6 Difficult Truths of being a Writer / Artist by DesdemonaDeBlake, literature
Literature
6 Difficult Truths of being a Writer / Artist
6 Difficult Truths of being a Writer / Artist
Anybody Can Write a Novel
Chapter 10 “Publishing and the Writing Life” – Section 1“Difficult Truths”
With Links to Supplementary Material
Choosing to be a writer has been one of the best decisions of my life; the craft fills me with a sense of purpose, and is honestly the most fun vocation that I could ever hope to do. I am tremendously fortunate to be at a place and time where doing something like this is even possible, and I would never pretend otherwise. However, every path is filled with its share of difficulties, challenges, and hard truths, and I hope that
And all I need's a great big congratulations. by Raining-Insanity, journal
And all I need's a great big congratulations.
How do you feel when someone commends you for something, be it your talents, your effort or just performing a simple task, like opening a jar or doing housework? Personally, I've never liked when someone said "thank you" or "congratulations" to me simply because I couldn't for some reason properly respond back to it with anything other than a nod. Whenever someone would commend me for something I would just get schoolgirl shy and nodded instead of thanking or saying "you're welcome". To tell the truth I hate that feeling because it doesn't make me feel like I've accomplished something and turned my ideas into artistry, it just makes me feel l
It's about the journey, not the destination! by electblue, literature
Literature
It's about the journey, not the destination!
It’s all about the journey! Not the destination.
That's what they've always said...
Since I was a child, that’s been the moral I've been burdened with.
And I believed them, I let that single principle guide me.
It’s a mistake many make. I've wandered the fields getting lost, without a road in sight.
Sure I would see amazing things along the way, and experience the freshness of it all.
Although in the end I was aimless, I couldn't pretend I was on a road anymore.
What fool would travel years through fields and mountains, mud and deserts, a crazy man.
Now who would do that while delu
Often I feared the transience of beauty – both in myself and in others close to me and even in nature itself. I held a longing in my heart to preserve the beauty of the world in aspic and when I met you, Michael, I found you felt the same.
This was why we took long walks together, mostly along the cliff tops near to where we both lived, because the beauty there was constant, or so it seemed. A thin stone wall, hole-pecked with extremes of weather, crumbling close to the edge of the cliffs, fret-worked a barrier between life and death - but of course, as young beautiful people we were impervious to any danger, particularly when our rea
Every person you meet has so much more depth than you perceive.
You see it as it is, to you.
You could be so much with every person you come across.
Yet, you choose who is who, what is what, and where is where.
You make your life, according to your decisions.
We have to unite, not compete.
Their beauty does not detract from your own.
You are them. We are one.
The media spotlights differences in a sea of similarities.
We’re focused on the violence.
Too crazy to see the peace calming its way through the storm of repression.
Too distracted to understand what we’re fighting for –– are already rights. We’re ju
Nuit d affliction supreme by fetia-framboise, literature
Literature
Nuit d affliction supreme
Je t'aime . Je te hais . Je t'aime . Je ne t'aime plus . Tu me passionnes . Tu me repousses . Je t'estime . Tu me dégoûtes . Une nuit , une heure , une seconde de bonheur qui s'évanouissent en un instant . L'ombre de ton amour me poursuit , j'ai beau fuir , elle me court après . La nuit tombe , les lampadaires éclairent si peu ma route , je suis perdue , je ne sais plus où aller . Tes mots me frappent , me font tituber tels des bourrasques de grêle . J'ai froid . Je tremble . J'ai peur . J'enroule mon écharpe un peu plus serrée autour de mon coeur , mais rien n'y fait , mon sang se glace toujours a
Un roti de Cupidon by spadiekitchenqueen, literature
Literature
Un roti de Cupidon
"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
"Patron!"
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes comm