Personal

No pictures this time, unless you want to see my cats

So, there went Christmas. I got a movie and some pajama pants; everything else was gift cards. Not complaining Wal-Mart, Panera Bread, Michael's - gift cards are just easier. I'm thinking very hard about buying a Sizzix machine for my crafting.

Russ had the sniffles on Christmas, but it didn't keep him from getting excited about gifts. He doesn't much care about what's on the inside - he just likes the unwrapping process. It's pretty adorable. He was happy about the Thomas the Train playset though - I wish I had his reaction on video, cause it was super-cute.

Today, I went out and used my Wal-Mart card on some groceries. Before I did that though, I dropped by GameStop to trade in some games and got Kingdom Hearts II Final Mix for the PS3. Now I can finally catch up on the series I played for about an hour earlier and remembered how much I love it

I'm gonna try and take a bit of a break this weekend after all the running around; since it's Critmas, feel free to link me to a piece of writing you'd like to be critiqued!

Around dA

DailyLitRecognition really needs prose suggestions! Send them to me or one of the other admins of out lovely prose team please!

StyleOverSubstance will begin again in January - keep sending me your pieces!

The Mentorship Project Is Back!

It's CRITmas 2014!

Love Letter Contest

Lung Cancer Awareness: Finding Your Courage

  Childhood Fears Contest!

2014 Hearth and Home Contest

Features!

Every year, I do a special feature of 100 pieces of literature - this time, to avoid being overwhelming, I'm breaking it up a little bit. I'll finish the feature next week, but for now, enjoy these thirty-one new writers! (New defined as being on dA a year or less.)

Just RightThey called me The White Whale.
I dreamed of carving off my blubber,
perhaps learning to breathe
for minutes at a time
so I could sing,
because whales are elusive.
The ocean is vast. I could have lived
without another pinch, another poke, another
he only loves you for your tits. Get a tan,
go for a jog, are you gonna eat
or assimilate?
Their harpoons were steady.
They had no remorse, a close friend told me,
"I just want you to be healthy." She braided my hair,
complimented the color, my eyes a drizzle,
said there was a mermaid 
hiding in my shape,
I started smoking the next day.
I used to pace from the cabinet
to the basement with armfuls of confections, 
I hid behind our yellow shed and guzzled
black coffee, nicotine, green tea, THC,
with giddiness turned vibrant,
all colors shook,
the first person to notice
said he didn't know I could look so good.
I found my cheekbones, polished my scales,
glittered and flitted and flirted and swam 
in schools of gaping grou love poem from a pillar of saltthe words 'i love you'
have always tasted like forbidden fruit
an apple offered by a helpful serpent-
sweet and fleeting but
the words 'i loved you'
just taste of
finality.
i always thought that leaving you would be like leaving gomorrah
that i couldn't help looking back
and when i did i'd feel an ocean dry itself beneath my skin
but this is so much quieter
and so much worse.
my knuckles taste of blood,
not salt.
there is no new testament here
just old testament fire
just lot's wife standing on a forgotten hill
rocksalt freezing her outstretched hands
watching her hometown burn below her.
there is no forgiveness here
just mutual loneliness
just a lost religion and a broken girl
far too tired to play pretend
watching you fall apart behind me.<da:thumb id="464819528"/>
Moving MountainsLiquid white out dries, cemented with ridges and bumps
Snowy mountains resting on the tops of my fingers
I scrape if off with my fingernails,
Moving mountains without a sound Vox PopuliIt was another day in Hell, with people going on their daily business, as they would normally do on a weekday. In the city square of hell, a group of demons are setting up a camera, with another holding a boom mic, and another demon wearing a sweater over his
shirt tested to see if his microphone is working. Another held a clipboard while looking at the time.
"Everything ready?" he asked, looking at the crew.
"Yeah, everything ready," the cameraman confirmed, before looking at the host. "You ready?"
"Just a sec," the host replied, brushing his clothes before standing in front of the camera,
and nodded. "Ready."
"Alright," the demon holding the clipboard said, "Everyone ready? Three...two...one, begin."
"Good evening and welcome to another episode of Hell's Issues," the host said, smiling professionally into the camera, the cameraman making sure he got the best of the host's profile.
"And we've discussed various topics throughout this season," the host continued, "and today's topic is..

