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    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.
Editions | Feature An Artist | Meet A Writer

December Edition of...

Bullet; Green  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.

Bullet; Red  Every month we bask in the glory of a plethora of talented writers; we host engaging interviews, comprehensive features, meet 'n greets, and much more!

 Featured Literature of December 


To you with glass shard heart and paper skin               You will climb and mount his lips and taste every syllable of his words just to find a space where you could fit in; you will press your fingers onto symphonies of black and white cacophonous outrage just because your mind is a cosmic explosion and a catastrophic cyclop. You're a shipwreck that crushes yourself into graveyards and you cry yourself into a smudged mascara and glassy eyed mess just to hope for one day you'll justify your existence without hurting yourself anymore. And when your tornado eyes come gushing down in watershed tears at every nightfall, you will climb behind brick walls and tear stained diaries and cry and blame the world and demand an ocean of apologies.
               Even so, the world will only give you silence. I'm sorry the war had not ended for you. I'm sorry you had to cry in asphalt dust and gun fire smoke. I'm sorry you're suffocated in liquor fumes because n
  Precious BeautyPrecious items are one of a kind. People protect them with walls, and traps. But like anything one of a kind, you wish to show it so others can see the beauty in the way it dances in sun beams and sings with the waves. Like the greatness roar of giants to the sweet whispers of lovers, power in every pore. Sharing an item of such beauty opens it up to disaster, pain of fighting wars over disagreements like parents fighting right before a divorce.
So do you hide your heart behind the wall never to see divine beauty nor utter disaster, or take the risk, take the jump and let the chance of life be your dicey spirit of adventure.

Fragment #3To a Father,
please, don't bury her. she is afraid of the dark.
From a Mother.
  Safe havenby the time I was twenty,
i had flirted with Suicide -
felt Death’s cool breath wash over my face
His fingers splayed into the gaps within my spine.
i had swallowed Poison until
my mouth was full of acid
and retched it all back up,
stumbling blindly up an unending set of
spiralling concrete stairs.
Sounds i should never have heard
ruptured my ears and
Words had been forced to
sit in my mouth, foreign and alien
until they stretched themselves into
something normal, something that
belonged there;
my eyes had seen Things
they shouldn’t of and
His glances scratched along
places they should not.
Diseases pooled through my veins
and sang in my bones,
Depression hid itself within my shadow,
a constant companion on the hot
summer nights when
you no longer held me;
but i never smoked.
(My Lungs are the only safe haven left)

MordecaiMr Kettering, a stout stubble faced man of thirty, stood hand poised ready to knock. Before him loomed an ominous ebony door, polished and illuminated by the striking glare of a nearby lamppost, it's gaseous flame flickered nonchalant. A confetti of snow had begun to collect over Mr Kettering's lacklustre brown jacket. He shuffled his thick soled boots. The cold was nipping his cheeks in a petty manner as is the wont of a premature snowstorm. Mr Kettering raised his knuckles again. Hesitant he rapped a couple of times. Silence. The wind around him howled. Behind him a merry threesome swayed to and fro up a long pavement. Listening to them as they cajoled. He assumed that they were on a return trip home or were just navigating towards their next drinking hole.
After a time the ominous door creaked open. Mr Kettering stepped through. No one was there. No servant to greet him. No master of the house to inquire of his business. A simple straight forward hall. A cubby hole of a hall. Mr Ket
  It's okay to let go, daddy...Ninety years old.  It's too long for anyone to live.  In this throw-away world people of that age are often neglected, abused, forgotten.  But not my daddy.  
1958, Yankee stadium, New York City, U.S.A.  It was the largest convention of Jehovah's Witnesses ever held.  250,000 plus people from over 120 lands.  I was only ten years old, but I remember it like it was yesterday. What I remember most was sitting beside my dad for eight long days, watching him take notes, seeing the look of astonishment and joy on his face as he took in this historic event.  I don't recall much of what was said during the program, but what impressed me the most was how friendly everyone was.  Imagine what it must have been like to feed all those people.  The lines were incredible.  Still, no one complained.  It was like being in paradise for eight days.  On the way home we sang kingdom songs and snacked on leftovers from the convention.  I

Featured Contest of December


Once Upon a Time in a Town Called Apocalypse

Most of us [if not all] grew up believing that fairytales always ended in a "happily ever after"… But what if they didn’t? What if it all went horribly, terribly…even catastrophically wrong? What then?

