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Techno DivingI dive, breathing in revivalTechno Diving by Amriah
If this is light, I'm eclipsed
By the continuing beat and wish
Such radiance existed in all corners
The Art of FishI. To not knowThe Art of Fish by Spirit-Princess
It was light when she returned, body aching and soul wet with the bloodiness of man, and Adrianna was already gone (probably already working, dedicated girl that she was.)
Breakfast was a paltry affair, but she was starving after an early dinner the night before, and so she almost devoured the stale bread and the almost-mouldy fromage that was left from yesterday morning. The flow of customers was unusually diminué, and so she was left free to exit the building, to leave and wander the streets as she pleased (with a stern warning to return by noon, or not at all.)
Most times, propelled along by Adrianna's buoyant enthusiasm, she would have reluctantly walked into the cheap clothing stores, idly contemplated purchasing one of the better-made fake diamond necklaces, stared in envy at the wonders interdit (to people with her same dirty savage's skin, in any case) of the upper-class atzerriko s
LapsedOh Mary,Lapsed by TheLunaLily
with your lips pressed tight,
a thin red line
on your face of white.
It is clear
that you have nothing to say to me.
And your arms are down at your sides,
with your hands spread out wide,
in a gesture
to tell me
I am on my own tonight.
I counted beads for you.
Do you hear me crying?
The dark is overwhelming.
put me to sleep or kill me.
I sang Aves for you.
I raised my voice in hallelujahs
you take pity
on people like me.
So I clutch beads and sing Ave's,
but you never sing for me
in the dark when I need you.
Are these just beads after all?
Cheap and wooden,
sold as tickets to heaven?
Since I was small,
have I been taught to worship a statue?
Thick As Thieves - Pt. 1"You said you're a what?"Thick As Thieves - Pt. 1 by WriterOfStuff
"Philanthropist. The founder of a small society dedicated to preserving vampire culture. I was hoping for a few moments of your time, Lord Tobias."
He slipped a hand into the pocket of his black, wool blazer and produced a business card. The vampire seated at the desk the aforementioned Most Honorable Tobias, Marquis of the French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana accepted the small, rectangular piece of card stock and studied it. "Jackson Phillips," he said, reading the raised lettering on the front. His eyes shifted up to Jackson. "The Banks Foundation of the Vampire Arts?"
"Yes, Helen Banks." Jackson sat and crossed his legs loosely, draping one arm across the back of his chair while he motioned with the other. "Our original benefactor. She was my maker; six hundred years old before she met her second death fifty years ago. I started the foundation as something of a tribute to her. Helen was always fond of the arts."
The Agreement -Part 1- Surveying the brightly lit stage from the balcony of the school auditorium, Sierra fought a creeping sense of nausea. She hated this part of rehearsal. This was the fourth day in row she'd been forced to watch the guy of her dreams practice a kissing scene with the girl of her nightmares. She wanted nothing more than to put the image out of her mind and run until her legs gave out. But there were two problems with that: One being that she had no claim to Justin Young in truth, he barely knew she existed. The other problem being, it was her job to run the spotlight. And so she remained at her post, an unwilling witness to a tragedy that everyone else saw as a simple high school play.The Agreement -Part 1- by Hedge-of-Thorns
Delaying the inevitable, the theater director called for a pause as he hopped up onto the stage, barking instructions and repositioned his actors. The director was a short, balding man with a pot belly and an abundance of n
NjosnavelinAll words have fled your mind, yet thoughts tear it asunder.Njosnavelin by Filiuk
The white sheet in front of you is like a gaze, bright with blame.
You want to write, but the pen refuses its paper.
You search for the syllables that abducted your letters,
But get lost in the void.
You try to push your senses, but all you see
Is the texture of frigid pages,
Fleeing the impotent ink above them.
And it's not the deepness,
The agony or fragility that hinders you:
It's you. You are empty, mute without a muse.
No seraph will come to your aid.
You have only mediocre things to say
And mediocre audiences to please.
You are no gifted writer,
No chosen poet the crowd exalts above its peers.
You are you, and that will be your curse.
Empty as you are, sheets refuse your pen.
Words have fled your mind and you are lost
In the sonic invasion that flares throughout your limbs.
You are you, sorry to be no other.
Regretting to have no vision,
To have no songs for nothing.
Beta Reading TutorialBeta Reading Tutorial by thorns
What is a Beta Reader?
Apart from being a writer's best friend, beta readers provide a cross between edits and a critique. A beta reader does not edit a manuscript, but will note the errors for the author to fix. Advice and critiques are other services a beta may perform.
Establishing a Relationship
You've just partnered with an author; what do you do first? Establish with your author what each of you expects from the relationship. A solid understanding of expectations starts the partnership on a productive path and avoids misunderstandings.Time Expectations
Is the author expecting a 24 hour turn around, while you're thinking a week? If not discussed prior to an exchange, turn around time can cause tension. Be honest with your availability and then add some padding, in case of emergency. Do not agree to time constraints you cannot meet.
Length of Partnership
Is the manuscript a novel or a short story? Ask what the author is seeking a beta
Love Me, Not A LabelLove me for all my labels except one,Love Me, Not A Label by lackofevolution
Appreciated and hold tightly the deflecting lung,
Look at me from a different side,
Cross my boundaries with nothing to hide,
Speak to me with a meaning behind each word,
Ignoring the link, members of the same herd,
Smell the sent, please don't forget,
The blurred meaning of the word; protect,
Ignore me, the approaching season,
Just don't always use the same reason,
Hold me, forget the gap between my birth and your tomb,
You can push me away, just not when another enters my room,
Support me, provide more information then text,
Help me draw a line between abuse and sex,
Forget me, leave centre stage,
Taking with you, my age,
Love me, enter me with proven trust,
Help me draw a line between love and lust,
Hurt me, smile until our end,
Help me draw a line between an enemy and a friend,
Love me for all my labels except one,
Make love to me father, just don't call me son.
CarolineA little while later Dusty Rhodes found himself outside Grey's bar and diner. He took a moment to finish his cigarette and collect his thoughts before gently pushing the door open.Caroline by monstroooo
"Where the bloody hell have you been?!"
It wasn't unusual for Dusty to be shouted at when he entered a room but he was nevertheless taken aback by the sheer volume of the shriek.
"Caroline, Kitten," he began, closing the door slowly but thinking quickly. "Ah, have you been waiting long?" It had been a long day.
"8'o'clock. Isn't that what you said? 8'o'bloody clock! I've been sat here for over an hour!"
She had risen to her feet from the far side of the pub, and was clearly cross enough to air the laundry in public. Clearly, the situation was worse than Dusty had anticipated. It was, however, alleviated a little by the smooth red dress which outlined her indignant figure. It was to the dress, he decided, he would attempt to direct a heartfelt apology.
"OK, Kitten," he said, holding his arms out defens
The Alarm Clock, The Match, and The Postcard Mrs. Nolan of room number 103 at Van Dyk Retirement Center wakes every morning at precisely eight o' clock. Once she gets out of bed she then proceeds to greet the day with some music at eight ten. She delightedly turns the radio on with her old, knobby hands and is rewarded with the majestic sound of Beethoven's 9th Symphony blaring out of the small radio's speakers for all to hear. Mrs. Nolan shuffles excitedly to the window and flings them open, yelling a joyful "Good Morning!" to the world.
Ripe PlumsRipe plums are falling,
Now is the Summer of Our Discontent Chapter 3Alarm clocks are stupid.
HaikuTime is going by