Distant words beating with the force of a quake
compressing a fragile heart until there remains only pulp,
in the end — if it’s the end?
More than them finding out —
crumbling facade revealed to prying eyes —
instead dreading a conclusion stated with finality.
While bleeding heart holds desperately to hope,
anxious brain gnaws hungrily on the sorrow coated ‘What ifs’
Disoriented thoughts plague waking moments,
invading dreams tormented by vivid images
waking. . . GASPING! —
I can feel my breath catch inside a chest that's weighted,
making me want to vomit at the sense of lingering desolation.
Even while holding on there’s a part full of cruel whispers:
says you’ve given up on us,
tossed away our love like a stained jacket;
And that soon nothing will stop the nightmares of
fucking y o u
from becoming reality.
Ignoring that voice fools panicked mind into thinking positively,
while another hollowly points out that it’d be over
if even a single one of those haunting moments became. . . real
Devastation would wreck already fragile self-confidence —
And I, I would be left a husk riddled by heartache,
nothing to hold me together as I fall into the open arms of grief.
|The page of a female writer, the oldest of five children, who has Rheumatoid Arthritis. She loves reading and writing among many other varying interests, and is always multi-tasking, keeping herself entertained, and enduring the curse of a million different tabs open in her browser at any one time. You can find me on Twitter [@windmillstilt] or Facebook [totiltwithwindmills], and at the linked blog site as well! My work is shared here and on Wattpad.|
Sound Carries Near a Salt Flatthe noise of a dying man
is that of a humpack whale
reverberating across the desert thermocline,
tunneling between the dune
and the horizon.
low, not loud, but it surrounds us -
ocean pressure straining
at the sides of a submerging ship.
the last of the harpoon head of
the frag bomb
burns in his leg -
flesh irreparably breached -
as that groaning
calls navigation signs
to some unknown counterpart far
across the sand.
I can swear to you
he will be gone in forty-eight hours from the sepsis
if medical can't make it to this fucking
shelled-out excuse for
by tomorrow evening. I give
still, his cries carry --
like those songs deep in the dark water that we hear
but will never understand;
some forgotten, desperate code
that isn't ours to know,
until we're dead.
.reconnaitre.she dances with the wind, not understanding
any of my cares, and yet - she cares
for all of them. I tell her "I deserve better than this
old abyss again and again."
and I am tired enough for an entire forest, but
old pine, mother of wings, stands still and
nurtures many things (me being the smallest of them, only
a whisper of a girl), and in whispers I learn
how to nurture something
not fire or dark, something like roots
or strong rainstorms
or the slow patience, the unafraid confidence that lets her stand tall
and be touched by nothing but wind
and sunshine and all the good things,
none of them human, none of them harm.
one day, I will stand
as tall as her, impossible
to take down. knowing
the secret art of growth,
of peace, of waiting for winter
and then summer again while a life passes by.
I sit on these steps and tell a tree
"I deserve better than this."
"I have seen this dark and I recognise
its heavy warm arms and I am not going
back down there." she understands.
lets me r
.moonlove, sundrenched.today, I find
I am made of the same fabric
as the moon at night - which is to say
only a little softer.
rosebush bathing in sunsee: how they blush at the cheeks, these
first unfurling leaves
trying on the pink of petals
NaNoWriMo in Review - Living the Writer's LifeNaNoWriMo is about creating a first draft, is about setting a goal of 50,000 words in 30 days. It's a gauntlet experience that gives everyday people, between the usual press of work, school, family, and other responsibilities, extra incentive to achieve their dreams and goals of writing a full-length novel.
Congratulations! You've completed step 1 and now have a story drafted and down on the page!
Wait... no one told you NaNoWriMo's only step 1?
Well then allow me the pleasure of sharing a little secret NaNoWriMo is only the first step in a series of steps that all go into writing a novel, covering only step 1 - the draft. All the other 11 months of the year are split up among other steps, with December being traditionally dedicated to critique and reflection, and January starting off with a bang of revision in the new year!
You're still tired after NaNoWriMo? But it's already been 2 weeks!
You should be chomping at the
Pitch Contest and Workshop: Advice from Authors 2In this journal our deviant authors focused more on the synopsis portion of the pitch and query process. You can find our journal on writing your synopsis here:
So without further ado, here's some advice from people in the know!
An employee at a publisher offered to read my manuscript and liked it enough to pass it onto her boss, and asked for a pitch to accompany it, so I included the version I had on hand.
Kateiko Rin doesn’t want to be a Rin anymore. Not if it means sacrificing lives to protect the dead. At seventeen, her only way out is joining another tribe, but hiking the coastal rainforest might be a one-way trip. When the future Rin leader refuses to fulfill his duty as envoy, Kateiko goes without him.
Killing a rider in the woods isn’t part of the plan.
Neither is spending the winter with an immigrant. Tiernan is twice her age and keeps a sword with his carpentry tools. His log cabin