Once Upon a Time in a Town Called ApocalypseUpdate: The contest folder is now OPEN!
Most of us [if not all] grew up believing that fairytales always ended in a "happily ever after"… But what if they didn’t? What if it all went horribly, terribly…even catastrophically wrong? What then?
Well, Dear Horde, this is where YOU come in…
We here at Apocalypse-writing  would like to introduce you to our latest apocalyptic contest.
Once Upon a Time in a Town Called Apocalypse
Contest Details
We want you to tell us a tale. A fairytale to be precise. About a town called "Apocalypse". A town at the end of the world. Where only the strongest of survivors reside.
:bulletgreen: Who would live in such a place? Are they friend or foe?
:bulletgreen: Are they kind-hearted? Or ruthless, cold-blooded killers?
:bulletgreen: What brought them there? Why do they stay?
:bulletgreen: By what means do the


The Writer Question Corner


Reading by ElementsOfPersuasion

[What gives you the most inspiration during the holidays?]Pixel Gingerbread Cookie  

*Visiting family inspires new characters, because you get ideas based off their personality!

Mid-Month Prompt


Is there anyone who enjoys Writer's Block? Spending hours mindlessly gazing into a computer monitor or on a blank piece of paper. Delve into this prompt to get your brain moving in your creative process - clear the cobwebs and grease the gears! 

Y o u have been ordered to kill someone you've fallen in love with. How did you get into this situation and w h a t will you do next?

Deadline: January 1st
Comment with your entry in this journal.

Picture This Prompt


Write an amazingly joyful story based on 
an image below.

Your challenge is as follows: 
I D A R E you to w r i t e a short prose or 
p o e m piece that was inspired by o n e of 
t h e images below. The TRUE challenge is, 
whether the picture is funny, s a d, scary, or 
otherwise, y o u must write a joyful s t o r y. 

All in all, place a happy twist on any picture. Joy  
Comment with your entry in this journal.
Deadline: January 1st

winter time by KariLiimatainen  yours winter by Anna1Anna
 lonely winter by Fepka christmas card by Wybrana
Tea Time by Jules1983 [50] In the times of dark by starg691  

Thank you kindly for joining me in this feature and if you enjoyed what you were able to view here today, please favorite or comment below - it will be much appreciated. Share the love - support your fellow artist. +fav

Little Pixel Heart  What I Am Asking Of You:
Want to feature a writer or a particular piece? Note @ amour-raven, Azzaneth, or jackofalltrades0097  with a link to the writer and/or piece and why.

Prompt challenges completed by the following deviants!

(100 :points: will be given to one lucky entrant, chosen at random!!)
More Journal Entries


Board of Trustees

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.


Information Center

What's all the hubbub about?

:bulletblack: We are looking for donations to renew our super group status; any amount is appreciated: Authors-Club-Fund

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

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

:bulletblack: Our chatroom, #authorsroom is currently [Open/Closed]
Please, check out our Chatbox rules & Meeting times! <3

:bulletblack: Want feedback on your work? Check this journal out!

Literature News

Suggesting Literature DDs and DLDs

Lit Community Volunteers:
GrimFace242,IrrevocableFate, ShadowedAcolyte

DLD Admins:
doodlerTM, DrippingWords, LadyofGaerdon, SilverInkblot, thetaoofchaos, and TwilightPoetess,

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: November
Authors-Club Chatroom (#authorsroom)

Recent Literature Daily Deviations:
Birth MarkedGrandpa used to tell stories
about the night I was born,
said a lost sparrow with cockeyed feathers
hopped across my right shoulder
and left its mark.
Shifting the sheaf of hair
mom refused to cut short
and craning my neck,
I could just see the cluster
of sharp-edged W's etched like tattoos 
across the scalloped scoop of my bones.
In summer heat waves,
I learned to weave my dark tangles into braids
and let the claw strokes breathe,
the thin straps of feather-print shirts
pushed out of the way.
On those days,
Grandpa claimed I could lift my arms, wing-like,
and fly myself into something new.
though the sun is high
and summer nears again,
Grandpa is gone
and I am weighted by dark moods
and black mascara.
Standing at his graveside,
I tell him stories about the parts of him I miss
and the parts of me I hate
but cannot change;
the parts I was born into.
A phantom breeze clutches
the fresh bob of my wayward hair
and for a moment,
I can feel his work-calloused fingers
between the pineswhen i ask who you are,
stray ghost,
do not tell me you are
mentally exhausted.
it shows through
death, anywhere—
the dismal cold
is muted by lustrously
sharp water
in folds of the moor,
is it applause?
a shudder curds
with sudden sleet,
low pulse
of winter.
how raw trees snap
into full body
apparitions is slow,
beyond motion
and heavy like
abandoned bodies.
this cold ranges
from mountain forests
to stranded hangings,
giving frailty when it can't
be refused.
between these pines i lie
you torpidly walk into me.

