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About Literature / Student Official Beta Tester Caitlan Zufelt19/Female/United States Groups :iconeliteliterature: EliteLiterature
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Pics for Fire Touched

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:bulletgreen:These are pictures that amazing people have drawn of my characters from Fire Touched.:bulletgreen:

Review Corner

"DrippingWords, otherwise known as Caitlan, is a gorgeous soul with a knack for bringing real life into the bulk of her poetry. With her hands in almost every aspect of the dA community in general--from a lovely suggestion on the notes system to book covers and group participation--Caitlan is bound to steal your heart with her writing and keep you coming back for her personality. She's also just started putting up her news article, Let's Talk Writing, again, featuring some of the most prominent names in the literature community. You're sure to fall in love with DrippingWords gallery, so go give it a thorough look-through!"

"Caitlan (DrippingWords), never ever stop writing. Every single time I open up one of your new uploads I just know I'll be blown away by your imagery, or the pure heartache in your words. You'll never know how much trouble I had picking out that one single piece of yours to feature, that's how great you are. Like I said before, if I could favourite you I would, and so should many, many others."


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WRITING: Poetry (short)
I will write you a short poem. Please describe what you would like it to be about!
WRITING: Poetry (long)
I will write you a long poem. Please include what you would like it to be about!
Get a poem edited (short or long).

Process: I print it out and work with just that. I'll go over the flow, the word choice, etc. Afterwards, I'll scan it in, and send it to you, through email.
EDITING: Short Story
Get a short story edited (1,000-5,000 words).

Process: I print it out and work with just that. I'll go over grammar, word choice, syntax, etc. Afterwards, I'll scan it in, and send it to you, through email.
I am a terrible person and have not featured winners from contests for a year-ish, now. Feel free to tar and feather me.

Since there are a few contests I need to feature from, I'll be doing two contests per article. Now, without further ado, here are the features!

TheTitlePage's Title Poem Contest

1st Place


TeeterWhen I wake,
I am
among the stars,
               on the brink
       between dreams and reality.
It’s so easy
to see through the
       broken bonds
                           between waking life...
               and the power of Imagination,
                           that same other world
                      so close...
               too close.
Separate realities
in a sea of dreams.
ImpossibilityWe meet before breakfast every morning
just to get my quota out of the way.
She drinks steaming coffee without scalding her tongue,
while I blink the sleep from my eyes, sipping slowly.
Her scent hangs heavy in the air with the perfume
of sunbeams and birdsong
and the success of a thousand hopeless dreams, and
I don't know the colors
of the dress she wears, but I'm told 
it's beautiful 
by the butterflies.
Our conversations are staid and brilliant
and can only be recalled 
through forgetfulness.
Her favorite activity 
is herding cats,
but perhaps next week 
it will be milking rattlesnakes;
Hers is the realm beyond paradox, 
where nothing begins 
before its own conclusion, and mirrors 
only work in the dark.
We converse in our minds 
about the state of the anarchy
as I pour another mug
and she thanks me through indifference.
She whispers pi 
as she sits, idly tracing a straight line 
AnonymityLast train to who knows where
Glides past in a bumpy, jostling line of cars
Like schoolchildren waiting in the lunch line
Or filing in from recess.
The haunted whistle of the train’s alarm
Pierces the night like a screech owl’s call
As the carriages race past, a continuous black shadow
Against thin moonlight streaking the rippling river water.
Every scene along the track—
Families in living rooms, late-night bar patrons,
The dairy farm stretching for miles along the line—
Are merely blurred moments to the denizens of these rushing carriages
Traveling through the blackness in their private tunnel of train light,
Heading for destinations disconnected from the rails they ride,
Unknown to fellow passengers and carriage workers alike,
Gone before dawn tips the trees.

