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posted by Sweet_Pants
2
Just a poem. I hope it isn't much of a bother to rate.

I dream of all things

Uncertain of dark deeds and pasts

Within these thoughts as dark as sea

When once those wings of black

Hung over all

Shadowing but of the wretched white

That blinds me of all beauty.

I dream of all things

From happiness to highs

Let down these pills

o I’m gone, retreat inside my mind

Where none but the darkest thoughts

Swallowing twilight

I dream of all things

From the stories told por hidden scars

Unable to mostrar themselves

Under this intense scrutiny

That makes up this world’s attire

To the times that I could be happy

Without a drug to create

The much-needed illusion...


I dream of all things
No matter of their contents
Because, well,
Nightmares are still dreams.
Ladies and gentlemen, writers of all ages (especially teens/preteens) and species (except mosquitoes), welcome! I'm bored, have a writer's block made of concrete and am feeling particularly resentful towards the curse known as textese/chatspeak. (Seriously, whatever happened to good ol' morse code?) So I decided the best way to give my escritura a rest is to help out with yours! Aren't I generous? :)

Before I begin, I'd like to point out that I am not an expert por any means. I'm not a escritura guru o a master advice-giver-person. I am simply a fellow writer who wants to pass on what she's learned;...
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posted by Pushkin319
Remember that tu want to make a good impression and that the presentation of your manuscript is the first step. When you're preparing a manuscript, whether it's an article, a short story, o a novel, there are certain styles that make your piece stand out. tu want it to look professional—not like the large percentage of manuscripts that appear as if the writer took no care at all in the presentation.

Writers disagree on whether editors really care about the typeface and the line spacing and whether the manuscript follows a certain style o format. Some editors don't care about these things,...
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posted by Cinders
54
It's finally here! All the submissions to this month's poesía contest is included within this soapbox, for your convenience. For the sake of the judges, I am allowing two weeks from today for them to peruse the works herein and then create a pick with their parte superior, arriba five choices. The judges may confer amongst themselves if they wish. Input from the fanpop community should also be considered. comentarios on particular poems are welcome. The only thing that is prohibited is pointing out (subtly o obviously) which poem is yours. As a poet, that may disqualify tu from the competition, for betraying the...
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posted by Cinders
79
 foto por Steve McAlister
Photo by Steve McAlister
hola there, everyone! It's the start of a brand new year, and I know we all have brand new ideas for our lives. That is why I want to open this año up with the first ever fanpop poesía contest! It's basic and simple, because everyone can write poetry, and it's short which means everyone can read all of the submissions in a brief period of time, whereas stories may take longer. However, if you're a story-writer (I sympathize), never fear! If this contest goes well, I may sponsor a fanpop Short Story Contest afterwards.

Established Rules
1) Any piece of poesía is accepted, so long as it is not...
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posted by Spotty_Vision21
4
This book is a vampire novel. Simple fact is I disliked Twilight so much I decided to write a half-decent vampire novel. So here is chapter 1
***


Eve looked back at her wings. They were magnificent, pure white and shining. They stretched out about 20 feet. Grinning, she gave herself a running start and launched into the air. Momentarily just enjoying the rush, she opened her eyes and gasped. Everything looked so small! The river gracefully curved on for miles. Letting out a small giggle Eve dived. Now she could make out a few faces. Her mother, Janet, waved from the biblioteca where she worked....
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posted by gossipgirlxoxo
6
I was holding it in my hand; this man’s corazón well not actually his corazón but his pendant it was a dark rouge colour so pretty, how he felt for this woman his passion for her. My name is Sadie and I am a goddess of love, I have been for the last 400 years, but I have always had a problem with my place, I don’t understand it, amor I mean it sounds like some club in L.A that everyone needs to go to and when they do they either get kicked out o stay and even some times they stay and then get kicked out. I lived in California with my family who are gods to, and they all have a place that...
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posted by mrs-mindfreak
I decided to do a story where I put my iPod on shuffle and start writing. Lucky for me, all the songs were basically sad o angry music. So this is what I came up with :)

