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Let's Talk Writing: Issue 8

Journal Entry: Fri Aug 17, 2012, 10:21 PM





Let's Talk Writing: Issue 8

Let's Talk Writing is my new article featuring five different writers that I've discovered here on deviantArt. It will be published every Friday. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to note me. I will take them into consideration. Now, Let's Talk Writing!




Writer #1: :icondistortified: distortified

The Soul Broker   I am the buyer and seller of souls.  I’ve bought them all and I sold you yours.  For the world must run like the gears of a clock, and sometimes you tick or sometimes you tock, but everything given will be taken away and for every silence kept, a word must be said.  
   Naturally, you must assume there is cost.  For everything gained, a penny is lost; of course this life can be no different--when the check arrives, you must pay the difference.  But not all who ride on the sunday train pay the same price to get out of the rain: a king’s ransom might obtain far, far less than the pauper’s cheap pain.
   Your father paid the price of sweat, a back bent under the yoke of the world; accrued worldly financial debt but was recompensed with the jokes of a girl.  And he would say he walked away wealthy, with his empty bank account, for his daughter lives today quite healthy and loves him in equally large amounts.
&
FFM19: Snake EyesThe world's a shitty place, but you already knew that.  Grandma taught you that message early, before her plague-spots spread and devoured whatever life was left in her withered leathery old skin.  And it doesn't matter that she was old and you're young—the same could happen to you any given day.  It's a hard fact, but the world's a shitty place and there's nothing to be done about it.
Now she's gone and it's just you and Bobby and a handful of cousins trying to make it in this sweltering little swamp town.  Boca is finally starting to be recognized as a part of civilization, but it'll still be years before The Loose Cannons come and clean these streets up.  Life is hard, but you've got youth and the strength of an ox on your side.  Sure, the townsfolk call you trouble behind your back, but they're always more than happy to buy you a couple beers and dinner in exchange for some physical labor.  
Rapture Square i
FFM 13: Of Wolfs and MansThe Wolfs slept, and Coa crept silently into their encampment.  Half a dozen mountains of muscle and fur lay about the moonlit clearing, snoring loudly.  He was freshly a Man grown, having seen his fourteenth winter, and large for his age.  Even in light of that, each of the beasts was easily double his size.  Slow and silent on bare feet, Coa slipped past one particularly large Wolf whose lips pulled back into a snarl in his sleep.  Cold silvery light reflected off of glistening fangs as long as his forearm.
The Wolfs' fire had long since dwindled down to ash, but Coa's eyes were sharp, and he could still make out the left-over bits of meat and fur that had been scattered about the makeshift fire-pit.  Ears alert and perked, the Man-cub stepped over a sleeping cub and bent to pick up a good sized patch of deer-skin.
The sound of a bone cracking echoed through the clearing, and it was all that he could do not to scream. &
FFM 3: Ridden to the Top"This is Bret Kisler with Cutting Edge Entertainment, and joining us tonight, we have rising starlet Bella Artois from the recent blockbuster Hold My Heart," a remarkably handsome young man chatters from countless television sets across the world, gesturing to the blue-eyed bombshell that is already becoming a household name.  "Thank you for joining us, Bella, how are you doing this evening?"
"Stupendous, thank you," she beams.  "Just got back from vacation in Greece, and I'm feeling fresh and recharged and ready to get back on camera."  She's positively buoyant, full of the vibrant energy that has polarized movie-goers more than any celebrity of her time.
"That's great to hear!  This is the project with Tarantino, right?  Ready to confirm anything there?"
She bites her lip a moment, finally shrugs, and peers off to the side coyly.  "I can say that yes, I'm working with Tarantino.  Beyond that, though…" S


What inspired you to start writing?

I couldn't really tell you, to be honest. I just did it, since I could. I always loved reading, so of course that fueled the fire, but there was always just some story unfolding in the back of my head, and it seemed only natural to write it out. Stephen King inspired me a lot as an artist, and I had a family full of readers that always encouraged me, but I can't think of any one catalyst that definitively got me started.

