a home for words and music

Writers' Block: The Great Myth

lazuli_writes — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 04:12:48 GMT

Title: Writers' Block: The Great Myth
Summary: ... since I began writing, I've heard many different people exclaim "What shall I do? The horrid Overlord Writer's Block doth wound me greviously!

Down the Rabbit Hole, Alice

Simple Novel-Plotting Technique

lazuli_writes — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 06:54:47 GMT

A Simple Plotting Technique

Here's a simple plotting technique you can use to organize your novel!

Resources for Writers

lazuli_writes — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 04:28:55 GMT

Title: Resources for Writiers
Summary: A listing of my favorite software and books directed towards writers on the internet; click and see what you might find!

Down the Rabbit Hole, Alice

Making Clay (Part 1/?)

lazuli_writes — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 00:17:07 GMT

Title: Making Clay
Genre: Writers on Writing
Summary: "...a great man once told me that writers write. Raw material won't come to you in a flash of inspiration and no-one will make it for you."

Down the Rabbit Hole, Alice

Promotion

blacksheep_17 — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 00:32:16 GMT

Hi guys!

I'm here to promote my new community notemeetsletter It's a place where musicians and writers collide. A place where YOU can recommend songs or even post your own. And then, writers will try to write a literary work out of that song. For more info, view our profile here

Thanks!

No one knew they were even alive..

ashrayne — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 22:32:26 GMT

His eyes are downcast and his heart's hanging open
He's lost and he's dizzy and terribly broken
His repetitive sway is a miserable motion
But nobody knows he's alive.

Her hair is so brittle and matted with grime
Her t-shirt is ragged and covered with slime
She sucks on its corner for peace at bedtime
But nobody knows she's alive.

Their bellies are swollen from eating the dirt
But the sticky dark mud takes away the dull hurt
Sometimes they grind up a small rock for desert
But nobody knows they're alive.

Their bones are so fragile, their bodies so frail
Even their feces and throw-up is stale
Their chocolate brown skin has turned ashy and pale
But nobody knows they're alive.

Some huddle together, some stagger alone
They whisper their funerals with only a groan
So many dead children that no one has known
No one knew they were even alive.

Shakespeare lives

ashrayne — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 17:42:01 GMT

From prompt #439 at promptdujour.

You will be the flame that burns
Desdemona into ash
You will be the poisoned drink
For Hamlet in a sash

You will take your pound of flesh
And rip it from her soul
You will be Petruchio
And teach the shrew her role.

You will make her vain and scornful
Her mind will scream from asp
You will drown her with your murder
'Til she chokes her own last gasp.

thelotusreader — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 05:05:32 GMT

The Lotus Reader is a cutting edge non-profit online literary magazine producing original works of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry from around the world. Quality writing is the only qualification--Great for new writers!

To read/ submit, go to:
http://www.lotusreader.com

Dear Sir..

ashrayne — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 03:41:37 GMT

Dear sir,

I hope your day's been very nice
I trust you're doing fine,
I got the presents that you sent
The diamonds, and the wine.

The roses smell so very sweet
The fur coat is so warm
The golden rings are very grand
But they don't match my uniform.

I'm very thankful, to be sure
For all the things you bought
But I'd really rather send them back
I like what I have got.

I'm not a diamond kind of girl
I like daisies, not a rose
The fur coat is too much for me
I don't live where it snows.

The golden rings don't match my skin
I like things made of silver
I'm not old enough to drink the wine
And soda's so much better.

It was kind of you to think of me
And let me see your interest
But I hate incurring debts from men
Just like I hate the dentist.

If you'd like to chat about the the stars
Or lounge in an old t-shirt
Or let me squish my toes in sand
Or take me to a concert,

I'd love to pick up when you call
Perhaps go on a date
But money will not win my heart
I'll never take the bait.

Sincerely,
A Girl.

Her eyes are the soul of the forest

ashrayne — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 00:06:41 GMT

The streets that she wanders are breathless and choked
Old smog and dim raindrops ooze down unprevoked
The clatter and clang of the streetcars is soaked
But her eyes are the soul of the forest.

She's wedged in a crowd surging into the train
The muttered locutions are curt and profane
Dark glares of impatience glob up with disdain
But her eyes are the soul of the forest.

