63 Recent Deviations
Featured: Angels Never Die
Late Night TV Programming DillemaNo one would flinch if I jumped off this cliff
I heard that's how Rob died in the first act.
I couldn't get a job at BestBuy,
instead I'll write his suicide note for loose change.
Nietzsche got replaced with iPad app games.
But I rather not picture how I'll pass.
That's why I worship Squidbillies reruns
(whatever else will kill off my brain cells?).
The outside world is ours for the taking,
to chant overused rhetoric -- daily
routine for the clan of zombified fools.
Take me away from your graveyard, so I
could hide myself in bubbles made of silk,
and wait for a dead man's fatal phone call.
His World is Shaking No matter which way the boy looked, the expanse of desert was endless in all directions. The hot, hot sun shone so brightly in the white sky and the sand beneath glowed such a radiant beige that it hurt his eyes no matter which way he looked.
There was no wind in the everlasting wasteland. The air was silent and still, so very hot and dry. It stuck in his parched throat, choking him with every breath.
He walked for miles, across vast flatness and sloping dunes, but everything looked the same. In front of him was clear and still; behind was marred only by his single trail of footprints whose beginning was long past. Nothing else gave way to the emptiness. No marker, no monument, no indication of any kind that he had actually moved at all. Had he walked all of those footprints, or had they been there all along?
The boy looked about, d
THE WOMAN WHO MADE METHE WOMAN WHO MADE ME
The woman who made me never looks at me when she speaks. Her eyes tend to wander as words spill out of her mouth as if she was about to puke. Last week, she tried to calling my other half of me a chink but all that came out was gibberish. I couldn’t even get angry, even when I woke up with a swollen forehead the next morning.
I never knew the man whose sperm is my foundation. The woman who made me used to tell me he died after overdosing on pink toes and that I would face the same future. Come to find out, he lived across the country, out west. I hear he died from cancer sometime last year.
Today is Ciara’s birthday, my girlfriend. I’m in a bus on my way to her place. The bus driver is smoking a joint. I look around, confused, apparently nobody cares.
She’s waiting for me when I arrive. Her blonde hair matches t
TestamentWhen the sun begins to set...
For all I am
And all I’m not
The words unsaid
And times forgot
For all my life
My younger days
And how I’ve changed
...And the light begins to fade...
For times I laughed
And times I cried
The storms I caused
Held back the tide
For all my sins
And broken dreams
...I hope that I can die at peace...
For all my smiles
And all my tears
Throughout my life
Through all my years
For all I’ve done
And all I’ve said
For what I miss
And I regret
...With every choice I made
Colin Flash The Power Within 2Chapter Two
The Lightning Bolt
The two friends arrived at their mediocre school just after 8:00. St Luke's Secondary School was a complex of low, concrete buildings that seemed to throw the grey day into sharp, miserable relief. Even the birds seemed to avoid it. Colin spotted two seagulls perched on a tree away from it, and he could almost hear them, cautiously whispering to one another, warning themselves not to get to close.
The kids there were horrendous, most of them came from a rough background and the older kids spent most of the time sneaking out of school, smoking during lessons, and generally looking nasty. Colin and Rachael avoided them as much as possible as they made their separate ways, into their tutor groups, where Colin usually sat at the back, reading or drawing mostly. He felt great when he was drawing, isolated from the rest of the Year 8s, in his own separate world. He wasn't half bad at it, either.
The rest of the day past drearily. A typical Monday for Colin cons
Colin Flash The Power Within 3Chapter Three
"I get it," said Colin, not believing a word of what Rachael had told him. "I'm going mad!"
He grinned manically, starting to laugh.
"All right, then! Where's Batman to ship me off to Arkham Asylum? Where's the loony bin?"
He collapsed on the spot, his whole body seemed to deflate.
"I mean," he began. "A wormhole? Come on!"
Rachael looked deadly serious and folded her arms.
Colin tried again.
