|Please use this in conjunction with my Publishing Resources Journal!|
A Hunt For Literature (with 2400 Points)The new year is upon us, and what better way to start 2013 than by discovering new literature?A Hunt For Literature (with 2400 Points) by Nichrysalis
During the week of Jan 7, CRLiterature will be hosting a literature scavenger hunt. A scavenger hunt is typically defined as a game played in an extensive outdoor area, in which participants have to collect a number of miscellaneous objects. Our scavenger hunt will be played in the Literature gallery here on deviantART and will have deviants searching high and low for literature deviations that match the items on the list for the hunt. Have I mentioned there's a total of 60 deviations to be found (20 poetry, 20 Prose, 5 Script, and 15 general items)?
Here are the all-powerful rules
You will have 5 days to locate the deviations, starting on Jan 7 12:00 AM EST and ending on Jan 11 11:59 PM EST.
Post a link to the deviation along with what number it is in the start journal to receive a point.
Daily Literature Deviations for January 4, 2013Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff OpeningsDaily Literature Deviations for January 4, 2013 by DailyLitDeviations
Daily Lit Deviations for January 4th, 2013
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by ing this News Article.
Please comment and the features and congratulate the artists!
For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
History of Roman typefacesHistory of Roman typefacesHistory of Roman typefaces by MartinSilvertant
Typefaces are our instruments to construct words and sentences. Of course this very article couldn’t be written without type other than writing by hand and scanning it in, but I wouldn’t know how to save the file or how to access the website to upload it to if I had no access to typefaces. Of course I don’t have to say where type can be found; it’s absolutely everywhere. However, most people don’t consider where typefaces come from. Most of my life and even the first 5 years or so of my design career I was absolutely ignorant of where typefaces came from. I mean, they were just "there" on the computer and I never considered someone actually had to make typefaces for us to use—letter by letter. In this article I will discuss the history of Roman typefaces; how it progressed during the ages, how each style can be recognized and how to select typefaces consciously and logically r
Complaint Challenge Contest!Complaint Challenge Contest! by thorns
We got our complaints out in December 2012. Now, 2013 is about doing something productive with them. I am not going to sit and grumble about my pet peeves. Neither should you!
Anyone who knows me should have been suspicious from the start of Phase 1 because complaining is one of my own complaints. (And you saw this trick last year!) That's right. I complain about people complaining. Silly, yes? Well I decided to do something about it with this challenge.
I hope everyone enjoyed sharing their gripes in Phase 1 because it is time for Phase 2! And Phase 2 is open to everyone, even if you didn't participate in Phase 1, or decided to change what complaint you'd like to address!
Complaint Challenge – Phase 2
The challenge in a nutshell: Pick one of your dA complaints and do something proactive about it. Work toward a solution or improvement in a positive way.
Now a few of you are probably thinking things like, "I
Freud and Broken Christmas TreesShe spilled the news on me before I even had the chance to react. And what would you even say to that, anyways? I'm sorry? Geez, that sucks? How's it feel to be an only child now? No. Never. You don't say that kind of stuff. You will never be able to find the words to say until it happens to you, too. God forbid.
And she just kind of stared at me. That look was piercing, haunting. It froze my tendons and turned my thoughts to dust. I was a nothing, I was worse than the dirt under her shoes. Because I couldn't solve anything. Because I couldn't make it better. Because I was just as helpless as she was, and she hated me for it.
The feeling wasn't a red, or a black. It wasn't any colour I could really name, but it wasn't a gray either. It was a block of things, a puzzle, the outline of a crumpled soda can. Edges poking inside to spill the remains out through the tiny pinpricks, the fractures in the metal. I could go on and on into metaphors but she – I don't have words to describe her eye
Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit:
When the blue jacaranda mocked the sky
Sleep bound is she, the drowsy brilliance
below the whispering branch.
Her Caño Cristales hair,
strewn amongst wild blue and green;
Though her eyes
tell of time waiting,
when the wind was lonesome and
slaughtering butterflies in its chill.
They turned, almost at once
Eyes gray, yet dancing with the frenzied
glory of cosmos.
Striking out at her wanderer, like a warm
crash of wave.
She understood, "Your laurel leaves speak of death
but I still need you."
And he wept, "Your garland
speaks of the flowers, streams
and the meadows which is our home."
"Here, is where I still love you
this place, where arms renounce arms
with care, warmth and adoration."
"My arms tangle in shadows, and
my mind only imagines; night falls
on my face within the whirlpool;
Your spark is the farthest from me; distraught
and left desolate, in Ithaca."
(She holds all his hopes)<
Any morning of the week you can walk into your local knock off brand grocery store and find stacks of newsprint papers on your left as you walk in, wiping snow dust off your shoe onto the mat before the crystal flakes melt past the leather into your now soggy black cotton socks.
Not one minute in the dairy milk perfumed air after you walk in through automatic sliding doors, then past windows barring gusts of snow dunes, and there are newspapers. Newsweek, Times, Global something are all there but you pass them for the local paper.
The winter moisture that had soaked into your skin now has already evaporated and the paper grates against your skin as you pick up the local paper. You look up and feel for silver change in your pocket and walk over to the counter where no one else stands before the cashier. At 7am everyone is either in school, on their way to work, at work, or sick in bed. Except for you, because you're different. Your skin is as dry as everyone else's but since last night
The Final PunishmentNo thoughts could enter his mind, but if he could wish for something, it would be for nothing at all. There was no longer any desire in his heart, for at last it's flame had dissolved in streams of blood it had ignored. The monster inside him was gone, as too himself.
Their grip tighten around his wrist, and they pulled him forward deeper against the stone pavement. He could feel the glares of the imperial guard intense with hatred run across his browned bare back and almost singe his white speckled wings to pieces. Their powder white uniform were purelessly clean, the buttons reflecting the high noon sun also evilly.
Thrown onto the silver platform, guards surrounded his busily clicking chains around his feet, hands, and finally his neck. Ropes rubbed angrily against his feathers, and a few fell to the ground sparingly. He looked up into the face of his undiscovered equal.
People of White called him their steel hero; People of Red called him the brutal monster. His eyes were black as