The lost lonely hearts of a city gone mad
Are gasping and clutching at junk they once had
She's crisscrossed with venom and envy's a fad
But her eyes are the soul of the forest.

Sometimes just a whisper of fog skims her nose
And the sallow white hue of her cheeks turns to rose
There's light for a second before the shine slows
But her eyes are the soul of the forest.

This prison is built in my mind

ashrayne — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 20:35:18 GMT

The angry dark stomp of the boots on the stairs
Match the click of the guns they're reloading in pairs
I can't their faces but I feel all their glares
This prison was built in my mind.

They're marching; they're laughing, the tune drives me mad
I despise their old greetings, their "Hail old comrade!"
They're clasping my fingers as if they were glad
This prison was built in my mind.

The questions are flying; my stories are lies
They're watching too closely; they'll see through my guise
They've been practicing smiles and faking suprise
This prison was built in my mind.

Each movement is torture, each thought is a pain
My fears are vibrating in every vein
I wish they'd just kill me; I'm going insane
This prison was built in my mind.

Language is a Virus

ashrayne — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 23:11:05 GMT

Language is a virus, it's a dangerous disease
It attacks you when you're healthy, then worsens by degrees
It preys on busy people, leaving lazy ones alone
And gurgles through their bloodstreams with a satisfying groan.

Language is a fever, it's a sickness in the brain
It chokes you with its meanings, makes you think 'til you're in pain
It feeds on all your knowledge, it breeds in all your words
And pecks your mind to pieces like a flock of screaming birds.

Language is a headache, it's an ailment with no cure
It seduces with great patience, it woos with mad amour
It creeps into the limelight, it sucks up all your time
And kills you with its stories, its novels, and its rhyme.

The Color of Hunger

ashrayne — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 02:52:25 GMT

Lingerie falls with a flick and a tug
Each fuck and each trick is a hit of a drug
The fat ones and old ones they'll take with a shrug -
The color of hunger is red

Hollow dead eyes stare from sunken-in cheeks
Grimy old tears cross their faces in streaks
They eat cakes of dirt and drink sewer leaks -
The color of hunger is brown.

The thick cement walls muffle sounds of the fights
Endless cold halls burn with sterile white lights
The gaurds clutch their pistols and mumble last rites -
The color of hunger is gray

Manicured hands drip with diamonds and gold
Lips purse for cigarettes perfectly rolled
Revenge and contentment are paid for and sold -
The color of hunger is green

Searching For A Song

amor_demi_alma — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 19:22:55 GMT

Hi All!
Hope it's OK to post this.
I'm wondering if any of you know a song (preferably a slow, pensive one) that's essentially a friend saying to his best friend, "I love you and care about you ... just not romantically." Ideally, the singer knows that the best friend loves him, but he can't "love" the friend in return romantically, despite the fact that they're extremely close friends. Either gender of artist/band is all right.
Thanks for any help!
Caitlin
(XPosted)

evanescenttear — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 00:31:34 GMT

Here’s the truth, the whole truth
Don’t even ask if I left something out
This is my side of the story, my truth
I’ll be hurt if you’ve a brain enough to doubt
Because this is the truth as I see it
And as I see it is the only way to see
So don’t question, don’t pursue answers
Close your mouth and mind and just believe

evanescenttear — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 00:26:57 GMT

You said Trust me
I said Okay
And I did
I let you manipulate
All I knew
Was all you told me
And I was happy
Being lied to
But then I broke out
Of the box you placed me in
And I realized that there was more to life
Than cardboard and tape
I never knew
Because you said Trust me
You said the sky wasn’t real
But then I flew

evanescenttear — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 05:02:25 GMT

I was cold, you gave me heat
You added a glow to my face
We had a friendship made strong by golden smores
I built you up and fed you
You repaid me in comforting beams
I filled my house with tiny alters of my trust
Out of sight, out of mind
You betrayed my faith
After I defended you against the common lore
I fear you, you haunt me
Your scent makes me nervous
You ate my home to ashes, comfort to rust

evanescenttear — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 04:53:00 GMT

I’ve known numb
I ran away
I felt nothing
I hid
I cried myself to sleep for seven months
But this is real
I’m sick
I can’t hide
I shiver
Because the cause of pain has taken home from me
So I curl up
On the cold ground
In the darkness
And disown my given name so you won’t call
If I close my eyes
Count down
And pray real hard
Maybe I’ll wake-up from this nightmare and be free