The rain pattered on the windows drowsily, drowning out Alana’s choking sobs. She sat in her favorito! wooden rocker, and buried her face in her hands miserably. Her black hair clung to her sweaty face. Her clammy palms were wet from tears. She never wanted to mover from that spot again. Although she was filled with irrevocable remorse, she felt comfortable there. No one in the house, rain falling softly outside, and just...
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posted by TheHiddenCane
1
Selfless acts were uncommon in her universe... all human contact she'd gotten the last few months were Japanese tourists that wanted to capture the bad side of the city on their nice little holiday, por means of escaping the shopping malls, crowded museums and crammed amusement parks that were drowning in bliss and manic happiness.
Yeah, she was the bad side of the city... she was the part that was better left unseen and little people actually saw it. Some of them actually asked for her permission! Why? What would she do? Sue them? She was a stain on the face of society, something like a pimple...
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posted by TheHiddenCane
4
She watched them as they moved down her street.
They never saw her, took great care in looking away before she noticed their shamelessly wide eyes were glued to her body... or, más importantly what she embodied: this world they lived in wasn't perfect.
Her presence there seemed to pollute their pretty city and just like the odd cerveza can o stray McDonalds bag, they ignored her. She wasn't stupid though... she knew she was just as much an ornament as the ribbons that decorated the streetlights at this time of year, that she in fact blended in with the rest of the pavement and she herself was...
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posted by mrs-mindfreak
Meredith sat up in the middle of the night screaming. Again. She felt tears wet her eyes at another miserable attempt at sleep. She wanted to pull her sore eyes from her sockets. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stay asleep. She wasn’t going to get any más sleep tonight, and Meredith knew that. She pulled off the sheets and slowly stood up. She wobbled slightly and held her head. These nightmares were going to be the death of her.
    Meredith crept down the hall and into the cocina for a little snack. Maybe some warm leche would put her to sleep. She reached...
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posted by Dearheart
2
Josie ran.

“Maybe I made a mistake thinking you’d understand!”

“Well maybe I made a mistake
marrying you!”

She ran, not heeding the tempest that tore at her clothes nor caring where she fled to as long as it was someplace far from home. Away from the chaos of her fighting parents and the hopelessness of the choice she was faced with.

“A tumor?”

“...it’s pressing on your brain stem and growing very rapidly. If it isn’t taken care of soon, it will be life-threatening...the surgery, however, would cost tu your hearing... Permanently...”


Her corazón pounded in time with her feet;...
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posted by harold
13
The autor considered. Then the autor wrote:

Two opposites sat on a park bench

The autor deleted

eating their curds and whey

as soon as it was typed, and replaced it with

and one wanted the other to leave.

The critic noted "That's really not very specific, is it? Two 'opposites'? Come on, you're going to have to be más specific than that."

The autor considered. Then the autor wrote:

The Republican sat down siguiente to the Democrat on the park bench

and nodded, satisfied. The critic clucked his tongue. "Welll...it's not exactly original, is it? And how different are they, really? Honestly, tu couldn't...
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posted by Dearheart
Darkness whispered outside, and frosty stars sparkled in the windows. Bits of fake snow and glitter were scattered here and there, with crumpled-up programs lying in the pews and the last strains of “Joy to the World” echoing in my head. The navidad concierto was over, and my family was off in the reception hall snarfing down sugar galletas with everyone else. Normally I’d be with her (I have an awful sweet tooth)...but this time, something had told me to stay behind.

I glanced around the sanctuary one last time. The dim lighting combined with Christmas-sparkle gave everything a sort of...
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posted by rcostelloe
3
 Coinage of Commitment
Coinage of Commitment
I suppose every writer faces the dilemma of criticism. Sure, some suggestions are instantly convincing o exactly what tu thought you'd hear. But others create a quandary, like a double-edged sword. Should tu accept the criticism, make changes in your work o your style, o stick with your own judgment, the one tu started with? Either way, tu could be wrong, and it may take years before tu know the answer. In some cases, there may be highlights in an author's ambition level, o sense of destination, that make the decision particularly challenging.

For instance, in my own case, I wanted...
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