"But... but it's impossible! How the hell do you "open"," he outlined the word "open" with "hand speech marks". "... a wormhole? It's impossible! Even if you did, wouldn't it... like... suck up the planet?"
"You're getting two things wrong. Number one: it's a black hole that would suck up the planet and Number two: it is very possible to open a wormhole."
"Well, fine then!" he said, almost patronising Rachael. A wormhole, he had never heard something so stupid. He removed his bag, placed it on the damp floor, and sat on it. "You open up a wormhole, and I'll sit here, in
Colin Flash The Power Within 4Chapter Four
When Colin landed the world was upside down. The wormhole spat him out with great force, disregarding him as a whisper passing though the emptiness within.
He thudded heavily down to the ground and passed out instantly. He thudded heavily into a world with silver grass and golden leaves. He truly was going mad
When he awoke he was wet. Dripping, soaking wet. And intensely cold. Rachael was standing over him with another peculiar device. It was black again, flask-shaped, and with blue lights dotted around it. The inside was damp, so Colin presumed that that was where the water had come from.
Suddenly his body, which, up until then, was still in a slurred state, registered the cold, and Colin leapt to his feet.
"What was that for?" he yelled, wiping the water from himself. He looked around him. The grass was silver, and the leaves, gold. Guess he didn't imagine that.
They were in the middle of a large clearing, surrounded by impossibly tall trees tha
The van Helsing Legacy: We Shall Not Sleep - 1
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
-Lieutenant Colonel John McRae
3 May, 1915
One year earlier
Sir Hannibal eyed the boy on the table. Young man, he corrected himself. Peacefully etherised, the patient seemed younger than he really was. His hair had grown longer during his confinement, and it curled in obsidian-dark spirals behind his head, like van Gogh’s brushstrokes. Its darkness emphasized his unearthly pallor. He had been pale before, but it had been every bit of six mon
[Ch 12] Talent =/= Gift
Jack missed his bathroom back home. It was private, for one; his parents shared the master bathroom on his house’s lower level, leaving the upstairs just for him. There was certainly no sharing it with hundreds of strangers. His bathroom was also right next to his room, meaning it was a quick trip there and back, not like the trek down the hall to the public restroom on the Lion House’s third floor.
‘I’ll never take it for granted again,’ he thought as he trudged groggily along the corridor.
It was after midnight. The moon was shining huge and brightly through the large window at the end of the commons area. Jack had just been drifting off to sleep, having finally been granted silence from the incessant clattering of his roommate’s keyboard, when nature had called. It was irritating, to say the least.
Day-DreAm - Intro1Another day at school. The same old mind-numbing life. A life full of nothing but disappointment. I’ve never thought living would be so dull and sad. Nothing dangerous or exciting happens like the TV shows I watch or even like in anime. A world of endangerment.
“Hey, Mai are you there?” a voice called out.
“Hmmn?” I was spacing out once more. “Did you say something? I wasn’t paying attention again…sorry.”
“Ah geez, I said did you hear about the assembly we’re having today?”
In the admits of my day dreaming I completely forgotten that reality is harsh and there is no such things as super powers or ninjas or evil demons in my world. Only in a faraway dream did such a place exist like that. People usually don
A Wolf at War: Chapter 18A Wolf at War
Chapter 18: Embers
“So you finally made it back to Warsaw, we've come full circle huh?” Andrea opened her mouth then closed it, seemingly wanting to say something further, but then thought better of it. After a few seconds she hesitantly asked.
“So those scaars I saw on your back...” I nodded my head slowly, though it had been decades since those terrible days at Colditz, the scars etched in silver would stay with me for life.
“Yes, while I have gained quite a few more over the years, most of them are from my time at Colditz Castle.” I replied calmly, but I couldn't hide the twitch that came just above my right eyebrow. Even after all these decades just thinking of those horrible months spent at Colditz made my skin crawl, years after the war nightmares still had me waking up in cold sweats but thankfully they grew less and less frequent as time went by. Andrea gave me a sympathetic look but realized it was a su
Fall To Pieces AgainUp on that shelf, where I've always been, that's where I long to remain.
