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About Literature / Artist Premium Member LJUnited States Group :iconword-smiths: Word-Smiths
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The Windows

The Doors


Critique "Like Math, but with No Numbers" You left no questions so I'll just give you my opinion about whatever strikes me. I don't think this story is too short or too long. It's just right. I like a story that presents word-pictures right away and doesn't spend a lot of time explaining everything....


Critique for "Um" You didn't leave any questions, and I'm operating on opinion only, but here we go into a short critique. 1. It's short because I see the need to advertise such a Society, excellently made into a business card that can go up on the 'fridge. I like the address you left for FB, and ho...

Journal History



Artist | Literature
United States
It was the most delicious of countries.

by LancelotPrice

By the time she was twelve they had already decided she would marry a man who could run a five minute mile and speak seven languages.

by straygod

"There's no escape, you know."

by DamonWakes

"Not my roses, mate."
I freeze with one foot on the edge if the garden.

by Rovanna
Geordie knows what happened to the 'sno-cone man. Why he don't come round no more.

by leyghan
My heart beats itself to death. (six word story)

by Invoking
I walk without an errand for the mind./I must be homeless.

by thetaoofchaos


Thanks to all visitors and watchers. I appreciate you very much! :heart:

Stranger on Sandy Neck Beach“Let's give it another go, son.”
Jamie looked as if he was in physical pain; his eyes were almost closed with frustration, and his hands were clasped together behind his head.
“I give up, Dad. Let's just leave it.”
The raft was watertight - Damien knew it, even if his son did not.
“Come on, Jamie. We've worked on this for almost two hours now. Don't give up!”
Jamie fixed his Dad with a stare that looked like it would wilt any plant life unfortunate enough to be caught within his line of angry, brooding sight.
“Dad, we've found what is clearly the most buoyant wood on this beach. We've tied it together as best we can. It doesn't float. And even if it could float, we've also only got a tiny rag for a sail – no wind would take this thing anywhere.”
Damien shook his head.
“Come on, son.”
Damien tried to meet his son's eyes, but to no avail; Jamie subconsciously relegated his eyes to blankly stare at the sandy ground at his f
W4-D2- GreenI was reading some of the entries this morning and Quina-Chan talked about how she lives in a city and has watched her neighbors trade their green spaces of garden and lawn for extra living or parking space, has seen homes trading spaces with meadows and grasslands and thinks this is a shame.
In my profession, I am responsible for some of this growth. While I don’t build the houses, I do subdivide the land into smaller pieces for the purpose of home building.
In the twelve years I have been doing this, I have seen the towns I work in adopt stronger and more restrictive regulations as to what can be done with the land. According to the towns, the purpose of these regulations is to help protect the land and its valuable resources. I say bullshit. While some of these restrictions do make sense and are based on science, I think many members on the town governing boards do so to restrict growth, furthering the “not in my back yard” mentality. They like small town life, the
The episodic literature experienceI'm no longer dreaming of getting published: I'm hungry for it, like a ravenous wolf who once got a taste of its prey and now cannot help but stalk. I have plans, I have ideas, I (finally!) have courage. The only thing I seem to lack is time (last year I was almost exclusively out of work. This year I took everything that came my way; it was, perhaps, unwise).
My first novel is out, published in a free-to-read format on In April it will come out as an ebook, audiobook and paperback. Right now it's in a strange sort of place: it was published chapter by chapter every week for a year, with three breaks of a week each. 48 chapters. Around 140.000 words. You can go check it out: it's fantasy, dark(ish), and it's about an angel and a woman lost in Hell - the literal place where demons and devils roam. You might like it or not, it's in a bit of a niche. 
Anyway, episodic literature is am

Arc DrabbleWinter Break.
For most children his age, this holiday was a time of excitement. It signaled the end of the school semester, and the start of the winter holidays. The mini vacation away from the horrible prison called school. 
For him, it was a time of dread and fear, more so than the normal school day. It was the time where he would have to be home...alone with her for more than just a few hours. 
Staring out the window of his bus he chewed on his lower lip nervously, trying not to imagine what would happen once he walked in that door. He brushed back a lock of his black hair out of his eyes, glancing at the kids seated around him.
The bus doors finally closed as bus loading had ended and it was time to leave the school and take all the children home. His bus started to pull away from the school only to stop abruptly, the doors whooshing open once again. He frowned craning his neck towards the front of the bus, seeing a kid who was late and had just barely
A Few ThingsIn the beginning we love everything; the mobile that hangs above our head, the rattle in our hand, that favorite stuffed animal or blanket we put so much faith in. When the only word for God is mother and we never have to endure or pretend, but as time goes on, those damaging tides roll in. With each blue crush of the pipe, we twist and bend, until only a few things remain we truly love. It’s at that moment of realization, as if trying to retain our own innocence; we pull close that which we still hold dear and thank God above.   Sweet Potato BiscuitsThe day is taking on a nice shine;
sweet potato biscuits for breakfast,
home-made by someone’s grandma
over in Fort Payne, Alabama.
I bought ‘em in the freezer aisle
at the local grocery store just down the road,
and I burned ‘em in my very own kitchen.
Unsealed, in a simple looking sack,
they were no doubt bagged by hand. I suppose
if I lived someplace else, I might worry
that someone had tampered with them.
But, this is the south.
People just don’t go around messing with
other people’s biscuits in the south,
not even in this day in age of turmoil
and moral-lacking. Some things are still respected.
And burnt biscuit bottoms
don’t ruin a person’s day, either.
No, not in the south.

Anyone looking for "The True Journal of a Fake 'Communist'" please look for it in the left column.


Add a Comment:
maxnort Featured By Owner 9 hours ago   Writer
ok. time to finish "true journal" now that there's an epilogue.

If I read a part, I forget to come back.
(1 Reply)
Eremitik Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2014
Thank you for all the faves on the journal. Im glad you liked them.
(1 Reply)
SkeyeStorm Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2014  Hobbyist Artist
(1 Reply)
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2014  Professional Writer
Thanks for faving my work!
(1 Reply)
Black-B-o-x Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2014
Thank you for the +fav :wave:  :sun:
(1 Reply)
IrrevocableFate Featured By Owner Sep 5, 2014   Writer
You're fantastic.
(1 Reply)
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2014  Professional Writer
Thanks for faving my work. I appreciate it!
(1 Reply)
Bewitchedrune Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2014  Student General Artist
Thank you for adding my Mary Poppins cosplay! Hexentanz 
(1 Reply)
DatStrangeChild Featured By Owner Aug 31, 2014
Thank you so much for the points!
(1 Reply)
So, you're a good, I'd say at least 10 years older than I am, if I can go by those journals and my own age. What I'm seeing were written before I was even born. :nod:
(1 Reply)
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