How much do you feel you've improved in the last few years?

Tremendously. Specifically the last three years have really easy points of comparison, as I participated in :devflash-fiction-month: all three years. In terms of content alone, the first year I was just kind of writing whatever nonsense came to mind, where this year yielded more pieces that I felt proud sharing. I'm starting to begin to understand subtlety, I think.

Why do you post your writing to deviantArt?

I could come up with reasons all day, I think. Community is a big one, though. I started uploading here because it was a way to get seen, and since then I've made so many connections that I feel guilty if I don't post a piece here. There are some truly awesome writers on this site, and I love being able to discuss with them, and get real feedback on an artistic level.

Do you write with pen and paper or do you type on a word processor?

My preferred method is actually with a typewriter, but I find my laptop to be more convenient. I type considerably faster than I write, and my hand cramps up with a pen. Though a good ol' composition notebook is still the best tool in the world for brainstorming.

What was the first piece you ever wrote?

Ever? No clue. The first thing I can recall writing was an ongoing series in kindergarten about Rad Rabbit and Bad Bunny, a pair of anthro bad-ass party animals, which I seem to recall having ripped abs in the accompanying illustrations. Each issue lacked any sort of point, but added new party animal friends, like a Rhino and a Wolf. Thank you, TMNT. The first real story that I ever finished was The Adventures of Satan MacMurphy, though. ( Satan MacMurphy, Issue 1Never mind what the brochures tell you, ladies and gentlemen—Las Vegas is about the least glamorous place on the face of the planet.  Sure, The Strip is all neon and glitz, but that's only a three-mile stretch of pretty for all the tourists—glamorous make-up to camouflage an old, wasted whore.  I never did like the Strip, and any time I saw one of my cases heading that way, I knew to bring aspirin. We're not talking about that today.
North-town was my turf, and all the little back-alleys down Industrial Ave—the dark little corners where the bad boys hid their dirty deeds.  Cheap strip clubs with overweight dancers and nasty bars that smelled of old cigarette butts and spilled liquor.  Sal's was one of the latter, and my home away from home.  It smelled marginally better than the others, and it was only a block away from my office—you do the math.
This is where I met Ms. Betty Banton.  I knew she was trouble from the moment she
)


What room is your favorite to write in?

Wherever is quiet. I have a corner of my loft that's tucked away in a little nook, with a desk and my typewriter and a little window with a little lava lamp. I'm still moving in, but I'm calling it my writing cave, and I think it's going to be a great space.

What is your favorite place for thinking?

My gears work best when I'm either taking a walk or a shower. Neither place is ideal for notetaking, so many of those awesome ideas go down the drain with my conditioner, but there's really no better place to churn out the ideas.

How do you beat out your writers block?

The dreaded question. There's so many answers to that, and half the time none of them work. I'm starting to think that the trick is just to keep writing. I know that sounds dumb, like telling a drowning man that the trick is to just keep breathing, but honestly, what is a writer's block? Nothing can stop you from coming up with SOME words, you're probably just hung up on finding the RIGHT words, which isn't helpful if it's holding up the rest of your masterpiece. During FFM, a common reminder is 'August is for editing.' It means that right now, you're writing. It's going to look ugly, and that's okay. Just keep going. If you really can't continue your current piece, write something else real quick and come back. Just keep going.

Do you listen to music when you write?

Yes and no. Depending on the tone and nature of the piece, I find that music can be a great lubricant, or it can cloud up my head. Instrumental stuff is generally better, unless I'm going for a specific vibe (For instance, listening to old swing music while writing noir) in which case the lyrics can add to the creative juices and help with dialect and style.