2nd Place


rock bottom, ocean floorhalf-past a different kind of broken
on sadness, she wrote:
           blind fool in the umbra    
           bury yourself in me
           on the other side of lonely
           and by god, i love you
                (maybe i will be a landfill)
everyone i meet looks for a place to stay;
out of the woods, on wet roads
under wind, under rain
  -i'm so far away
no wonder it took him 1455 pages
waiting for her to come this way
tramps like us-
               in lieu of emptiness
               in absence of a poem
               wander, wander
                    (pour a little salt, we were never here)
your heart was a broken sailor
fishing for hearts with lace and not netting;
into the deep end of our story
i saw god leaving the shore
Not about the SkyA shade of lavender slowly embraces the seemingly endless night and I am staring at the way it shifts the coloring in your skin; you are too beautiful for me to take in, and your every breath is absolutely bewitching.
Is the reason why they call it a honeymoon because of how nectar sweet your everything, starting and ending from your bare, shivering, and sweating skin, becomes to your newlywed?
Or is it because of how much of a bee-sting-like burning can be felt at the thought of ever having to unlace yourself from your lover, once your post-nuptial grace period is over?
A shade of apricot trails along the submerging sun and it is leaving a tangy and exciting taste in our mouths; this is surely but a teaser of the sweetest bliss that has yet to come, and I cannot wait for us to melt into each other further still.
Anxiety and SerenityDear Friend,
You- yes you, the person reading and listening to this speech right now. If you're here because you know of this competition, then you must surely be either part of the group, Burdened Hearts or be familiar with what the aforementioned group stands for. Being a sufferer of a plethora of problems myself- brought about by Generalized Anxiety Disorder- I am no stranger to the feeling that, "our hearts are heavy burdens we shouldn't have to bear alone."
I cannot even begin to stress into letters all the unsaid and lost words, the vertigo and the cold sweating, the unreasonable panic attacks and self-destructive rampages every cell in my body begs me to get into at times- over the silliest and most fictitious of hurt words- words that I should never let crush my already chipped, porcelain-pale spirit.
My oh my though, what an amazing, amazing, amazing feeling it is to know, to really know, that you are not alone. What rapture to know that your simple words and well-wishes for o

3rd Place


Winter's Words"Be my autumn,"
she was whispering
when her eyes found you
tracing in the dust
of ethereal dreams.
If only she knew...
  BoredomIt’s 3:26 already and the poet doesn’t know
what to make of this dreary mid-afternoon,
with the clouds all low and grey and the
lawnmower’s static fuzz in the background.
“Won’t you do this one thing for me? Please?”
“No, I already told you: I’m busy. Flat-out.
Can’t chat. Now shove off. Please.” “Fine.”
“Fine.” “See ya.” “Goodbye.”
It’s 5:44 now and the sky’s as grey as slate
as ever, the lighting dim and the air damp.
The poet dreams of dense sleep, but she knows
that if she goes now she won’t be able to later.
“Shut the door, shut the door! Quick, shut it!”
“Shut up, will you?” “Sorry, we’re just playing.”
“Whatever. Just keep it down.” “Sorry. You busy?”
“Yep.” “Sorry.” “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just shush.”
It’s exactly 9:00 and the po
We met where someone had eons ago carved meet me here when your world falls apart into the grey, crumbling, concrete path separating the road from the park. Though I doubt she noticed the graffiti.
It was either dusk or dawn; I can’t remember which—the light was in a temporary stalemate with the darkness, and there was the faint promise or impression of stars, coming or going, led or shepherded by the moon looking as though it had been slightly erased from the deep, middling blue of the sky. There were no clouds.
I didn’t notice her coming until I heard the scuffing of her shoes. I was glad I could only hear one set of footsteps: she’d heeded my request. Turning, I felt in my pocket for the square of tightly folded paper, passed it over without a word, trying to converse through our eye contact. I went home without looking back, silent.
When school started back after the summer holidays, she sat next to me in Engli

GrimFace's Dialectical Dessertism Contest

Poetry Winner


Pie vs. Cake: The Rap BattleIn the 90s, a violent hip-hop rivalry grew between the rap scenes in Hell's Kitchen and San Flan, two of the most violent ghettos in the bakery. Fierce racial divides between the cakes and pies fueled the tension and eventual violence that left no oven untouched. The feud started between two former colleagues-turned-enemies, Ballamode representing the pies of San Flan and Da Pound representing the cakes of Hell's Kitchen. On one fateful night, they held a rap battle to decide once and for all who was the sweetest MC.
Ballamode here, my fillin is sweet rhymes
But imma make you pucker like a slice of key lime
Cause I'm tart and I'm smart, all the girls got around me
Your crew be baked higher than a tray of pot brownies
Go home lil cupcake, this is a dangerous matter
Stay too long and I'll leave you all whipped and battered
Deep stuff like deep crust I'm a serious guy
And I gots more beef than a shepherds pie
No lie, my flow's ill, you can catch me chill
All delicious lyi
  The Most Dangerous GameThe poem lurking in its darkened den
Is wracked with hunger. Hear it moan!
Seek not to be the master of your pen
And leave the palpitating heart alone.
For it will pounce and carry you away
To meet your fate within the great unknown.
No predator are you, but only pray
It only tears away your flesh and bone.
Seek not to be the master of your pen:
No predator are you, but only prey,
The poem lurking in its darkened den
Will surely pounce and carry you away.
It only tears away your flesh and bone,
But leaves the palpitating heart alone.
Derelicts and DevotionLike leaning bikes against the unused door,
Their wheels immobile, chains now brown with rust,
Decay awaits the things a man works for
That lay untouched and thick with grimy dust.
We think to leave it be would keep it well,
Away from operating stress and strain.
Alas, without the forces that compel
The heart no tender love could thus remain.
It takes one sight to miss you all the more,
A fleeting moment by your side to pain me,
But better that your memory I store
To push me down our faithful path and train me.
Propinquity and paradox must meet
If future fruitfulness should be as sweet.

