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Welcome to the Club




    where writer's-alike come together to share ideas and spread their knowledge and love of literature!


Authors-Club welcomes writers and non-writers alike. We aim to support you as you strive to achieve excellence.

You are invited and encouraged to join our cause: supporting and promoting the community's literary growth and knowledge. We welcome a variety of literature, from prose to poetry, fan fiction to fantasy, mystery to romance.

Everyone is allowed to join, whether you write or read! There are no limitations and membership requests are automatically accepted! Plus, we'll give you a llama badge.



"The measure of who we are is what we do with what we have."
-- Vince Lombardi


Literarily Speaking is devoted to featuring a collection of well-deserving
deviants and their literary prowess on a monthly basis. We aim to
inspire fellow writers to never give up and aim for the stars and beyond.



Fifth Article Special Feature -- BATTLEFAIRIES


  Witherwing by BATTLEFAIRIES Mastar by BATTLEFAIRIES Herald of Twilight by BATTLEFAIRIES

I was able to catch up with a fellow writer, BATTLEFAIRIESto talk a little bit about the grueling writing process and how life (being a mother of two young boys) affects her work. She answered a variety of questions that has allowed us to get to know her and her artsy ways a little more. Without further adieu, Annemie Thijs...




"I'm a mother of two, dreaming of a job in the entertainment or creative sector but finding it hard to focus on one thing: my interests range from concept design, storyboard drawing, animation and illustration to writing and reading... all of which are hard to do when you have boys of three and four. When they are a little older, I'll throw myself at the job market in earnest. In the meantime, the kind people here at DA have proven to be a terrific audience, and I've gotten a chance at learning more and honing my skills significantly."

What inspired your deviantART username?


"When my good friend orogion suggested this community to me, I figured I should aim for a username that was memorable and humourous. 'BATTLEFAIRIES' is the result of coupling two words not often seen together, but which conjure a clear image. Now I am a ululating horde of pixies. I am the Swarm."

What does your writing process look like?


"Ideas, for me, come from conversations, movies, tv-series, books and the like, and stay in limbo until I have an incentive to apply them in a story. As soon as I set pen to paper, so to speak, new ideas arrive all by themselves. God knows where those come from."

"I generally use a single Openoffice file to get my first draft down – I jot down notes halfway, highlight things I feel I should change or check for consistency... It pays off to outline each chapter or sequence first for longer stories, but just as well I like to dive in and start from the first line of chapter one and keep at it until I hit a wall."

"Then, what I usually do is write from the final build-up onward, towards the climax and denouement. Filling in the middle is the hardest part, but by then I know exactly where I'm going and that makes it much easier. Small polish happens in the same file, re-writing sequences is something I like to save another iteration of the file for."

Do you favor a keyboard or pen and paper? Why?


"Keyboard. It makes correcting and sharing so much easier. I have an atrocious handwriting, too."

What are you working on now? What is your next project?


"I'm collaborating with Sushi-Troll on a Forgotten Realms project, which has its own group, The-Motley-MayhemJust a few more chapters of 'Darkness Over Beorunna's Well' and my first contribution is done – after that, it's a matter of making the follow-up story, 'A Game of Knights and Pawns' ready for reading. I'm very excited about that one, actually: lots of revelations and twists. People who know me better, or who have read 'Blood of Asterion' will confirm for you that I like those very, very much."

What is your biggest writing fear?                                                                 


"Attempting something but being grossly misunderstood. Potentially embarrassing, possibly devastating to the story I'm trying to tell, and worst case, maybe even making me look like some kind of perv. Which I still am, but I'm trying my very best to keep that from showing overly much in what I do. Got to keep things classy. Or classy-ish."

What advise do you have for aspiring authors? 


"Keep second-guessing yourself. Ask for help and take critiques with a smile. Learn to let things go, when it is time to say to your latest brainchild, 'you were to best I could do, but now I'm going to raise the bar a little more, apply all that I have learned since I wrote you and make something even better.'"

