For those of you not familiar with this series, each month we'll be delving into a group that is dedicated to their members and giving back to the dA Community through exposure, hosting regular events and just being an all around awesome place for deviants to settle in and feel welcome.
Briefly, can you please describe what your group is about?
Well, our main goal is to create (and maintain!) an active and welcoming community around literature, not only for the writers, but for those who read it too. We understand that the best way this can happen is to encourage feedback and interaction amongst our members. We're not just a group there to feature work, we love members of our community who contribute and comment regularly on the work of others and when we see this it makes us happy because that is exactly what we want happening. We welcome writers of all ages and interests, all we ask is that you leave your fellow writers a little love, and we in return will make sure you get a little love back.
Actually the reason WritersInk was founded was because I had come to the slightly clouded realization that writers on dA were not getting as much attention as the artists. As an artist on dA I thought it was a little unfair that so many people shied away from actually reading or bothering to leave comments on the work of a lit deviant. Initially WritersInk was a series of news articles (back when dA still had the news feature), they were called "dA Writers - In the Shadow of the Artist" - you could say they were the predecessors of the round-ups too, only they were regular (or semi-regular, it only lasted for about four issues!) features showcasing the work of a dA writer, I even asked for suggestions for authors to feature. They seemed to do pretty well, then the groups became available, I thought it would be a good idea to make one!
WritersInk started as a resurrection of that idea, however in the first few months of its life it was looking on the brink of being abandoned too, until I asked monstroooo to help as a co-founder. He took up the task admirably and from there pulled the whole group out of its own collapse! Hoorah! I couldn't have done it with out him. From there we also set a main goal and clarified it, then chugged off to make it happen! And here we are today, all grown up and no longer in danger of collapse.
Star ManI once knew
who went to
on a unicycle.
between the stars.
A Change of HeartThere is a knock at the door. It's slow, but professional. The young woman, although she no longer looks as youthful as she should, goes to answer it. She glances through the peephole and sees a man standing there. He looks to be in his late thirties and has the posture of someone used to wearing suits and meeting with very expensive people. At the moment he is wearing khaki pants and a blue polo shirt. She does not know the man, but she straightens her lemon-yellow sun dress, trying to look like the pleasant housewife she might once have been, and opens the door.
The man smiles at her. It is not the dazzling showman smile that she had expected, but is instead the smile of a man with deep sorrows on his shoulders. He speaks to her and his voice is calm and does not quite conceal the layer of heartache beneath it.
"Mrs. Jameson?" he asks. The glimmer of recognition in his eyes suggests that he already knows her, but is asking purely out of politeness.
She doesn't recognize him, but resp
Aside from lots of hard work, what do you do to keep your members active and involved?
We whip them and throw them down the mines if they don't...I mean...we like to show our appreciation of them with our regular "Weekly Round-up" features! Nothing encourages people more than rewards for their contribution and I haven't met a person yet who doesn't love being feature, it's a great morale boost...and is a lot less messy than whipping.
We also like to have regular chat-events where everyone can just drop by and join in, they don't even have to take part, they can just hang around and leave odd, hard-to-follow comments! As long as they're participating and interacting in some way they're more than welcome to stay, and usually we find that those who do attend the chat-events end up being a lot more involved with the group afterwards (which is a bonus!).
Small Town USAWe sit here in this cafe
Cars go by
Night and day
Things often change
But we're gonna stay this way
Yep, the menus always the same
In small-town USA
In the industrial park
Doing their part
You can always tell
The shop foreman will be there
Till ice forms in Hell
From the early 90s
Back when GM
Was the best and the brightest
Thought that train could never slow down
But it sure did
When it hit our small town
You notice the same folks
The barber, the waitress
A cop and an insurance receptionist
We all do the shuffle
It's the 9 to 5 hustle
Here in our small town
Class of '93
Give a shout if you're with me!
Where did we end up
Some became bankers and lawyers and such
Others went to war
And some went to drugs
I'm beginning to think
"Jack and Diane" had it right
The biggest show runnin' is football
On Friday night
But even here things change
I've seen it happen
Places get caught in the rage
To be cosmopolitan
And trendy and...
