By the sea shoreThere's a sound like the ocean when you put your ear to a conch shell. Or it's supposed to be the ocean. Lynn's always thought otherwise.By the sea shore by anapests-and-ink
It's the sound of pulling and pushing and sighing and rushing.
Feral, fierce echoes.
There's a bone in your ear that's shaped like a shell. Lynn thinks that's why the conch is so special; it’s a link, a familiarity that grasps as deep as your bones.
She found her conch on a trip to Cedar Key, with Tommy and Lizzie and Helen. They wandered along the sand, skipping in and out of waves, watching the water eat the shore. Lynn liked the way each wave flattened along the beach, grasping greedy at her toes. Tommy and Lizzie whooped war cries at seagulls. Helen chased a hermit crab from the tide line to a tidal pool. Lynn gathered driftwood and seaglass, searching for the perfect natural knicknack. The conch shell was half-buried in seaweed. She washed it, standing calf-deep in the body of the
Ezra and the ImagistesImagism was not created in a classroom, or in a gathering of academics. The Imagist movement was born in a Kensington tea-shop in the spring of 1912, at a meeting between three good friends: Ezra Pound, Hilda Doolittle (better known as H.D.), and Richard Aldington. “Like other American expatriates,” Richard Aldington later wrote, “Ezra and H.D. developed an almost insane relish for tea. Thus it came about that most of our meetings took place in the rather prissy milieu of some infernal bun-shop full of English Spinsters” (134). This particular meeting had been called by Ezra Pound, upon receiving copies of a handful of H.D.'s latest poems. “Ezra was so much worked up by these poems of H.D.'s that he removed his pince-nez and informed us that we were Imagists” (Aldington 135).Ezra and the Imagistes by anapests-and-ink
What exactly is an Imagist? Harold Monro, in his article "The Imagists Discussed," wrote
They have not at any time taken much trouble to
Hey Diddle DiddleLestrade was rapidly coming to the boil. But then, he was a kettle.Hey Diddle Diddle by SCFrankles
“Look, Sherlock,” he said to the tall teapot, “any information about the missing spoon, you have to tell me. It’s part of a very expensive set!”
Sherlock hesitated but then he saw the steam coming out of Lestrade’s spout.
“It was the cat and fiddle figurine that inadvertently gave the game away,” Sherlock began. “He and the cow creamer have shifted slightly to the left, away from the Spode dish. To allow access to a hiding place perhaps.”
He looked directly at Lestrade. “And there was the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.”
Lestrade appeared puzzled.
“Mrs Hudson’s bulldog didn’t bark! There was no intruder. The spoon disappeared voluntarily...”
“Ah,” said Lestrade.
Mrs Hudson filled Sherlock with boiling water and carried him over to the table, where he was reunited with his cupboard-mate, John. Joh
What Need Have I of a Husband?The first son of the king was born when the king's three daughters were twelve, eighteen, and twenty, after a long string of miscarriages, childhood illnesses, and general bad luck. He was healthy and smiling, and no one doubted that the king finally had his heir.What Need Have I of a Husband? by SkysongMA
The king's first daughter, Penelope, was already married to a leader of an island nation. The king's third daughter, Sibylla, was too young to marry. The middle daughter, Chloe, was just old enough for men to come calling, and call they had, but after a year of her brother's life, she came to her parents with a request.
"Don't make me marry," she said to her father and her mother. "You have my sisters to give you alliances and my brother to take your throne. Don't make me marry."
The king leaned forward in his throne. "Don't you wish to be married, daughter? Who will be by your side when you die?"
Chloe laughed at that, like she laughed at everything. "I'm awfully young to think of dying, Father," she said, bowing her head in
They Also Serve Who Only Stand and WaitI don't know when we first went underground. I don't even know if it was one mass exodus, a swarm of mankind trickling through the earth's crust so vehement we carved our own caverns by the force of trampling feet, or whether it was a gradual process, perhaps even a repetitive one, a family here, a neighborhood there. For all I know, the echo of the damp subterranean machine has always reverberated off the cave walls, created long past by the Angels, who think of our well-being even while they shake their heads helplessly at our flaws.They Also Serve Who Only Stand and Wait by orphicfiddler
They say that those who remained on the surface were raptured away in a great flash of light, like a million suns converted into raw energy all at once. While it was rumored once that the flash was our doing, our own horrid creation, we all know better now. It was the Maker who brought it forth from the void and cast it onto the earth's crust, as though shot from an immense sling, taking only those who were brave enough to trust in Him. We, who live in t
I Promise That I Will Do My Best“John,” said Sherlock. “The body is merely transport. Appearances don’t matter.”I Promise That I Will Do My Best by SCFrankles
“Sherlock,” said John. “We are dressed as a couple of giant teapots.”
“We don’t have time for all this,” said Lestrade, as Donovan grinned broadly beside him. “Get out into the theme park and work out which teacup murdered the manager.”
“That’s her,” said Sherlock.
John glanced discreetly at a yellow teacup. “No teaspoon?”
“Exactly,” said Sherlock. “She’s disposed of the murder weapon.”
The teacup turned slightly in their direction and abruptly made a run for it.
Two teapots gave chase.
“She’s too far ahead,” panted John.
“Police!” yelled Sherlock at the holidaymakers. “Stop that teacup!”
A horde of small girls in yellow and brown t-shirts, and a very attractive woman, detached themselves from the crowd and stampeded
Daily Lit Deviant - @doughboycafeDaily Lit Deviant is an article put out on a daily basis throughout the year that is devoted to showing the work and accomplishments of one writer per article and presenting exemplary pieces of their work. It is based off of bowie-loon123's series of articles of the same name.Daily Lit Deviant - @doughboycafe by Nichrysalis
Join me in welcoming doughboycafe as our Daily Lit Deviant for January 6th, 2014.
Nominated by Nichrysalis
doughboycafe is the definitive resource for all things military fiction on deviantART, and her gallery exemplifies her love for crafting realistic, accurate fiction in a war-torn setting.
The guide above deals with mental illness sustained from combat, and there is nothing quite like it on deviantART. Anybody with any intentions to create a believable character should read and take something from this guide.
Imagism was not created in a classroom, or in a gathering of academics. The Imagist movement was born in a Kensington tea-shop in the spring of 1912, at a meeting between three good friends: Ezra Pound, Hilda Doolittle (better known as H.D.), and Richard Aldington. “Like other American expatriates,” Richard Aldington later wrote, “Ezra and H.D. developed an almost insane relish for tea. Thus it came about that most of our meetings took place in the rather prissy milieu of some infernal bun-shop full of English Spinsters” (Life 134). This particular meeting had been called by Ezra Pound, upon receiving copies of a handful of H.D.'s latest poems. “Ezra was so much worked up by these poems of H.D.'s that he removed his pince-nez and informed us that we were Imagists” (Aldington Life 135).
a Deconstructionist. It's my religion.
a writer and a reader. Both are equally important.
always willing to leave a comment. Just ask.