Chapter 1: Bad Publicity
Hulda liked being in this part of the temple – the High Priestess' apartments were a tasteful sanctuary of ornate grey oaken paneling and lush carpets from the corner of each separate room to the next.
Recently, some dolt had trodden these with dirty boots, she noticed as she placed her books on the round table in the little study that served as an antechamber to the salon. Doing so, she accidentally knocked the inkwell over, and a tin vase as she jumped to try to keep the stuff from dripping on the carpet by cupping it in her hand. Fussing and turning, she tried to mop up the ink with a wad of her robes, praying to Selûne it was oak apple gall and not real iron gall ink.
She never got the iron gall stain out of her previous robes...
-”Hulda!” the voice of the High Priestess came from the adjacent room. “Is that you?”
Hulda nearly knocked the inkwell over a second time.
-”Yes Lady Meldrys! I've brought the books you requested,” she
  Beloved (Murder Microfiction )The struggle lasted... not all that long, to my tastes, but my victim would've disagreed. Once again I find myself marveling at what even a severely dissected body is still capable of, fueled by the desire to live, to escape.
I clean up, and admire my handiwork some more. How weak-willed am I? Very, I conclude when I ravage the body further with my teeth, gnawing, swallowing. Even though I already ate. We all have urges, and I never denied I had my own.
I gather up what's left, go to the house of my beloved. I let myself in through the bedroom window – insect screens never stopped me before. Carefully, I arrange my present onto her side of the bed. Already I can hear her, at the bottom of the stairs. The sound of my name, spoken by her, is my personal Heaven.
-”Mittens? Is that you?”
  BLOOD OF ASTERION: intro
Names are important.
There's a truth hidden in a name, and the adept can uncover this clue to the true nature of things. This was known to the young traveller, who now traded the right side of the mountain path for the left, where she thought the wind and the flying snow to be less intense. It had seemed an attractive route on the map, but the name of this Flensing Pass had been a forewarning to this night's hardship: its high altitude and north-western trajectory, straight as the blade of a knife, gave wind, snow, sleet and ice free reign. The orcs of the region believed that the Pass was where the god Bahgtru had accidentally dropped the axehead he had been forging, and the bare, steep rock-face on both sides certainly endorsed this impression, more so because this night, each crack and furrow had been clogged and glazed over by the flying ice and snow.
The young traveller knew she would not be running into any orcs tonight: her destination was already too close-by for that, and even


Grammar Briefing - What You Need to Know


What would we be without grammar? Knowing your stuff
really helps to boost your confidence. A tip a day will keep the Grammar
Police at bay. We aim to provide a few lessons to enable great minds to be even greater.



Featured Literature of January


i'd be surprised if our palms didn't matchmirror, you kept me prim
and settled. steadied my lust-drunk grips
and kisses thin. ready when my resolve
met dirt teeth-first, nettled
by dust-stung missives and steeped words.
mirror, my little shards
are growing perfect, slowly glowing in your brittle
surface. i let your dark lurches
riddle me in stark-lit surges
of arc-lift love, quite gorgeous.
mirror, i am your
sun-slept, hunt-leapt, unrelentingly
love-swept, and unrepentantly
rust-kept and wondered friend.
and i wonder
how far
your touch
extends.
  dreams from the strawberry cityI woke up with the word prozac on my lips.
aaaand i dreamt of london
                              again and the
city was swollen and the lights were red, traffic
clutter and cinnabar bus shelter red
i
         thought i heard a train
                                     smashing but it was only
                                                 newspapers soaking up
the nocturnal tempo of some underground night club
some state of the art sound system, oh so modern oh so
                                let's pretend
to be an orchestra, hang cables from plastic pronounces,
     
  If Wishing WorkedIf wishing worked we'd be at sea,
Sailing away, just you and me,
We would sail to exotic lands,
Lay upon the golden sands.
If wishing worked we'd have tea,
As well as moments of ecstasy,
We'd laugh so hard our sides would ache,
Followed by deep prayers of thanks.
If wishing worked I would stay,
At your side both night and day,
I would stay deep in your heart,
Even when we're far apart.
If wishing worked we would be,
More than just a fantasy,
My dream of us that has long lurked,
Would come true if wishing worked.


the skies were never kind         and this is how we are taught to lick clean our bones
i.   at two and twelve we lie
    beneath the stars that contain the stench of our story
    a million years of death risen up to the heavens
    and celestial guards that snicker and grin
    never interfering
    watching our self-destruction annihilate
    their greatest only failure
ii.  when the sun's glowing sphere at last
    blots out the stars
    we are still l(a)ying
    withering away in the radiation
    till only our shadows remain
         (and then some, the sun likes to be overly thorough)
iii. later
    after our anticlimatic demise
    the moon rises and swallows the sun
    plunging the walking disaster that is us
    into unending uncharted darkness
    until the night's gu
  Lost Dream of Flying FlowersThere are bitter skies
Lingering over my eyes
I press my hands closer over my heart
But I’m not all that desperate to stop the bleeding
I’ll keep my hands there
And I’ll keep my eyes on the sky
As I keep moving on.
  heroShe needed a hero
  And found herself alone
       She was faced with too much
                          Then
   She became her own.