In the silence; amongst the others that you have left behind, that was the place I was made to belong.
Covered in dust; face forever stained with tears, I am ruined, but that was what I was built for.
Alone inside my mind, eternally abandoned, this is what I was promised.
Please don't lie to me; please don't break our pact.
I don't want to crumble; to drop to your feet.
I don't want to fall to pieces.
I don't ever want to break again.
Unique as a SnowflakeWhy should we care what other people think?
We are who we are.
Normal is overrated.
In this world where we are are devided why must we be socially correct to fit in?
Gays and lesbians are people who love each other as much as people that are straight.
Why should they be torn apart, because of how others are?
Women were once thought to be stupid and unable to do things themselves.
It was socially unacceptable for a woman to work.
Today that has changed.
At one time blacks had no rights.
It was socially unacceptable for colors to mix.
Today that has changed.
Let us change things for the future.
Let there be a better tomorrow.
Afterall how long does this world really have?
Take it from someone who once wanted to fit in, it's not worth it to change yourself.
I was never given the chance to fit in and I'm glad I never did, I refuse to be like them.
People around me showed me what i'd have to do and what would happen if I fit in.
I'd be a hore who did drugs and probably would've died if i fi
When I was seven, I tried to commit suicide. Everything was dark, except the floor, a long way beneath me. My feet dragged me towards the edge of the building. All that I knew was that it was windy, and getting windier by the second, my neck was quite itchy, and I was about to die.
"Ring a ring a rosies,
A pocket full of posies,
We all fall down!"
I was never really a child. I had a childhood, and I looked like a child, but inside I was more like a machine. I did what I was told to do: I functioned.
"Survival is an instinct built into every animal on this planet: See prey, chase prey, pounce. Dinner. A cheetah would not misuse its speed. A leopard would never let its spots run away. Nature carries onwards. Life carries onwards. Things go the way that they should, and always will do. In the end, everything functions. Now just you remember that, son."
Black hair, brown eyes, thin face and no smile - The only things that anyone from my primary school ca
AliveSolitude of silence
Icy sting of cold
Comfort of the darkness
Joy of being alone
Hiding from society
Normality has left me
Being what I am
This is my existence
This is my life
Can't understand it
Don't even try
Does it really matter?There was a girl on a bench by the pond in the park
The sun was setting, it was fast becoming dark.
Her head bent low as she stared at the ground,
It was then that I noticed the tears all around.
I was sat on a rock fishing rod in my hand,
At peace with the world as time seemed to stand.
Her shadow grew longer as time ticked by,
Reflected in the tears was the moon in the sky.
A stroll round the pond found me sitting by her side,
we sat in silence and I listened while she cried.
She put her head upon my chest, I put my arm around her shoulder.
We stayed like that until we grew a long night older.
The moon gave way to the morning sky,
She got up to go with a heavy sigh,
She turned, looked and left with the tear still in her eye,
No words were ever spoken and I never asked her why .
Dream Lovers?A girl in the corner says why are you looking at me?
I don't reply so she said, what can you see?
I gaze off to the distance to a time long ago,
Something I should remember, but I don't really know.
The tear on my cheek is significant it seems,
As I search through my memory for unfinished dreams.
A girl with my heart appears to be running away,
I open my mouth but there is nothing to say.
I walk through the door to the chill of the night,
And I am stood all alone with just the moon and starlight.
Deep in my mind I remember a time,
When I used to paint pictures and scribble a rhyme.
I stroll for a distance and sit alone in the park,
Staring off again to the distance just sat in the dark.
Silhouettes of two lovers as they pass by the trees,
Am I watching myself or am I confused by the breeze?
It looks like it's me, with a girl on my arm,
My hearts beating faster but I try to stay calm.
