spring's casteA phoenix-colored bellflower surveys the composition of one glorious spring afternoon as only a flower can experience it. She is a Codonopsis clematidea, a wondrous little adolescent blossom swaying gently in the sweet-sung breeze. Just as her vine-sisters, she is a bursting orange sensation, identical in appearance. But even as the other petal ladies clump together on the high end of their vine, she is removed. Instead she dallies lower, angled towards the sparkling pit pond and its inhabitants. This nameless flower is thoroughly uninterested in her sisters' chirping gossip of blue jay and cardinal affairs, choosin
The Grammar GangstersBeware the grammar gangsters! The mafia of the literary underworld. They saunter into stanzas, Weapons concealed Under their trench coats Or in violin cases. They can make you talk, "With just a few well-placed speech marks," Leave you shouting! Where you should have whispered! And pulp your bold statements into quavering questions? They can, pepper, your, phrases with, commas, Or bring your piece to a dead. Full. Stop. They'll trap you (between brackets) As you - dash - to the exit. Then: punch a blunted colon Into the gut of y
The Genres of Crime WritingHard Boiled Some Historical Stuff: Personally, when I’m writing within a certain genre, I like to understand where it comes from. I understand if you do not have the same curiosity, but hopefully this is interesting anyway. The hardboiled style emerged post WW1 from pulp fiction –cheap and accessible prose, usually written anonymously and within formulaic conventions. It grafted the English Holmes characters to attributes previously conceptualised as criminal (violence, alienation, rejection of conventional ethos. Although it is to be noted, that hardboiled prot
Punctuating Poetry Part TwoShifting Gears The great thing about punctuation is that there is rarely one single, correct, perfect way to punctuate a poem. Given to a number of different poets, a poem could be punctuated and re-punctuated in as many different ways. So let's take a breather from so many rules and look at Leave the Door Open, by KrystalIce: Crash! =Thud= ~~Twang~~ *Shatter* +BOOM+ Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duht ^Pink^ , ^Pink^ , ^Pink^ , &Clatter& @Rollrollroll@ (Ri-i-i-i-i-i---ng) .STOP. “…
Punctuating Poetry Part OneSome people believe poetry shouldn't be punctuated and others are still taught to put a comma after every new line. So where is the balance? What does one - especially one new or growing in poetry - do? Well, that's simple: a poet must punctuate with purpose! In order to punctuate with purpose, however, a poet must understand two things: what she wants to achieve with the poem and what a piece of punctuation can achieve in a poem. This means a poet must understand more than the common rules of punctuation; she must know the effect that certain punctuation points can have on a reader or in a text. This overview tackle
Synchro-CityThey breathed in unison. All over the city, all over the planet, the bots were breathing together. They moved and walked and spoke as their individual programming dictated, but their breathing was synchronised, in and out with the constancy of a ticking clock. She was in her twenties when she first managed to make her own working robot and it breathed with inexorable regularity. In out. In out. In out. "Hello," it said. In out. "Are you my mother?" She laughed. "The female creator of my form," it insisted, "The instantiator of my existence. Are you my mother?" She had to concede that she was, although the term made he
Space-FarerShe cried from her high window sill Up in her tower room. Where is it love, you hide from me, Upon that barren moon? A vow, before you took your leave You would return, and soon But what has come of my cosmonaut High upon the moon? Far above, he directs his gaze to Earth Wishing, wasting on the dunes Haunted by the thought of his true love Somewhere beneath the moon My comrades rest beneath the sun To dust their bodies hewn And I languish for my lover fair Trapped on this desert moon My ship lies wrecked on Rümker&#
Remembering HazelI remember Hazel really well. Sometimes my memories are so clear that I can almost feel her sitting next to me, or walking by my side. Seven years have passed, and I miss her like she went away yesterday. I met Hazel for the first time when I was twenty; I was an ambitious guy studying psychology who thought that he had already reached happiness, buying a nice car and hanging out with friends. Hazel opened my eyes and, thanks to her, I discovered how beautiful it is helping others and giving them second chances. Hazel helped me grow with her generous words, her patient work and her strawberry candies given to everyone. She
WorshipPast gloaming, with its auburn vault, a gloom of august murmurs bump against torn lips. "What's this?" you ask, suspicious, as occasion twists our plans from hands to holding. Tight, your hips brush scars I count to mark our nights: strings that rip and tug a common cusp of stars in sync--a land of coward souls. Constant, baffling days, stark with scant account, you vow to play with dust and dawn among our twilight god--our thanks for artistry. I pray without your words-- with gravity, bowing to my faith and asking you, again, to st
Punctuating Dialogue: A GuideStandard Punctuation: Dialogue Sometimes we read dialogue so often, punctuated in so many different ways, that we either forget what we've learned (if that was anything memorable to begin with) or we rely on instinct to guide us. A common example of this can be seen in the opening dialogue of darksouldream's piece, Bobby: ‘No,’ replied Cindy `I think his sister Becky is staying with her, but she keeps muttering about parents out living children. The doctors been keeping her pretty sedated.’ Most Americans will cringe at this. Why? Well, double quotation mar
Red DressThe store was not busy tonight. Customers wandered in and out, solitary dancers to the muzak that floated down the aisles. Cady watched them with unfocused eyes - her job didn't take a lot of concentration. "Good evening, ma'am, do you have Flybuys?" Hands moved automatically, packing groceries into plastic bags with unconscious precision. "That will be $11.90, thank you, have a good night. Good evening, sir, do you have Flybuys?" Her eyes focussed with a snap - he hadn't handed over a card. "Sir?" There weren't any groceries on the counter, either. "Sir?" The man's face was unremarkable, the kind of
