Hi! I'm looking for a person/people who might be willing to read my short story and give me some feedback, I'm a creative writing major and this story is to be sent out for publishing for my final in a week. I'm still fleshing it out and adding some transitional sentences but it's pretty much finished. Here's some info on it if you're interested.

( Read more... )

help with a short story? not sure if it's going anywhere... suggestions, comments, criticism would be very appreciated.

01. I first fell in love with a boy made of matches. The smoky sweetness entranced me, as did the risk. But one day, I got a little too close.

At first there was just a spark, but soon he erupted into flames, beautiful, radiant, ( Read more... )

writerverse
A team competitive writing challenge community
Profile | FAQ & Rules | Sign-up Post

( Read more... )

Today, the pen is in command

And I am the slave.

Move. It says, and I find myself

Filling in the canvas

With splattered ink

No thoughts attached.

  Critique_Circle, a Livejournal online writer’s group, is now accepting applications for membership.

What is Critique_Circle? Critique_Circle is a critique and resource sharing group for intermediate and advanced level fiction writers. Membership is by invitation or application only (although anyone can watch the public posts).

Why join? ( Read more... )

 A beautiful soul alone in the rain ( Read more... )

TO BE POURED ( Read more... )

hear and exchange ideas, possibly build upon some of the ones I've been working on as well.

Thanks in advance.

Name's Billy.

x-posted, also.

If this inappropriate, don't worry about it, just do what you need to do.

like all things

Time mocks me from the nightstand
red eyes glaring
while I cling to this warm body,
defiantly,
as a last breath
inhaling pretty ideals
that soon die
like roses on a kitchen table
with each drop of morning light.
The last breath
of a lover’s sigh
not yet broken
by dawn
by the ways of waking
to the absence of living.

This moment will vanish
enduring ( Read more... )

sometimes, somehow, on that deceptive border between reality and oblivion, life was unbearably beautiful. on those early saturday afternoons when jenny and i would clamber into my car, roll down the windows, and sail down hwy 61--sun illuminating our faces in an unforgivable pale yellow glow, wind wafting past our blinking eyelids--life became, for ( Read more... )