Writer #2: :iconsilverinkblot: SilverInkblot

SuperimposeHe doesn't look like a gymnast. He's all button down shirts and frazzled grey hair framing wire spectacles, a picture perfect professorial archetype down to the very tips of his frayed shoelaces. But he was a gymnast once, or so he tells us, and I believe him because he smiles like he knows something while he's chatting before class.
It's strange to see that image superimposed over the current one – the distinguished professor in pressed khaki slacks and a jacket, worn brown loafers exuding a faintly courteous manner (you can always tell them by their shoes), and a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand – versus the athletic kid who went to college for a semester and grew nine inches too tall to keep doing what he loved so he took up a tennis racquet instead. Gymnasts don't wear suit jackets; no steel mill worker has such manicured nails. But the images are all there, flickering just under the surface and bubbling up again when he's recounting stories about his days in Pi
Some Lovers III died on a cold
day, numbed fingers flexing,
grasping at the last traces of embers  
withering in the grate.
I died holding your hand,
the hand I accidentally fractured
when I pushed you  too
harshly near an edge
and you flailed to find
a more elegant way
to fall and then
I heard the scaphoid crack –
but I didn't. I heard the cry
first and the pain came later
but you held my
hand anyway.
I died with my arms
held over my head,
pinned down to the sheets by your solid
mass, fingers entwined  
with yours until I
could no longer tell which bones
were my own. I baked
in the aftermath of the dying
heat and felt the blood
pulsing
back into my fingers
before forgetting again
as you sighed into my neck.
I died on a cold
day, but I never felt
so
warm.
ChartreuseChartreuse
is the jade glitter of jealous eyes
glaring green daggers like the scream of chalk.
With a pop of cork
and the glug of absinthe,
the sharp tang of soured envy
lends a bitter aftertaste to savor for long years
before a log fire in an emerald armchair,
haunted.
Tangential AsymptotesI think about falling in math class.
The boy in front of me is writing diligently, noting each and every word as though he forgot it was all in the textbook. He has dark hair all tangled up in the back like a bramble of thornbushes and his green hoodie looks like it could use a good washing.
The professor is rattling on about asymptotes, about two lines that go on forever, getting closer and closer but never touching. He tells us about the Greek roots of the word; asymptotos, that it means "not falling together," and he scribbles nonsense equations on the board and hopes that we understand them better than he does because tenure is the only reason he's teaching this class.
As much as I hate math, I have to admit there's something beautiful about the concept. Something romantic and longing, something I can relate to in a sea of cold precision and dispassionate numbers.
I think about falling in math class. I think about fractals and their intricate patterns, turning equations into art. T


What inspired you to start writing?

I wasn't doing so hot at the drawing thing, so I decided to try my hand at something else. I wanted to be good at something, and it didn't matter what it was. I turned out to have a knack for writing and stuck with it.

How much do you feel you've improved in the last few years?

A lot. Like, a truly ridiculous amount. I'm still fond of some of my old fanfiction pieces, but the original stuff here on dA is leagues better. The past two years have been like a metaphorical growth spurt. The first creative writing class I took was a huge help as well and got me started on poetry instead of just prose.

Why do you post your writing to deviantArt?

I feel like dA has a wide audience and everything is represented somehow. And I already had an account here when I first started writing anyway; no need to sign up for a dozen sites trying to accomplish the same thing. I want to improve and be challenged on occasion, and the dA literature community has been pretty good at that. I've tried other literature websites and I've always been bored by them.

Do you write with pen and paper or do you type on a word processor?

Both. Rough drafts are usually done in a notebook (that I give away when full :la:), but I refine things in Word because stuff like line breaks will look different in type. My notebooks tend to fill up in boring classes :XD:

I'd like to keep a journal, but I'm rather terrible at it, so I've been doing the blogging thing instead. I'm not sure why the online version is so much easier to maintain, but there you go. So I guess I do it all. If I had a typewriter, I'd use that too.

What was the first piece you ever wrote?

Probably some Kingdom Hearts fanfiction, I don't know :lol:

What room is your favorite to write in?

My bedroom. I like to sit on the bed and write. I have a lot of knick-knacks and cool stuff lying around, so whenever I need a prompt, I find a random object to play with - for example, right now I can see a wall of scarves, a lantern, a basket of postcards, a wooden model snake, a Pikachu backpack, a blacksmith nail puzzle, a lamp shaped like a tree, and a platypus plushie. It keeps me interested (and hopefully interesting).