Her head on my shoulder they sit on the ground,
Confused as I am because I can hear every sound.
Purpose in It All - PoemWhat am I lacking? What don't I have?
It feels insufficient to stay as I am
Like a book lying empty with pages yet to be filled
Or a wrist watch with plenty of time left to kill
The first steps of many on this journey of life
I'm still a bit wobbly but it'll all be alright
I know with each challenge I manage to overcome
I'll grow to be better than the person I was once
So although I may stumble, although I may fall
When I get up and look back, I'll see the purpose in it all
Adversity is the fire that refines what is true
For what is made pure... has all the more value
The Three Gardens - Short StoryOnce there was a lovely green meadow, and it lay beneath a beautiful summer sky. Wildflowers grew in abundance, and speckled the countryside with many wonderful colors. Here, not too far apart from one another, were three cottages - each with their own lovely fenced in garden, all of which were upkept by the corresponding cottage resident.
The people who lived in these cottages were three retired elderly gentleman; Albert, Bill, and Wilbur. The men loved it in the meadow very much, and took great pleasure in tending to their own unique gardens. One day however, a fourth, somewhat unhappy man, came to rent a cabin in a nearby forest on vacation, and every day he would pass through the meadow and by the other gentlemen's cottages on his afternoon walk - just around the time that they were tending to their gardens.
Now, if there was one thing the unhappy man despised, it was to see anything being done wrong, and it was on his very first walk that he was passing outside of Albert's fence a
Given To FitGiven To Fit
The longest point in freshest air to the single wait before a pace to be taken while standing, known to the quietest part of community before the “Tell” comes to take its place as the amplitude of single nothingness in contrast to deplorability remains’ to this day a ghastly distance to be laid out before the stray and opened life filled eyes and verse; thinly to veil substitution of constraint before the settling of quaint and open experience and expression denounced of void glimmers that would honor the lace and frame that tie glass and pane together, merely out of a quest and pursuit that a seed shiver’s it’s righteous cause and pretensive line of mortality gainly and eternally driven into invisibility as a shield that damn’s all weapons to dim and unexpected lair’s often harbor to the storms unbound to trace filament intuitive predernaturality , done in a crick and spoken click, jaw moving and tooth removed if but stunned
Creative Hell-FireThe ring stayed on the finger. This stained, two parties of America (U.S.A.), of the United State’s with varying degree’s of publicly & Democratic & Republican, Independent movement was then stuck in allowances.
To say “In God We Trust,” was as honest as the true pain that Mother Nature’s pig, could possible Hecate & de-marvel a moth & web speaking lunatic’s bleak & stark incline of grey into a bit of narrowness of a strand of spider flung from the rim of the Moon.
As always it is a good & grand desire that moves the cosmos & the Universe, when shallow water’s rise unbidden, & curdle that grim, damsel trimmed crust of an eternally dormant, domination of utter, intolerably ridden heart & deceased particle of a deserted Hell’s kitchen.
Perhaps those in America in bed with their bank account’s; down to the last cinder of a living bone, here & never to receive any providence outside of the belief that a Heaven sent saint, in the flesh s
The Landlady and the Poet
THE GREAT MOUSE DETECTIVE: THE LANDLADY AND THE POET
SPECIAL COLLECTOR'S EDITION
Written by Diane N. Tran
To the attentive yet long-suffering landladies of Baker Street, you are not forgotten in my books.
It was a bitterly frozen December evening, and the snow from the many days still collected deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the winter moon. Down the centre of Baker Street, it had been ploughed into brown crumbly bands by traffic; but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of the footpaths, it still lay as white as when it fell. The grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so there were fewer passengers than usual.