Poetry Runner Up


The Lady's ChoiceLong, long ago in a forgotten kingdom
On the Barbary Coast,
Two chieftains came together, upon the field of honor.
Theirs was a great debate, for they both desired the hand,
Of the fiercely beautiful princess; sole daughter of the king.
"Let us make dessert, not war. For why should I slay my comrade?" exclaimed Aranac. "Instead one shall win her hand Via her truest desires: cake or pie."
"Fair enough." agreed Bocephus. "Let us begin at once. We shall present our creations
At the same time. And whichsoever she shall choose, to him shall she be betrothed."
And so they labored day and night. But to the scullery maid's great fright
Neither one could get it right.
Bocephus thought a pie was simply a matter
Of squashing together whatever he could find.
Birds and mud and bits of twine
Field corn and radishes and turpentine.
"What in gracious sakes is this?" demanded the cook.
"I'm glad you approve; here take a look." said the Chief with glee.
One small taste and the cook turned gree
  Evergreen And EverlastingThis is polite society you're in.
In less than no time, tongue and pen,
Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh,
Fills me with fear I'll be left to my fate.
Two memories that long had lain
In snow and mist
A hundred miles away,
Is sadder than any words
That I might have sung.
Like a star fresh fallen out of the sky,
Its light poured softly in her lap,
Of almost too much love...
"I was looking for you-"
"No one can know how glad I am to find-"
"It is no miracle our mood is high."
With all this talk about the hope of youth,
When the boughs are right,
And by right divine-
Such auspices are very hard to read.
But one thing is sure,
To kiss and drink each other's breath
Is too much for the senses.
Then for years and years,
Our chance of being people newly born,
Of mingled butterfly and flower dust-
The play seems out for an almost infinite run;
Such as it is, it promises the prize.
The time was Autumn, but how anyone
Couldn't believe that so much black had come there,
Which shows how sad an
Some Things Are StrongA country table set for a threshing gang lunch
In the deep green shade of a towering maple.
While the sun shines hard, the men will toil at the harvest
Till the last sheaves are done.
Then they move along to the next farm
To begin their work again.
So it is with a poet
Who has spent his years haunting
The rock-strewn fields and birch-lined logging roads
Of New England.
Learning the colors of her moods,
Listening to her songs
In a thousand laughing brooks;
Wondering at the cathedral stillness
Following a January snowstorm.
I've watched the burning sun make his way
Down behind the rows of corn
And fieldstone walls.
With a tip of my hat to the crimson reds
Along the horizon line
I bid him go till he brings the morning
With him once again.
It is good to bring to mind
The paths I've trod, the lakes I've fished,
And neighbors I've met in passing,
Perhaps in a simple dooryard.
Where a dog is barking from the porch,
And cotton sheets hang on a clothesline
Drenched in the lilac air.
I've grippe

Prose Winner


The Fall of Fondant ValeLong, long ago (in sweeter times), the Kingdom of Cake and the Principality of Pie were fast friends. For more than a hundred generations, the monarchs of both nations had let their spearmint swords gather icing sugar dust, this legacy of peace far greater than any tribute that bitter war could win. So long had these noble lineages lived without the threat of battle that they had no need of cavalry, and their caramel coursers went shoeless, spending their days munching on the delicious grass of the surrounding fields. Fondant Vale, that place was called—so soft and nummy were the delightful things that grew there—and it was known across the civilised world for its beauty and tranquillity. With no need to grow such things as wheat or oats, the valley between the palaces of these great nations was like a garden, planted with pleasing hedges and winding paths, and this happy place, lamentably, is where our sad tale must begin.
“O ye gathered here,” began Prince Pec
  Never Look AwayWe lost Jerry when he went out to feed the generator. At first, it just seemed like one of those sad, unfortunate things that comes with working in the Alterworld. We figured his lantern must have cut out. He’d stepped away from the safety line for just a moment, then realised he’d left his emergency flare back in the hut. With the door closed and the blackout shutters dropped all the way, there was no way he could have found his way back. Everyone knows that wandering off is the last thing you should do. Everyone knows that if worst comes to worst, you stay put, you wait for someone to come find you. But in practice, it’s hard. The total darkness, the total gets to you. Jerry wouldn’t have been the first to lose it, just walk off into the dark with his arms out in front of him like there was something to touch out there. But he didn’t. At least, not because of the dark.
They say there’s nothing alive out here in the third layer. They sa
The Pen Laughs at Structure“I don’t mean to alarm you, Paul, but I’ve turned into a horse.”
“Not to worry. I’ll just turn this dial back a little, aaaaand...”
“Now I’m two horses.”
“Okay. I’m going to stop fiddling with this thing now.”
“Please do.”
There was an awkward silence. Dave tapped two of his front hooves nervously on the hot, sticky tarmac of the car park.
“We should get going?”
“Yeah. Which way?”
Paul looked around. “Well, the sun’s over there, but I don’t know what time it is, or where we are, or where the crystalline elixir would be.”
“I thought you said that thing was going to make our job easier.”
“The device isn’t perfect, alright?”
“Gee, really!?” The horses snorted angrily. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Suddenly, a dinosaur’s head burst up through the floor. “ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOA

