Wailing: TeaserPart I: The Sirens
The sound of the sirens is what has stayed with me. I remember the explosions, the engines of the Messerschmitts, the screams of men trapped beneath the rubble. Of course I do. But it is the wail of the sirens that yet haunts my dreams, settles that same cold sickness in my gut, that same cold slickness on my palms. It is the banshee shriek of coming death.
The night was cold and clear when that sound prickled along my arms like so many icy fingers reaching out from behind the drapes.
Rowan stilled her hands at the typewriter and ripped the sheet from the machine, lest some unscrupulous eye should take advantage of her temporary absence. She snatched up a grey cardigan, a torch, and the requisite gas mask, and had nearly gotten to the door before she turned back to look at me. Her dark eyes were as empty as ever.
‘Are you coming?’ she asked as she stuck one arm into a cardigan sleeve.
‘I’ll follow later,’ I said. ‘