It began to snow again as the landlady of Lower 221B closed the scarlet curtains over the ice-panned window. She blew into her hands for some warmth after touching the frigid glass and rubbed her arms, heading for the fireplace. The woman toiled
TGMD: Professions and Confessions - Fan Fiction 1Basil of Baker Street paced the living room floor restlessly. It had been six days, thirteen hours, and thirty-five minutes since his last case, and he was feeling just a little—
"Positively, undeniably, and excruciatingly bored!" Basil grumped aloud, startling his good friend Dr. Dawson, who had been quietly reading the morning paper in one of the two armchairs by the fireplace.
"It's absurd!" Basil continued, unhappily. "It's completely and utterly unbearable, that's what is!" He trudged his way up to the fireplace. "All of London surrounds me, and yet not one, not one potential client has so much as sent an inquiry for my services! Dawson, if I don't have something to occupy my mind soon, I shall go mad!"
Basil erected a fist into the air for emphasis. "Mad I tell you!"
The retired army surgeon lowered his newspaper and glanced over the rims of his reading glasses at his younger, far more dramatically inclined friend, and smiled warmly.
"Oh Basil, come come now,"
TGMD: Dawson's Perspective - Fan Fiction 2He had tried to grab my left sleeve to prevent me, but Basil had been just a few seconds too slow. In all our time as friends, I have found that it is only in circumstances such as these that his otherwise steel trap of a mind becomes a bit muddled. I took my coat and hat in hand and turned to face him, briefly, only to see that he was looking back at me with a look of such helplessness in his eyes, that the sympathetic look I gave him in return was quite involuntarily displayed. Had I been leaving him with a gang of murderous thugs, instead of the genteel lady sitting in the seat across from him, I doubt the look on his face could've been any more desperate.
But what would he have had me do? She had requested to see Basil. Alone. On a matter of obvious, unofficial importance. No doubt he knew as well as I what it was, perhaps even better than I, and as much as he wished me to stay; I simply couldn't refuse the lady's request. I turned and exited the flat, closing the door behind me to
...of Magic (from Hearts Woven), explained
The four primordial elements and the symbols which represent them: light (the all-seeing eye); dark matter (darkness and secrets waiting to be unlocked); the force of gravity (distortion caused by an object in space); and the dominion of time (a humanoid and beneath it a skull).
"από φως, ζωή... από σκοτάδι, ειρήνη" (from the light comes life, and from the darkness peace)
You. That's right, you. Take a good look around you and tell me what you see. If your world is anything like mine, you must be starring at a whole lot of biology right now. For example you could be bumming around in town with family, friends and strangers; or you may be hiding in your special place among trees, birds and beasts.
Yes, yes - I know what you're thinking. "What a
Priorities in a StoryI have noticed certain priorities that beginners have when they tell stories, vs. priorities that professional authors seem to have when they tell theirs.
It's interesting that beginners tend to focus on certain things that more experienced authors seem to grow out of, and it makes me wonder why.
I've decided to make a list about some of these things. Not for the sake of putting them down, so much as because it is interesting to me, and probably worth considering.
I think we need to think about WHY we write certain things, and our attitude behind it. This is what makes certain topics either immature or mature.
However the line is often blurred.
"Mature" means anything sexual, violent or crass (or even just extremely emotional). There is no attention to how these things are handled, leaving us with a great amount of "mature" content that is the exact opposite of mature. Likewise, some very clever and ingenious books are marketed for "children," because they have none of these things, wh
We build complications...At times, there is an overwhelming desire within us to take a risk and take every chance we are given,
yet no one really knows why we still end up watching those chances fade and just keep on wondering what's real...
bound to drown into an unending nothingness.
Still others have that overpowering wish to protect and cherish someone,
but they still end up hurting that one special person...
suffering twice the pain that the person feels, or worse-eventually losing him/her.
It gets way too difficult when one cannot express what he/she truly feels and one has not been given any chance to understand what the other really means...
Every real thought, every intended action, those unspoken words and that one honest dream will just remain a mystery...and nothing more.
Too many complications...are our hearts designed to create such twisted and messed up pictures?