Prose Runner Up


The War of End LaneJane wiped her palms on her apron, and reached over to shake the woman’s hand.  The counter was between them, laden with meat pies, fish pies, vegetable pies and pies that might have contained anything.
‘This is Mademoiselle Yvette Le Tellier,’ said Charles.  ‘His Lordship and I brought her back from Paris.  Yvette, this is Jane Tyler, a very good friend of mine.’
Yvette was dressed like an aristocrat, and the lace flowing from her elbows brushed against the pie crusts.  Her skirts took up the space of three people.  Her face and hands were powdered white.  Her wig was powdered too, and fell in stiff ringlets around her face.
Enchanté, Mademoiselle Tyler,’ said Yvette.  ‘It is a very wonderful friend you have in Charles.  Why, he all but whisked me from under the blade of la guillotine herself!  Such a brave and clever man!’
‘Yeah, I suppose,’ said Jane.  ‘What kind of pie would you like?
Tiny WorldsWhole worlds adorn my bedroom walls:
a dolls’ house, still life within; dolls,
and a line in collectable animal figures,
dressed, bipedal, with their own lives, places to go,
cats, dogs, squirrels, all kinds; here a child,
there a man or a woman, a tiny world of love.
I used to play with them, at life and love
and still do, sometimes, within those four walls.
I will always be the child
who filled her room with dolls.
Disappointing, sometimes, when I go
out and meet the people that inspired the figures
because a mouse or bear or human figure,
in his tiny world, loves
so easily.  People come and go
and build their walls,
some poker-faced, unyielding as dolls,
others forthcoming as children.
You were like a child
in a toyshop when you found me, a figure
for your collection.  You called me ‘doll’.
When you said you loved
me I brought down my walls,
one by one, until you said you had to go.
You’d had enough, wanted to go
somewhere adult, leave the child
The Magician's RabbitThe magician did not know he had arranged to hold his open-air magic show less than a hundred yards from a rabbit warren.  He had a good look at the place first, before the rabbits came out to graze, but he was not observant enough to see the holes.
Some of the rabbits stayed inside that evening, frightened of the humans who had gathered, and angry at the species as a whole.  Others of them did not mind humans who showed no interest in them, and were not being led about by dogs, so they went out to graze anyway.
A curious young doe actually got close enough to see the show.  She watched, but found the whole thing rather boring until the magician reached into his box and pulled out a healthy, sleek and beautiful buck.
‘Eugh!’ said a human mother.  ‘It’s white!  It’s got pink eyes!  It’s horrible!’
‘Mummy,’ said her son, ‘that’s racist!’
The doe, on the other hand, was not racist in the

Live and Let Pie Award


Eclair-ation of War!Eclairs rule. Cakesandpies drool.
The end.
A Clockwork GoldbergThe flashing, thrumming device was almost mesmerizing in its futuristic simplicity. Pulses of violet light chased each other, seemingly at random, across its front panel, while brilliant blue-white electric arcs surged upward from its central coil via a Jacob's Ladder: two tapered copper antennae reaching nearly to the ceiling. The combination cast an eerie and ever-changing series of shadows across the figures of the two men observing it.
The older of the pair was a dignified, gray-haired gentleman with a silk bow tie and bowler hat. His straining waistcoat, however, recalled slimmer days long since past; while his measured silence and slight frown spoke of an ego nearly as large as his girth. After some time, he turned to the slender brunet beside him and asked:
"This, then, is your clock?"
The younger man nodded, a quick jerky movement reminiscent of a wary passenger pigeon eying its captor. "Entirely electromagnetic. Is it not magnificent?" His voice had an odd accent: not quite Ge