What is your favorite place for thinking?

I'd say the English department lounge at college. I've spent a lot of time in that room this summer. It's become a sort of hideaway when I need to get out of the house for a few hours. Barring that, then probably my car.

How do you beat out your writers block?

I don't really feel like I get writer's block. Sometimes I don't write for weeks, but it's not because I'm blocked - I just don't feel like it. Maybe other people feel the exact same way and they consider it blockage because the inability to write is frustrating to them. It's not a source of frustration to me - I haven't lost anything and the inclination will be back soon enough. It's best not to force what isn't there.

Do you listen to music when you write?

I used to, but don't really anymore. I think I kinda go thorough cycles, because I'll go ages without ever pulling up iTunes, and then it's like I remember all at once "oh yeah, music is awesome." By and large though, I've come to prefer the silence and the drone of the fan.




</p>

Writer #3: :iconneurotype: neurotype

Evil Woman"My husband doesn't know." She kept her hands folded and head down.
"I think you should tell him," I said, not asking whether she was referring to the baby or…the trait. I pushed my glasses back. "Look, I was an ultrasound tech once. I've been a genetic counselor for twelve years. I've never seen anything like this. Are you sure?"
Her head rotated upward. Her hands moved over the bump in her clothing. But, instead of protectively encasing the tiny lifeform, she started pressing against it. Trying to expel it.
"Calm down," I said. I reached over my desk and gripped her shoulder for a moment until she flicked my hand off.
"Calm down? This…this thing. I know it's not something you deal with, not in your line of work, not in any line of work." Her agitation showed in the way her short nails were digging into her belly. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying your best, but there's something in my family. Generations and generations of it, as far back as we've kept our history together."


What inspired you to start writing?

Being alive? :lol:Well, I'm always most inspired to write after I've read stuff. And I learned how to read pretty young, so after creative writing stuff in school—I actually drew comics first.

How much do you feel you've improved in the last few years?

A lot-lot-lot. Like, I finally understand there's such a thing as too many adverbs and adjectives.

Why do you post your writing to deviantArt?

Well, I have no idea why I started posting writing here. But I can tell you I keep at it because I like the community I know and sometimes they say outrageous things like 'you should write more'. Pretty much everything I post here is in response to prompts/ideas from friends here. Occasionally I post things that have more of a narrative than I would usually put on my blog.

Do you write with pen and paper or do you type on a word processor?

I usually type. Sometimes I'll get the first few pages on paper, but I haven't written anything out all the way by hand like...ever.

What was the first piece you ever wrote?

Oh dear. It was an acrostic poem about the ocean. I got to decorate it with gems and everything! Yay first grade.

What room is your favorite to write in?

Whichever one my computer's in :O(I have a desktop.)

What is your favorite place for thinking?

Swimming pools, the shower. Water is magical.

How do you beat out your writers block?

Oh dear, I don't really get writers' block ever. I mean, there's times when I don't want to write, but then I just don't--I go draw things or play videogames or whatever. If I'm not motivated to write and need to be, I go read some books. Takes care of it. As far as getting stuck on a story goes, though, I try to think about why I'm stuck. It's usually because I'm forcing a direction that just doesn't work with everything else, so time to try an alternate approach or different twist.

Do you listen to music when you write?

Not if I need to focus.



 