Mature Content

Peaches and CreamPour me a palette of autumn peach,
blend it in the basin of almond milk,
and let it fuse into my cheeks.
Stir memories of a rustic kiss,
a solemn wooden swing.
A gush of wind and its retreat.
An ounce of rain above my brow.
The sentiment of you and me –
the eyes of burning bronze.
An instant left to cling...
...the original blush
of peaches and cream.
The Spaces Between Their MovesA small boat approached the barren, rocky island.  The blackened and soggy remnants of other vessels stretched across the jagged stones like ladies on fainting couches, but spoke of peril as much as exhaustion.  The waves grew choppy near the shore and the boat tossed, but one of the occupants expertly angled the tiller, guiding the single-sail craft safely to a tiny beach.  Other boats were here as well, dragged up onto the sand but long since claimed by time and storm, no longer hoping their masters might return to sail once more.
"Are you certain?" asked the pilot, hand still on the tiller.  "There is no shame in turning about, I would speak of it to no one."
"I must," said the warrior calmly.  "I took a vow, never to cast aside a worthy quest."  The sailor bowed his head sadly.
"Then I will return, once only, in three days as we agreed.  I hope to find you waiting here victorious, but I fear we shall not speak again.  I cannot see how ...when death put its hand
on my shoulder,
it shivered;
i was already
cold. This room is our universe and we are its planetsSpace is an expansive word.
Scientists postulate that the universe grows at 7x1010 metres every second.
I can’t be too sure how much that really is,
but when you whisper those words and I feel you zooming away from me–
well, I figure the universe is pretty big by now.
Those words blaze across the room like meteorites
and I promise myself I will never wish on shooting stars again
because when they fall on you, they don’t sparkle.
They burn.
Like an astronaut I am catapulted into darkness,
only, they must have left my oxygen tank with you.
They tell me there are 300 billion stars in the galaxy.
I guess I know what they mean because when the tears start falling,
the reflection from the light in your hair
looks an awful lot like 300 billion stars.
We stand at the centre of the universe
and as the planets and asteroids,
satellites and stars hurtle past me,
I feel an eternity of at 7x1010m/sec open up between us.
It is an abyss.
You stand in the middle of the room

<da:thumb id="482643272"/> interstate 490last night, he took me down to the highway
and he told me that if you listened really close,
you could hear sound of life
slowly abandoning this city
he told me, it was the most beautiful scene;
how the veins of society stood completely still
and the architecture of downtown fell asleep;
he told me, this landscape was the best portrayal
of our mortal inevitability
i watched as new york lost its magic and
the interstate ceased to breathe;
our proud cities
are no more than concrete wastelands
of urban sobriety Happiness Currently Out of Stock (FFM '14, Day 15)Mavis sighed as she walked downstairs. Her sister was once again in their father’s armchair, oblivious to the maid attending to her. It had been two years since their father had died, and the poor girl hadn’t smiled since.
Today, Mavis would change that.
“Marianne, could you be a dear and tell Rochester to fetch a carriage? I want to go to market.”
Marianne bowed before leaving, allowing Mavis to inspect her sister.
Diana was pale and frail as always, her lifeless eyes glued to the flames of the fireplace. Mavis knelt down and began to scrub her sister’s arm with the soapy cloth Marianne had left behind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mavis had only been partially telling the truth: she was going to market, but not one her mother would approve of. The Nightshade Market was at the outskirts of town, almost into the Forest of the Fae. According to rumors, there was a small bakery that sold teas and pastries laden with any emotion one could name, run by a petite woman with a
14. and 15.I.
There was a woman, the Last Woman. She and her companion, a man, were the final representatives of humankind. Like all things, humankind must end—and end it would, soon, when the two succumbed to the ravages of the sickness their species, in their desire to destroy, had unleashed upon itself. She thought of her death, and she wept. The man asked why, and the woman answered: For this! This legacy of death! This fate which our ancestors wrought upon themselves and upon us! The man sat beside her, held her, and began to weep too. And weeping, they died.
II.
There was a woman, the First Woman. She and her companion, a man, had been created as perfect examples of their kind. And perfect examples they were—in their imperfection. Cursed with death for their sins, they now approached their end. But humankind had spread and would continue, spreading also violence, jealousy, hatred, death. The woman considered this and wept. The man asked why, and she answered: For this! This lega<da:thumb id="493331784"/> Stairs and SeashellsI woke up in my bed as usual. Like every morning, my eyes fluttered open and I was looking up at the same ceiling I had always looked up at. The ragged glow-in-the-dark stars that my brother Paul had stuck on the roof when we were children blinked comfortingly as I rose from my bed, swinging my legs over the side.
Unlike every other morning, I realized I was already fully dressed. My favourite pink trainers were laced evenly on each foot and my black jeans were snug around my legs.
It was mid-evening, I realized with a start, as an orange glow caught my eye where the curtains had been left slightly open. I must have taken a nap?
My door was open, so I slipped down the hallway and seated myself behind the counter. My mother was in the kitchen, humming as she crushed garlic under a fine knife for the bread that was still a heap of dough on the counter next to her. Behind me I heard the low plonk as Maria sat down in front of her piano in the corner of the room. I smiled as her fingers st