But make no mis
The Price of Dying“I want to be interred after I die,” Mr. Peters said. He made that clear to his family while he was still lucid, before old age and illness rendered him unintelligible. Seventy wasn’t that old, but he recognized the symptoms that were creeping up on his ailing body – the aches, the fatigue, the feeling of helplessness and despair. Despite his daughter’s attempts to assuage his concerns, he sensed his own mortality.
The worst part about dying, Mr. Peters thought, was what happened afterwards. Even since he was a small boy, he had been afraid of fire. He could never forget the scorching heat of the orange flames searing his skin, the dark billowing smoke entering his nostrils. The time that his house burned down, the fire almost took him with it. How ironic then, to escape the fire only to be fed into it after death.
So one day, he sat his son and daughter down after dinner. “I want to be buried whole,” he said, emphasizing the
Salsa, Rice, RhythmThere is something splendid about
a Peruvian man leaving the rice to burn
because he is unable to keep himself
when a good Salsa song comes on
there is something exquisite and wild about a woman
paying uncontrollable obeisance to the rhythm
thrilling to the beat
waxing and waning to the sound waves
there is something gorgeous about the
the movements, like an untamed clockwork
the way the line between sound and
limb's poetry blurs
fantasia's demise comes with a soft
followed by a drought of wakefulness
surprised to see walls and ceiling
surprised to be alive in
only three dimensions
Are you currently running any contests? Prompts? Challenges? Upcoming Chat Events? Anything you'd like to pimp in the feature?
At the moment the group is taking a breather after Christmas, however we're poking it back on its feet and ushering it into the new year with a series of informative journals about Daily Deviations, we hope to have the chapters finalized soon. Our aim for next year will be to encourage members of the lit community to suggest more literature for DDs. 2013 will also see the come-back of our Write-Offs on January 27th and the de-hibernation of our Round-ups. We'll just have to wait and see what else comes out of 2013.
Machine MentalityWhen I was a child
the wild and crazy
used to speak
of waking up old.
Reverend 'Dead-eye' would preach
every Sunday morning
of acid trips and street fights,
where motorcycles roared.
My old man would chime in
with white labels and table tops,
and rotating doors;
trips to Daytona, Sturgis, and Pikes Peak,
the Iron Horse
They forgot to slow down,
hard pressed to the edge
burning through the only life
It's that machine mentality
with no specified expiration,
as much in their day
as our own.
So we roll like there's no tomorrow,
we never look back
until our bodies
grow too tired
Then that day comes
we turn on the radio,
to find Cancer
snuffed out the Beastie Boys.
So this is what it's like
to wake up old.
before we know it.
My LadyA diamond noose stole the breath from her chest,
Where ribs caved beneath creaking whalebone corsets
And her hands lay useless against the curve of her waist.
An hourglass standing with each grain assigned,
A time and a place, a husband, no thought for her mind.
To be instructed and moulded into icy precision
Because in her heart the royal blue ran in vain
And her prison was forged before birth by name.
Fairy tales make pretty the twists of her life
As she's wound into tapestries, the good, obedient wife.
Let those who weave take for granted stillness in her lips
And forget to check the eyes which dip from sight,
For those who's power falls too far for her to reach
Means she must hide hide her only freedoms in deceit.
She'll whisper beneath men's ears and lace their tongues
With words that from their own have not be strung,
For what do women in titles' prisons have?
But the babes from further shackles brought,
And hopes that scheming years shall dull the locks
To free the blood of thos
Days of Infamy Throughout human history there have been days of great triumph and cause for joy. The day we walked on the moon, cured a disease or ended a terrible war. These days will be held in our memories with pride and admiration for what they meant about the power of the human spirit. However, history is not without its scars. There are those that will live in infamy. Times of plague, wars, acts of terrorism and brutality shock the world and threaten to destroy it. We can submit to the world or challenge it. For the distance between a day of tragedy and a day of victory can only be closed by what we choose to do. Make no mistake; we live in infamous times where death is all too eager to find us and there is no one coming to save us.
Resistance Element Foxtrot, you have completed your training and are ready to meet the enemy on the frontlines. You are
Any suggestions for awesome groups to be featured should be directed to inknalcohol via note