musingswhat can i give you
other than a heart
that feels
like it's no longer mine
or a mind
that never stops
running
away
  An Autumn StarDark morning, monitor bright;
drowsy from drugs, weak and weary,
three a.m. sits uneasy with me.
Silently, thoughtfully,
I count pictures of you I'm not a part of,
chill of the moon falling on my shoulders.
It takes less time than expected.
You were so beautiful,
aloof and shining like a golden sun;
I cringe with each new revelation,
reaching out to touch your face through the screen.
Heat rises in me, apart from the cool of the night --
even with the mountain air on my breath,
your smile still does things to me I can't explain.
Maybe it's the medicine talking,
maybe it's the lateness of the hour,
or maybe it's just my imagination,
but I know things haven't changed for me at all.
You're still an autumn star I can't quite place,
just when I thought I had all the lights named.
Goodnight, I whisper, and close my eyes softly.
  Ocean BornThe gentle part of my soul
Desires so much to be one with
The wonders of the ocean.
I'll strip down naked, uncaring
Of whoever might see me this way;
Why hide the curves of my body?
I'm a child of water and my heart
Belongs amongst the sea shells
While dolphins make playful companions.


The Writer Question Corner


[When it comes to writing, do you prefer a pen and paper or keyboard?] Sign Emoji-05 (Ok or money) 


Winter wonderland by Azul-din Winter Evenings by Fotobasa
Nymphenburger Schloss, in white by alierturk Winter by SeGnagflow
Winter Morning by Aenea-Jones Fairytale Fox by thrumyeye

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Each trustee has been carefully selected among a large pool of applicants and are the most devout and hardworking of deviants.

When time allots and we require a new member to join our ranks, we will post a journal with the details. Until then, we are not seeking any new admins.

Leader





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:bulletblack: Have a question? Look no further, read the Authors-Club Frequently Asked Questions.

:bulletred: Before you submit into our gallery, read the Submission Rules & Regulations to be properly informed.

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Please, check out our Chatbox rules & Meeting times! <3

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Literature News

Suggesting Literature DDs and DLDs


Lit Community Volunteers:
GrimFace242, IrrevocableFate, ShadowedAcolyte

Suggest a Daily Deviation!

Suggest a Daily Lit Deviation!

The Literature Community



Offering a helping hand:
How to get more views on your Literature
Lit Critique Tips | Crit Ticks for the Critics
Literature Dealbreakers
Prose Basics
Story Planning: Utter Foolishness
Tips for Young Writers

Places of interest:
Literature Forum
Monthly Lit Critique Thread: January
Authors-Club Chatroom (#authorsroom)

Week of Daily Deviations:
Internet FriendsInternet friends are fake, unreal, untrustworthy.
Parents say , “Don't give your information
to someone who may do something dirty!
They're liars, evil and rapist in waiting.
Their compliments and gifts
are just another form of baiting.”
I'd like to think that we judge without
getting to know,
what happens on the other side of the mouse.
Internet friends are there when we're alone,
till 2 a.m on weeknights,
chatting with us until the pain is gone.
They're always there to confide,
when we're sometimes
on the verge of suicide.
Pulling us through our depression,
begging us not to relapse,
not to succumb to our regressions.
“Get help, not attention,” they'll tap in chat,
as a response of a picture,
that'll show our wrists all hatched.
Sometimes it's the little things they do for us,
like sending “You're amazing” “You're beautiful”,
“You're so full of love.”
They encourage us at times when our “friends” don't,
when our
85Five children, seventeen grandchildren. Still alone.
I Once Dreamed...I once dreamed that I had you here beside me, in my arms. I could feel your warmth against my skin and I could smell your wonderful scent. It reminded me of spring time, right after the rain.
But better than your warmth and better than your scent, was the amount of happiness it brought me to have you here, embracing you. You and you alone, had the ability to chase the loneliness away. It was a wonderful feeling and a feeling that disappears within an instant as I realize that you’re not real. You’re only a figment of my imagination. There is only coldness beside me and only my own scent that envelops me.
Yet, despite knowing this, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming of you. I don’t know who you are but in my dreams, you exist. Perhaps you are real, perhaps you are not but sometimes, I like to pretend that my unknown lover is real. I love to tell myself that you and I are meant to be, that we have known each other in previous lives and that our love was so strong, t
i would do anything to get you to love yourselfi know your type, i’ve seen them around here
before, browsing through my poems like
you’re flipping through vinyl records, trying to find
that one disc you were listening to the first time
he leaned over and kissed you.
the only way you’ll ever be able to love yourself
is if he leans over and kisses you again, is if someone
tells you about the seven wonders of your soul, if
someone sits down and writes a list of all your beautiful
fault lines that you’ve never been able to forgive.
you want to love yourself and you want to be loved,
but i know it’s hard to believe that you’re holy,
when your hands still shake when they touch food and
your breath always quickens when you drive
over bridges and no one can look you in the eye
when you ask them if you’re beautiful.
look, you’re stardust, you’re snowflakes, you’re
the sky’s gift to us, you’re comets on a cloudy night
when no one looks up to appreciate how beautifully
yo

