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We are flaunting pink on behalf of Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
A Special Edition of...
"Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy."
-- Anne Frank
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.
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!
On behalf of the National Breast Cancer Foundation:
- One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime.
- Breast cancer is the most commonly diagnosed cancer in women.
- Breast cancer is the second leading cause of death among women.
- Each year estimated over 220,000 women in U.S. will be diagnosed and more than 40,000 will die.
- Breast cancer in men is rare, estimated 2,150 men will be diagnosed and approximately 410 will die each year.
I was able to catch up with a fellow writer, Essieo-Novels
to talk a little bit about the grueling writing process. She is a published and very inspiring author herself. She answered a variety of questions that has allowed us to get to know her and her writing ways a little more. Without further adieu, Essieo-Novels...
She is an Indie novelist, aiming to help inspire the creative minds that never cease to amaze her.
(for your clarification - indie means "independent;" declaring that is has self-published at least one book)
What does your writing process look like?
My process normally structures in different manors depending on the type of literature I'm writing. Though, with novels, I'll outline each chapter; noting in key events that must take place within the story line so I don't stray away from the plot.
What inspired you to write your first book?
I once had a very wise History teacher back in high school, who made me the person I am today with his wise teachings and guidance. He always said, "A man's true power lies within his family," so I wanted to write a book for him centered around that quote to pay respect for all that he did for me.
What are you working on now? What is your next project?
I'm currently working on a new fiction series, and the mini novella series that I post on here (The Diary of Ray). The first novel of that fiction series will be published in December.
What is your biggest writing fear?
I've never associated fear with writing. It's always been some strange therapeutic release for me. But I will say that I don't necessarily want my novels to be stolen by false agencies. Does that count?
What is something that you want to accomplish before you die?
I want to accomplish anything and everything! Honestly, my goal is to travel the world and be enlightened through every struggle along the way.
What writing advice do you have for other aspiring authors?
Keep growing and take any and all advice in a constructive manor. All writers know, it's hard to branch out and try different writing styles when you're so set on thinking one specific style fits you. But if you never try new techniques, than you'll never truly be a professional writer.
Featured Literature of October
post mortem.Some days,
we grow old:
little love letters,
dated and sealed,
on the roadside,
with the fag-ends
and drifting crisp-packets
of the fast lane.
Eyebrows(The Doctor is embarassed by his lack of eyebrows. River reassures him.)
"Why don't you have any eyebrows?"
River loved his eyes, so deepset and dark and gentle. Piney green and clear, full of tenderness and hope. And she loved the way he looked at her. As if she was the wringing beat of each of his hearts.
She drew her finger down his long, strong nose and watched him watch her. She was propped against his chest, the shush and sway of meadow grasses sounding like surf around them. Tiny white and yellow flowers floating like flotsam on the green.
They had been cloud gazing, but she preferred gazing at him.
He inhaled and exhaled under her, lifting her gently up and down with each breath.
She smiled and traced one finger over his eyebrow.
“I suppose now you’re going to make fun of my eyebrows,” he said underneath her, with a bit of a defensive rumble.
“What?” she said, startled. “No!” She scowled. “Has someone been making fun
muddy waterthe sun rises late now. or hardly ever.
or belligerent carmine on the underbellies of plants.
a shot of sleep to the head, a boxing glove punch.
the metaphorical rooster crows with the awful clamour of its lonely breath.
the thing is, i can substitute the body.
the thing is, the slit
is a fantastic shade of orange
i saw god but he says you still need to get a fucking job
the thing is, i am bathtub water and rotten leaves.
and the taste of power on the morning wind,
a wet newspaper
with the headlines of a presidential divorce.
there is power in the young eagle
hissing at passersby from its trashcan throne.