Coffee in Iambic Pentameter

evanescenttear — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 16:19:00 GMT

The mug between my hands is smooth and hot
Espresso mixed with milk and topped with froth
We once would share a cup, but you forgot
I sip the latte and enjoy the strength
I pray that it will burn away my pain
Forget that you forgot me once again

Boys Suck!

evanescenttear — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 01:55:36 GMT

Disgusted
Scream it out
so confusing
where is this anger coming from?
I hate you
I never liked you
why do I care?
but I can't even point out what you've done
It's like you tricked me
you hurt me
I'm bleeding
Whatever we were playing at, you won
The perfect crime
Gullible victim
Wide-eyed and foolish
My hearts not hurting for all I am is numb

Fighting

evanescenttear — Sun, 19 Oct 2008 03:06:52 GMT

Oh good, I'm not alone, I can hear crickets
but you know I'd rather hear a word from you
the silence in your eyes is overwhelming
you're set on not giving me a clue

I'm still not sure what I did to deserve this
this icy gaze, you're burning me with cold
Feeling jealous? Could you be more possessive?
I'm not even yours and you're out of control

I would almost rather have you strike me
instead you're letting the anger build inside
I think I'd rather have you screaming
So I could scream back, our words could collide

I would think I was alone save for the crickets
But instead I hear you say its alright
With your hands in your pockets you walk away
and now I'm sure I'll get no sleep tonight

HELP! Does anyone here know former LJ-user Cubanseapower?

foxtrot_sierra — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 18:21:00 GMT

S/he and I made a really good story outline together, and then s/he canceled her/his LJ account and I need to contact him/her. Email, forums that s/he frequents, anything. Thanks!

SPIN Magazine Looking for International Correspondents

ohthesweetness — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 23:36:02 GMT

Hello!
My name is Patricia Wysopal and I am the International Correspondent Coordinator here at SPIN Magazine (www.spin.com) in San Francisco/ New York. We are looking for fun writers who are familiar with their local music scene and would be willing to regularly submit stories, photographs and videos from the following European cities.

*VIENNA
*PRAGUE
*BUDAPEST
*BUCHAREST
*WARSAW
*MOSCOW

I thought maybe you or someone you know would be interested in this amazing opportunity. SPIN is launching a new global program within the next few months and we are trying to recruit potential writers/photographers to contribute content. The submitted material will be moderated by regional editors, who will provide feedback and advice to the reporters. Although we won't have the infrastructure prepared for submissions until the end of the year, we'd like to have an idea of who's willing to contribute. We will be paying writers, photographers and videographers a small sum for their efforts. Opportunities will be available by the end of the year. If you're interested please send the following things to me at pwysopal@spin.com as soon as possible.

1) picture of yourself (for our International Correspondent Profiles)
2) short bio including your location, any writing/video/photography experience you have
3) description of your local music scene

Feel free to contact me anytime with questions. Thank you very much for your time!

****************
Patricia Wysopal
SPIN | International Correspondent Coordinator
pwysopal@spin.com
59 Grant Avenue
San Francisco, CA 94108
Office: 415.362.7797 x291
www.spin.com

evanescenttear — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 23:00:07 GMT

Sunlight, Strobe-light effect on my hands
Grip the wheel, knuckles turn white, driving faster, faster
Windows down, let the wind clear my mind
As it dries out my eyes,
There's no need for music, the sky has its own
swirls of pink clash with tones of blue
So I make my escape accelerating, no more waiting
Success or disaster here I come

Gabriel Incarnate

jazzonia — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 04:23:48 GMT

Gabriel Incarnate

I want to make angels with you
in the crisp newborn snow.
Will you rise with me
this whimsical morning?

My angel would have bed-head
and one foot a half-size bigger;
yours, a scar on its shoulder
and a crooked bottom incisor --

but angels do not
have such flaws.

Can we lay down together
and make perfect shapes,
clothed in purple predawn light
and nothing else?

But we must stand with care,
leaving the closest thing to perfection
we have ever known
unmarred.

Then will you trample our angels,
kick the snow and ruin the smoothness,
crush ice crystals beneath unlaced boots
as we greet the morning
with a two-step waltz?

I should like to share that with you.