Pie Wars: The Cake Strikes Back Award


The Eclair KingThe Éclair King
There was once a time, long ago, when ancient Gods ruled the earth under the leadership of the mighty Zeus. However, the untold story is how Zeus gained his lofty throne through the split of what could have been an eternal friendship; Cake and Pie.
Before Zeus was even heard of, Cake and Pie created the world. They worked in harmony – each being equally tasty and delicious – and the many different minion varieties worked hard to populate the world with desert fit for a king...only there were no people. In the excitement of creating tasty noms, the thought of who was going to nibble the noms had not crossed paths with any other thoughts.
“There is too much chocolate over by Greece.”
Pie looked up from his book, “1001 Ways to Annoy Thorny Coconuts”.
“There is too much chocolate over by Greece.”
“So send in some lemon peel to even things out.” Pie went back to his book, frantically making not
Deafening Heaven and HellDeafening Heaven and Hell
At the time it comes your heart will scream
So both Heaven and Hell
Have to block their ears against the pain.
Your voice-box will turn hoarse
‘Cos of the physical emotional explosion
That, unintentionally erupted
From the box
Where you had stored feelings
To forget,
Stored them to never see them again;
Until this time.
You will kick at the comforters
Coming t’wards you, flailing them away
While you need their compassionate hugs
And arms of love;
You will kick, and those who matter
Will brush off the bruises, bear
The broken bones,
Until they can wrap you in arms
That will hold on until the volcano is dormant.
Pictures, words, everything will flood your mind
In a tsunami , destroying your foundations
And reducing the houses of locked boxes
To feelings flooding from pens, eyes, hands – trembling
You will feel. Feel what you wanted to hide.
What you tried to hide – the hurt.
Never mind the blame,
Never mind the guil
The Eastern PrincessElaheh was lonely. Being a princess meant that she had to stay away from the commoners; those with the interesting lives. She felt somewhat like what she imagined Jasmine from Aladdin had felt trapped in her palace. Only she didn’t have a tiger; she had a cat, also named Raja. Raja was pure white and as fluffy as any other Persian, with blue eyes that made him look half-Siamese, even though he was pure-bred. But I digress, Raja is not that important to the story; Elaheh is, as this is her story. Elaheh from the palace at Gulzar.
Ardashir was the prince of a neighbouring kingdom. He had finally decided that it was time for marriage and so had asked his father to find him a bride, as was tradition. Ardashir was from the southern lands below the Baraz Mountains. Framed in fertile farming land, the castle at Baraz was known throughout the land for its crops and herds. The lush fields spread out around the castle like a patchwork quilt.
The King at Baraz approached the King at Gulzar

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Caitlan Zufelt
Artist | Student | Literature
United States

My deviant # is 17,143,741! What's yours?

My sister is rampantmermaid:iconrampantmermaid:
My brother is PokemonCraz-e:iconpokemoncraz-e:

Featured by DLD by IrrevocableFate :bulletgreen: DD Stamp by tRiBaLmArKiNgS :bulletgreen: I support DLD by IrrevocableFate
Honored 2 Have Gotten DD Stamp by Mirz123 :bulletyellow: DailyLitDeviations stamp by caybeach :bulletyellow: Suggest a DD stamp by Thiefoworld

Current Residence: Idaho
deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium
Favorite genre of music: Anything but metal and screamo
Favorite style of art: Literature
MP3 player of choice: iPod Touch
Personal Quote: "There's always room for pirates."



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tirasunil 1 day ago  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fav. :)
LiliWrites Apr 15, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
It has been too long since I told you how fantastic you are. :iconglompplz: 
DrippingWords 5 days ago  Student Writer
:heart: Thank you from the bottom of my heart, mademoiselle.

You're amazing! I love you. :huggle:
Bonjour mademoiselle, I just wanted to stop by to let you know that it has been delightful making your acquaintance in the chats, that I'm excited to see all that you accomplish with DLR, and that I truly appreciate the watch. With all the outrageously talented deviants here on dA, for you to take a moment of time to consider me and my work, it's a great honor and I'm so thankful, Caitlan.

I shall endeavor not to disappoint. I salute you!

Good luck with everything, good miss!
DrippingWords 5 days ago  Student Writer
:heart: I can't wait to see where things go. :D

My pleasure! :heart:
Thanks for the fave!
DrippingWords Apr 13, 2014  Student Writer
You're very welcome!
Tyrison Mar 29, 2014  Student Writer
Thanks for the collect! ^^
DrippingWords Apr 5, 2014  Student Writer
You're welcome!
Suphyx Mar 28, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the favourite. :D
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