i know one thing:
hungover on a thursdaysitting in a dark silent room
like it's 3 am
pour a drink
pour a shot
if the thirst doesn't consume you
you know you're bound to drown
you know you won't get this at a cheaper price
if you've got a better option know you're lying
so here we go
let's act like it's the first time
it's been a minute and we're lost
blowing dust off of maps
that we've long since forgotten
so here we go
we won't regret it in the morning
but let's pretend
that it's warm enough to send you home
but how did i get stuck here
i'm coming off my buzz
i'm blowing off the dust
it's still a one night stand
even the third and fourth time
the north south roads i drove down
will see me in the morning
driving home hungover
smelling of regret
goddammit i'm just stuck
and you're my blue-eyed roadblock
pour a drink
take a shot
how come i never learned to swim
or navigate the waves of your dark hair
my breath is growing thin
9 am the party's over
so are we
this time i swear i mean it
Even Oak Trees CrumbleLittle wing, your feathers
alter, like I am apiece--
twist-limbed and back-bruised,
your words are a wound
and I cannot remember,
after all these years,
what it is you seek,
so tell me again.
You are six shades of sadness,
you are the singe on skin,
but what they didn't tell me
is there are many endings.
It's time to let it go.
you mustn't forget that poetry
is like a tribute to denial--
it is abrupt when it comes.
the playwrightGod is a playwright.
He sits in the back row
of velvet seats and claps
160 bpm after every act.
He closes his eyes when
the audience laughs together,
His play is very good,
and He knows this.
After the show,
they always ask,
“How did you make
the characters so
honest? So real?”
He shrugs in his tweed
jacket with elbow pads,
frowns slightly, says,
“The characters got away from me.
I did not make them this way.”
oublier. (forget.)i found god,
hanging from the gallows
of cancer’s ribcage,
a bird confined,
midst the quills falling:
a broken birdcage.
la maladie à l'intérieur de mon corps:
et un script de mensonges,
Je meurs une deuxième fois.
chiseled by sharpened sticks
to fuel the funeral pyre. how could
a child so heretical
live past the cord
cradling his fingertips?
he wore a cross,
& swore he was a saint.
but blood is thicker than wine, & laughably,
holy water can choke you
just as easily as regular
Dieu est un insaisissable
son amour un collier,
pour étouffer mes poumons.
& a kiss from you
is learning to tie the
les hommes qui sont morts
est de les tuer un
even tighter yet.
i found god,
beckoning from a faraway
place. a place beyond my
et j'ai oublié
l'amour de ma vie.
a place beyond
holy languages of intellect.
on wind-tossed hair and crimson cheekshair tugged back, whizzed on the underside,
barely tickles my collarbone - my frozen pinecone
when i'm brave and my curtain when i tremble -
tossed, twisted, tangled. my thick dead grass catches
fire when i'm hiding from the sun (they call it
dirty blonde, but i'm squeaky clean and mousy brown).
small, round eyes made of sky - they are thunder when i
roar inside and cloudless when i'm terrified and they
glitter with a thousand stars at midnight. two pale
clouds hover in wedges near the bottoms. i've been
trapped behind fingerprints on glass for nearly thirteen winters.
thin-lipped, tall-lashed, cleft-chinned, dimple-grinned.
columella and earlobes creased. ocean train tracks,
two winters old, streaked over my teeth. when this summer
stampeded over spring, my nineteenth letter was s(h)tolen by
four metal loops(h) s(h)parring with my tongue - i'm now hindered
by hushes(h) and shiver(sh) and the terrified voi(sh) in my
head s(h)creaming at me: shutupshutupshutupshutup you
can't talk right
for the woman born an oceanthe world will
set your borders on fire
and congratulate you
when you shrink.
but you were born
an ocean; you are the
child of the moon and
not even she can
do not let
them channel you
The Writer Question Corner
[When it comes to reading, what is your guilty pleasure?]
*For example, 50 Shades of Grey, Twilight Saga, Harry Potter, etc.
Mystifying 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!
October is not only Breast Cancer Awareness Month; it hosts a spooky holiday, Halloween. With the plethora of scary contests there is so much to challenge your brain! I believe imagery may be the best way to inspire great literature, sometimes it can be even better than the mind's eye.
with your entry
in this journal.
Write an amazingly horrific horror story on
an image below in less than 100 words.
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 scary s t o r y.
CAN YOU DO IT?
All in all, place a morbid twist on any picture.
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.
What I Am Asking Of You:
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Note me @ amour-raven
with a link to the writer and/or piece and why.