Yeah, everyone wants to be happy but not everyone knows how to grab that happiness...
So when that chance comes, grab it with both han
Dear JimDear Jim,
It is the eve of moving day, and as I cleared my shelves of your books I couldn’t help but be swept away by nostalgia.
It was 2002 that I first met you. I was scouring the shelves of an outlet bookstore for anything that might tickle my fancy when I happened upon Fool Moon. While the bloody paw print and broken window of that original cover enticed me, I confess the back cover was less than inspiring. Still, I bought it along with others I now no longer remember using my meager high school funds. As my mom drove us home, more than an hour away, I devoured that book. Even upon our arrival I didn’t set it down, making straight for the couch. I was more than a hundred pages in by the time I had to stop, and I finished the next day.
It was the beginning of a riotous love affair that changed my life.
I lauded the wonders of The Dresden Files and proudly called them my favorite books. I eagerly awaited every new installment, pilgrimaging to Ellensburg to g
A Writer's Guide: Naming CharactersWhen it comes to writing novels, names often get overlooked in the grand scheme of things. Most of us are happy if we can tell who is talking and we can remember the character’s names for the entirety of the book, but bad names can ruin a book. I don’t know about you, but when I get a hold of a book where the main character’s name is a comical 20-character tangle I can’t pronounce, it ruins the book for me. It’s hard to take a book, or a character, seriously when you want to roll your eyes every time you read the narrative.
In this article I’ve compiled a list of things to consider when naming a character for a novel, and though it’s pretty simple, I hope it serves to help someone in their future endeavors to name a character. Most of this is common sense, but it’s often easy to forget these little tidbits of wisdom when you’re busy trying to figure out if your character makes a better Ashley or a Paige.
Getting a S
Writer's Tip: All About POVPoint of View. It can change everything. In the most literal sense, POV is the decision of who is narrating your novel, and what they see. POV also refers to the individual viewpoint of your characters, and ultimately, your readers. So where do you start? Well, that’s why I’ve written this article. We will explore the three standard POV options available to every writer, their advantages, disadvantages, and how to choose which one is best for you. Let’s get started.
First Person POV
I stepped into the room on hesitant feet. Leander, the great Lion King of the river valley lay half-in-shadow at the back corner of the room, his tawny paws illuminated by a shaft of light filtering in through the high windows. His sable tail thumped once, twice, in the haze of dust motes, and my breath caught in my chest. I shouldn’t be here.
First person POV is denoted by the use of “I”, “My”, “Me”, “Mine
Writer's Tip: Writing Effective SentencesSentences—if the plot is the backbone of a story, then sentences are the muscles and tendons keeping it glued together. Unfortunately, writing solid sentences isn’t easy for everyone. As Human beings, we don’t speak the same way we write. Unless you do a lot of writing, you may have trouble putting together even the simplest of sentences. The last time you took a good look at a sentence and broke it down into its individual parts was probably around 3rd grade. Don’t worry—I’m here to help.
There’s More Than One Type of Sentence
There are (roughly) four different types of sentences, and we’re going to get into each of the different types (with examples!).
Simple Sentences – This is a sentence in its truest form. A simple sentence is the statement of a single idea in a direct, clear way. Most simple sentences contain less than 20 words, but it is best if you keep your word count aver
Reading as a WriterHave you ever set down a book for good because you found something in it you don’t like? If you want to write, I suggest that bad habit end now.
Why, you ask? Because everything you read—and I mean everything–has positive value for you as a writer. Stephen King, and any author worth his or her salt, is a huge advocate of writers reading massive amounts.
Again you ask, why? How can everything be useful? There are a number of reasons and I’ll cover as many as I can.