On Friendship  you see, haikus are
       just like friends 
           one must count 
            on  them 
   but sometimes 
   they lie seaglass''i can’t do this whole being a human thing anymore,'' i say
and you roll your eyes, exasperated
''it’s only a party invitation. just go. stop freaking out over nothing.''
you leave the room massaging your forehead with your palm.
and my hands are like dead fish in my lap.
~~~
when darkness seeps into the room like oil in water
and my eyes are like pennies
i go to bed with weighted knees
and i lie fully-clothed
and dream that i am mermaid.
~~~
i a mermaid with an illness so isolating that she sits on a lonely rock in the middle of the ocean wearing garments of frayed seaweed,
that she tears at with fingernails like broken shells.
and she cries
cries
cries
she cries dark green tears like quaking bottle flies and dying hummingbirds and discarded fruit gums,
burgundy brown tears like blood encrusted on the innocent raisin-like pad of a puppy’s paw
amber tears the colour of cheap beer that fuels an angry father
and lime tears, like the sickly dinosaur on a plaster placati One PhonecallHello?
Hi… Is this God?
Oh, Christ, I thought this line was disconnected…
Hey, can I ask my one question or not?
Ugh, fine, one question.
Why is the universe so big?
Huh?
What, did I stutter?
No, it’s just, people usually ask me why people die or if I really exist or stuff like that.
So you don’t know?
No, I didn’t say that. Why do you want to know?
Because it makes us feel so small. We look up at the stars, into the seemingly endless cosmos, and all we see is emptiness. Vast emptiness. Nothing comforting. Only darkness.
Does that frighten you?
Yeah, because it makes us feel small and unimportant. We want to feel like we matter in the grand scheme of things, but all we see are planets and stars and nebula and galaxies. Things that are inconceivable vast. Things that are so big we can barely begin to comprehend them. We see all this, and all we can think about is how small and alone we humans are.
So you’re lonely then?
Partly, but I don’t thi
<da:thumb id="499067926"/> .she'll hold him tight tonight
and dread the coming mo(u)rning GaryPeople always ask me what “the deal” is with Gary, like I should know the guy’s psychological profile just because we’re roommates. I always shrug. His “deal” is his business, right?
We didn’t know each other before the potluck threw us together in the dorms freshman year. Meeting him for the first time was awkward. He wouldn’t make eye-contact and barely talked, giving one-word answers to any questions I had, avoiding any real conversation. I couldn’t tell if he was scared of me or hated my guts and couldn’t guess why either way. Now I know that’s just how he is around people he doesn’t know. He’s really nice once he’s had a chance to warm up to you. Really. I wish people would believe me when I say that, especially now.
The first few months of that year we did typical freshman stuff: Went to campus events because we didn’t have anywhere better to go, hit some parties and did some drinking—

<da:thumb id="500101336"/>
I always want to writei always want to write about constellations,
about stars,
about the way I feel whole
when I look at the night sky
but something holds me back - 
insecurity, maybe?
the fear that
with my minimal knowledge of the written word
and my clumsy poetry
I cannot hope to grasp
the feeling I get
when I see Orion.
but then again,
if I don't say how I feel,
who will?<da:thumb id="480190027"/> XIII.boy, you aren't icarus
throw away the worries
aim for this sun
(-shine girl)
she'll kiss
your gravity away and
you can fly
girl, are you athena?
weaving war and wisdom
together on your tongue
give up
on this city,
you can have your temple
in his palms, you don't
need to fight
you are no gods
(but sometimes we are tragedies.)
saying good nighti say
"see you tomorrow"
instead of "i
love you."
someday i
won't see them
again
and then
i'll wish that
my
last words
weren't fiction.