Address UnknownPremière
Dear Lover,
Your eyes as bright as the unpolluted sky
Your hair as dark as ink spilled on the page
Your skin as fair as a baby fresh out of the womb
Your laugh as musical as birds singing in the morning
Your imagination as vast as the oceans
Your smile as radiant as the morning sun to eyes that have never opened
But you are blind
And will never see what I see
Sincerely, Bello
Dear Cousin,
You hide behind a mask
Of patience and kindness
I see the animal inside
I want to break your mask
And show the world how plastic you are
I want to get under your skin and see all of your flaws
I want to find every tick, every frown, every tear
And splatter them all across the walls
For everyone to judge you
The way you judged everyone else
Sincerely, I See Right Through You
Dear Father,
Tainted by alcohol
Eyes that no longer hold light
Smiles that are more often faked than r
here, after deathi.   i wish everyone who peddles god
could watch my grandmother die.
i wish they could know the panic
branching like fire through my fingers
as i listened to her choke, half-asleep in her bed
on the other side of a dark room,
wondering if she’d still be there in the morning
or if i'd be able to say her name again
in anything but a whisper
ii.   i wish that
the stewards and
good news-tellers
could hear her cry
the morning she woke up thinking the cancer was gone
only to die all over again,
trying to stand on god, on the floor,
doing anything to keep from going under.
i wish i could have filmed it
and shown it to every pastor,
every asshole on facebook
letting their keyboard do the grieving,
i want to see
the violent upheaval of sorry.
i want to watch them watch her body shrink
like lost faith
deteriorating in thin sheets,
every starved bone
woven and unwoven by god
iii.   i want to see the bruised hands of jesus
and the blood on his fucking face
the day he r

A Victim of CircumstanceWhen one is with friends and is asked, “Do you know any stories?” one usually has a particular tale prepared for such an occasion. This tale can act as an icebreaker, lead to good conversation, or simply garner a satisfied “Can you believe it?” reaction. This is one of those stories:
Paul Edwards, a man nearing his fortieth year, was still a bachelor. He was a barrister, and quite brilliant at his job. Flawless, even. In his entire career, he had not lost a single case. Impressive, no? Unfortunately, his unblemished record was to be tainted on the twenty-second of September, ninety-seven. Paul did not appear at the trial, an omission previously unheard of by his family and friends, because on the twenty-second of September, nineteen ninety-seven, at eight forty-seven in the morning, Paul Edwards was hit by a train.
So how did Mr Edwards QC come to such a quick, but nevertheless tragic end? He was not pushed or shoved or thrown or tripped. Instead, Mr Edwards
MiseryMisery sits on top a crest
—it came riding this way
Waiting to come diving down
To whittle your heart into shape
Spread your arms, love
Let it fold in there nicely.
(Shut up shut up shut up.)

CathieSalt-and-pepper hair contrasts sharply with the crisp, starched pillow;
bone-thin arms resemble bed rails--
tears in my arms, the morphine drip in your vein.
My inner rage refutes your calm acceptance.
You ask if we are waiting for you to die:  no.
We are waiting for a miracle,
we are waiting for you to heal--
We are waiting for something that will not happen.
We are stretching for something that is out of reach.
We are holding onto our obsolete hopes, the small fragments of our lives
so closely, we cannot see the bigger picture
of eternity.
In a paradox, God is calling you clearly,
but we can't seem to hear His voice--
only the silence ringing in our ears
as the monitor stops
your breathing ceases
your face un-creases--
and, for the first time in years,
you run Home.
Hometown GloryHometown glory. I want a word for that ache in your knees after a ten hour shift. I want a word for listening to that one song over and over and over and over and over until it hurts your head, but you keep replaying and replaying. Soundtrack of my life. I want a word for that illumination. For that happiness that feels like how the sorrow felt. I never knew it was culminating in this: this realization that it was not all a dream. I had depression. I have depression, but it is culminating in something else now. Less a desire to die and more a lust for everything I once hated. I want a word for that hatred. For that hatred that feels like loving something too much, for needing someone so much that you want to strap explosives to your chest and blow yourself up suicide bomber style because you do not deserve them, not after all those nights and days and evenings and mornings thinking “I’ll just kill myself now” These rotten teeth are for all of you.
And I want a word fo


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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.




Add a Comment:
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
(1 Reply)
Renachan97 Featured By Owner Dec 1, 2014  New member Student Artist
Oh, thanks for accepting me >w<)/
(1 Reply)
Kelcobi Featured By Owner Nov 29, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Heart  Thank you for featuring my piece!
(2 Replies)
N0n4meFTW Featured By Owner Oct 7, 2014
Quick Question: Are non english submissions allowed ?
(1 Reply)
CherokeeGal1975 Featured By Owner Oct 1, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
I would like to post a link to my novel...…
I want to share it with everyone.
(1 Reply)
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