Reading bad literature teaches you about yourself and shows you what to avoid—or at least how not to do something—in your own work. If you run across something that you don’t like, stop and ask yourself why you don’t like it. Is it just a personal preference? Was it out of place or poorly executed? Does it contradict something from earlier? As soon as you figure out the “why” of something’s badness, you learn a little about yourself and you
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This group’s for all kinds of writers, poets, lyricists, who want to get their pieces of work out there for everyone to see. Here at Half-Way-There, I literally mean, you’re half way there to getting your work the great recognition it deserves.
Here, our founder co-founders, and other deviants can help you and constructively critique you in the areas in which you may need the most improvement in. Don’t take it as something bad, because it isn’t. You may be making a mistake somewhere, and if you are then we’re here to help you figure it out. As of right now, since this is a fairly new group, the submissions are open and unlimited. This is, of course, UNTILL FURTHER NOTICE, so please as the number of watchers and contributors increases, keep an eye on the submission rules.
Our Founder, that’s me, would like to welcome you to our lovely group, but would also be very much obliged if you’d read some of our rules here and remember them. C’mon, it’s not that hard:
1). First: MOST IMPORTANT RULE! I catch you stealing, you’re out of the group for good and you get reported to the DeviantArt Administrators! Any co-founder caught stealing will be banned from the group, all their literature deleted from this gallery, and they will be reported. (Deletion of all work in Half-Way-There’s gallery of plagiarizing deviants also goes for members too). Don’t steal art, create it. There’s better joy in creating than plagiarizing.
2). Second most important rule, Kind, Constructive, Criticism: Please pay special attention to this one. If you’re going to give criticism, please make it constructive; not destructive. Here on Half-Way-There, we want our artists to feel like they have elbow room to improve instead of constant negative criticism being shoved up their –ahem- well you get the point... Some people are better than you at certain things, and then again, you’re better at other things than them. You may be great at writing, but your friend, not the overnight sensational hit of the century. When you’re constructively criticizing, try to NOT use negative words like: not, no, never, shouldn’t, e.tc. Instead look for better substitute words that can help the person you’re critiquing feel like they haven’t just been bashed down and shouldn’t try writing ever again. If you ever have any questions on constructive criticism, don’t be afraid to ask me or some of my co-founders. I’m sure they’d be glad to help.
3). Be Kind, Please: No racial, sexist, religious, intolerant fighting on here! I’m Roman Catholic and I get along with Atheists all the time! If someone wants to submit a piece on Muslim cultures, or a poem on Jesus Christ, that’s ok with me, and it should be with you, because we’re in America. Don’t like freedom of religion, go take that up with Congress; not me. Feel free to express your honest opinions on fellow deviants’ work, but if I, or any of my co-founders, run into any threats, foul language, insulation of one’s race, sex, or religion, then you (the perpetrator) will be BANNED from this group for good and REPORTED. Please, I’m just trying to create a clean, healthy environment for people to be able to improve on their literature and get noticed.
4). Mature Content: Please NO pornographic or extremely rated X Adult, Mature content on here. Simple or mild sex or erotic scenes in literature are acceptable here, but it’s probably not best to write about something you watched in a porno a week ago.
5). Swearing: Swearing IS acceptable on here, but please DO NOT write a whole page filled with the word fuck and submit it here. It will be deleted and you will be banned. Think of the usage of swear words as in dialect between two or more characters, gangs, couples, etc. you get the point. If it’s in your story to have someone swear once or twice, than that’s acceptable. If anyone has any issues (i.e. racial issues) with certain swear words that have been used in literature, they can take it up with me, the Founder, and I will see to the situation.
6). Please don’t fight with the co-founders. If there’s a problem, please message me immediately and I will see to it. Also please no back talking co-founders or your founder. We’re trying our best to make this work.
7). No breaking the rules. (see, ha, I knew you’d look for this one!)
8). Have fun and please don’t think I’m being mean with all these rules. I just want everyone to be able to enjoy this group, and benefit from it, as much as everyone else.
Other than that, please enjoy yourself on here and feel free to chat with us in our chat room --> chat.deviantart.com/chat/Offic…