Writer #4: :iconsammur-amat: Sammur-amat

Sculpture of The SuicideIf Augustus is right, then clap your hands,
Though I beg of you,
Do not dismiss me with applause from the arena;
At the very least, do not cage the lions in my heart
Burn my flesh like a blasphemer of the gods
Because you are a fine puppeteer, beloved
With the way you've sown my mouth shut
And used my body to recite ancient monologues;
The audience falls silent
As their faces stand at attention with ears pricked up
Watching me as I argue against the sun
I am no better than a gladiator in lacking liberty-
Neither labeled human nor given a right to morals
Right hand to left foot;
I'm tied down to the bottom of my bones,
Living with the ghosts of never vanquishing memories
Rise up from my bones, avenging spirit;
May you find no shelter from the storm
Unable to seek solace, may you meet your demise--alone
Without a heart, panting in a poisoned, damned cavern
That for as long as you walk with the living,
Your shadows will haunt and scoff at you
This I pray, but alas!
The fleeting years slip
Lurking CobraI have to tell you the truth:
there's a cobra lurking just beneath the skin
and coiling through your veins.
"I love you" and "I'm sorry" and "Please, come home with me"
drip like poison from your fangs.
I know the weight of a lie, darling;
I search for the scent of others of my sex in every shadowed corner;
We cohabitate.
I regularly check your sock drawer for love letters and ring boxes,
for any sign that this isn't just another hunt for you,
but I know it's the hunger talking
when you whisper those things late at night.
The stitching on my heart is slowly unraveling,
All my clumped-up stuffing flows out of me dying to escape;
sometimes,
I lose myself in the beat of your heart
under my skin
and the sigh of my name
from your pouting lips...
but I don't remember leaving
That hickey on your chest.
Maybe that's the crazy me talking.
I've always heard them talk about the last threads of sanity;
You are pushing pins and buttons farther than they should be pushed.
How I can rearrange my face
Lightning Bug CosmosI lace my skin up like a corset, peel back the blinds on my eyelids, and take a step forward, waking from the poppies to the
                    lightning bug glow of truth tapping on my eardrums.
In front of the mirror I stand, but what I notice is not the awkward crook of my nose or butterfly lashes. I look into the lighted mirror as if searching for answers hidden under
Ribbon-like sets of
                                    veins, arteries and nerves.
Sometimes it all flows correctly; sometimes everything becomes
     knotted up in all the wrong places.  Skin toughened by beatings brought about by the
            
i am my own twinin each rainbow gasoline street puddle, in each broken glass window and aperture, i search for myself. what it is exactly that i am searching for i can never tell. all i know is that i know nothing of anyone, not even of myself.
i walk the streets and avenues as if i've been here before but not. i peer across the smog-smitten skies, trying to find familiar shadows to remind of home--yet no faces come to mind. as i follow the trail of a limping dog, i see how she is a crippled bitch feeding her pups nonetheless: i digress. i pursue a pink tricycle and her pretty pint-sized owner; she leads me out of the smoggy central station and into suburban slumber land. my feet carry me over to a canary yellow door preceded by three chipped brick steps.
i sit there and so does another me. this hallucination reminds me both of the broken bitch and alice understudy. i who am the mere reflection of puddles and portals.


What inspired you to start writing?

In all honesty, unrequited love, but not the romantic kind mind you. As a child I had always felt a little less loved by my parents, which probably because I was the eldest and I was very self-sufficient, but yeah, this triggered in me the need to write and paint. I find words and colors have become a sanctuary for me to return to whenever it is that I lose myself. And I get lost pretty often. Many authors and poets have moved me and inspired me to further pursue writing. Quoting from my interview with the lovely SilverInkblot for DLD's Saturday Spotlight, "I am a die-hard Jane Austen and Dr. Seuss fan. Kurt Vonnegut and Antoine de Saint-Exupery are pure awesomeness and nobody (I believe) can deny Homer or Shakespeare as inspirations. E. E. Cummings, Basho, Frost, Angelou, Plath and Poe all knock the stuffing out of me. I think my writing the sum of bits of crystalline dust from all these beautiful people."

How much do you feel you've improved in the last few years?

If I were to be completely honest, I'd have to say that my writing has not only significantly improved but more than that, has matured along with me. I find that as a writer/poet, I am still undergoing metamorphosis, and will probably strive to become that beautiful butterfly for as long as my finger-bones allow me to write. I can also tell you a owe a great deal to the lovely and supportive lit community here on dA, to my watchers/friends here whose own works inspire me and whose comments, critiques, and hugs, have made me strive harder to be the best writer I can be:heart:

Why do you post your writing to deviantArt?