BabydollPropping my daughter against the towel on my shoulder, I rhythmically pat her back. Nevaeh's just had her second bottle of the day, and try as I might, I still can't get her to burp. Today is no different, and in the end I give up, wipe her small round mouth, and pop her in the bouncer for a while. It's the electric kind, with a soft lullaby and swinging motion, so I know she'll be entertained while I get on with the mountain of washing that needs to be folded.
You wouldn't think just two people could make so much washing, but ever since her dad had left me, it seemed like the washing pile had grown larger instead of smaller. Despite the lullaby, I make conversation with her as I fold - it seems to me that it's the best way to develop her speech, for her to hear it. She's such a good, quiet baby, I often wonder how long until she starts making more noise.
By the time I've reduced "mount fold-me" to a mere foothill, she's asleep, so I leave her in the bouncer and dash out to check the m
For Science, You monster“Doctor, they are approaching. You need to evacuate. The population in the city is down to 10%. My statistics show that at least 40% have been infected and the rest have either died or fled.”
The high pitched, automated voice echoed among the alarms and sirens that went off through the compound. The screens that lined the wall conveyed an emergency broadcast and lights flickered in ominous hues of red. However, the woman in the lab coat remained in the same focused pose as she worked on some numbers and formulas.
“Doctor McKay, they are on the second floor. Please head to the nearest exit. This situation has a 0% chance of survival.”
“For the love of god, just shut up.”
“God is an entity whose presence is questionable doctor. I can’t have a feeling about it without interacting first.”
“Shut up Glyph,” Dr. McKay groaned between clenched teeth as she scrapped the line she wrote moments prior. “Stop the alarms. I can&

Evidence Against MeToday, I know
how a knife slides from the counter
into a hand,
a flash only;
slips between a man’s ribs
or through thick muscles in his chest
I force my hand to my side,
breathe deep, slice
a beefy red tomato
My heart slows;
the air in the room grows still
on begging to be yourselfI don't want to die. I've never wanted to die, not even when I curled into an apostrophe and muttered the half-wish to the walls of my flesh.
All I've ever wanted is a word. I want a word for the ache between my xylophone ribs that doesn't make my loved ones shudder with misinterpretation and distrust of my volatile heart; I want a word to encompass the missing parts that I cannot remember the names of; I want a word that will explain to people that it's okay that I'm not whole, because not-whole doesn't always equate to being broken.
I can tell you that my heart aches the way a blade of grass bends in a summer storm, my skin feels like drying watercolours on pavement and I can feel the highway of my veins inside my flesh, but I can't tell you that I have the word I need. I don't have it, but my knees are puckered from prayer that someone out there does and that one day they'll press poetry into my ears and share it with me like a secret.
I don't want to die. All I want is to be allowe

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Please, send a note to our group expressing the reason that you are interesting in affiliating with us and we will get back to you promptly.


:iconunseen-writers::iconwriting-to-save::iconliteratureanonymous::iconwritersink:

Deviants

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconaleheatherstalkrgirl:
AleHeatherStalkrGirl Featured By Owner Jan 10, 2015  New member Student Writer
How to join? I can't find a join button (this is on my tablet and I'm using Google Chrome)
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconhlwar:
hlwar Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you so much for featuring Bring Him Home! I'm honored! :la: :heart: 
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconssensory:
ssensory Featured By Owner Dec 21, 2014   Writer
Thank you so much for featuring my poem on the front page of your group. I realized on your profile you mentioned DLD (Daily Lit. Deviations)—that group is no longer active, and has disbanded. Thankfully, there's another group called DLR (Daily Lit. Recognition) that is DLD's successor. 
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconrenachan97:
Renachan97 Featured By Owner Dec 1, 2014  New member Student Artist
Uh oh, seems like I'm submitted something to the wrong folder o -o
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconrenachan97:
Renachan97 Featured By Owner Dec 1, 2014  New member Student Artist
Oh, thanks for accepting me >w<)/
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(1 Reply)
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