See above answer :D

Do you write with pen and paper or do you type on a word processor?

Both. I'm the kind of person who if and when I need to write, I will do so even in the back of a napkin if no gadget or paper is in sight. There is something very alluring about writing poetry and short prose on paper, for longer pieces though, my laptop and its notepad and MS Word are must-haves.

What was the first piece you ever wrote?

EVER? I don't think I can possibly remember as I've always been in love with words (Although, it was in middle school that my essays began receiving recognition for my writing ability.) I think the first piece I ever received praise on was an essay on the effect of technology on familial relationships and bonding, done in middle shool.

What room is your favorite to write in?

There's no better place for me to write than in my room, though I must admit, trying out different locations can also prve to be quite fun and inspiring.

What is your favorite place for thinking?

Somewhere naturally green and pretty and/or someplace where I can smell coffee, chocolate and tea.

How do you beat out your writers block?

By buying/finding/borrowing a new book and reading it. The rush the comes with trying out new words, thoughts and emotions usually aids in eliminating writer's block.

Do you listen to music when you write?

Most of the time, I enjoy my peace of mind while writing, but listening to a little Chopin or Tchaikovsky while finding my pace can never be evil.

 
Lyrical music on the other hand, is a great source of inspiration for me, though I usually listen to it before writing and not during.




Writer #5: :iconmatthewlowden: MatthewLowden

untitledWhy is it we have to conform
To become something less than we should
Is it easier to betray our own beliefs
To appease others equally less than themselves
Often I yearn to find similar minds
Similar thoughts, similar retorts
The waiting is still waiting
Built in is to want more
Built in is to need more
Supposedly we've been numbered to the amount of sand
Centuries of heartache and tyranny
So full of technology, yet to be mastered
More important than ourselves dear brothers
Even the moral guide points us in the wrong direction
Built for war and hate
Built for love with mistrust
Come forth sadists and revel in your dream
(only piece in gallery at time)


What inspired you to start writing?

There are many reasons I write, mostly when dealing with pain just to get it out of my head.

How much do you feel you've improved in the last few years?

I don't judge myself, so really cannot answer that, few people have seen any of my written work.

Why do you post your writing to deviantArt?

I felt like it, is also the first ever written piece submitted to deviantArt.

Do you write with pen and paper or do you type on a word processor?

Always pen and paper, much like my drawings.

What was the first piece you ever wrote?

Was a short story for my English Literature class when I was 15, it had to be about Valentines day. It ended up being a poem about love, loss and being overlooked more than anything else. It seemed to have an effect on the girls in class as well as the teacher.

What room is your favorite to write in?

Anywhere, anytime, outside is best.

What is your favorite place for thinking?

Outside in the sunlight.

How do you beat out your writers block?

I don't try to write, so therefore never have writers block.

Do you listen to music when you write?

Never.



Let's Talk Writing is my new article featuring five different writers that I've discovered here on deviantArt. It will be published every Friday. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to note me. I will take them into consideration.
Add a Comment:
 
:iconnamelessshe:
NamelessShe Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
These are great! :D
Reply
:icondrippingwords:
DrippingWords Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2012  Student Writer
Thank you :D I'm glad you like them :D
Reply
:iconteaphotography:
TeaPhotography Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2012  Professional General Artist
This is a really great series!! :heart:
Reply
:icondrippingwords:
DrippingWords Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2012  Student Writer
Thank you very much :D
Reply
:iconwolfos96:
wolfos96 Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Nice journal! Anything about writing is good enough for me!
Reply
:icondrippingwords:
DrippingWords Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2012  Student Writer
Glad you enjoyed it :D
Reply
:iconmatthewlowden:
MatthewLowden Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for the feature
Reply
:icondrippingwords:
DrippingWords Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2012  Student Writer
You're very welcome :D
Reply
:iconsilverinkblot:
SilverInkblot Featured By Owner Aug 17, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
:la:
Reply
:icondrippingwords:
DrippingWords Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2012  Student Writer
:iconromanlaplz:
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