Bonus Journal Day 2- FinalOne of the things I enjoyed about this challenge is the sense of camaraderie I felt with Moleboi and Quina-Chan. Im not sure if they feel the same way or not, but for me, their constant entries were a source of inspiration and pushed me to get as caught up as I could. I felt a kind of obligation to them to keep writing, a sense of solidarity to see things through, completing this challenge together.Bonus Journal Day 2- Final by Eremitik
I was however, a little let down by how few deviants participated. Of the original eight or nine that were supposed to be journaling, there was only three of us submitting consistently, with one to three others submitting on occasion. This is disappointing as I was looking forward to reading about others lives and their perspectives.
The hardest weeks to write about were “Favorites” and “Flashbacks”. The favorites I found tough because I don’t really have any constants. My tastes are always changing and fluctuating, depending on mood, seasons, time of day
Bonus journal day 1I have often thought of chronicling my life in journal fashion. Not that I have all that much of an interesting life but at least its something to write about.Bonus journal day 1 by Eremitik
Most of you know that I do not produce a lot of fiction. My work is scattered and sparse, mostly poetry and a few pieces of flash fiction or vignettes. I have trouble with my muse, often going weeks and sometimes months without producing anything of quality outside of a line or two. My life however goes on and I don’t really need a muse to write about it because there is nothing to create artistically- it just unfolds.
When the Souljournalist group was created last year, I was immediately drawn to it because I felt I could finally write about my life and the way I see things in a journal format without feeling a little pretentious. Pretentious as in “my life is so worth writing about”. As a bonus, I could get an idea of who would be interested in reading about my viewpoints. Turns out, not many. I had comments
W4-D7- PenOnce again, I found myself at a loss as I sit here trying to come up with something clever to write about on the topic of “pen”.W4-D7- Pen by Eremitik
I checked out the definition, a last refuge of mine, and was surprised to find that alongside a writing instrument and animal enclosure, it was also a part of a squid- a squid squirts ink, we use ink as the medium for writing with a pen, pen is the topic we are writing about. It comes full circle, starting and finishing at the same point, leading me to the idea of writing about my writing.
I started writing when I was in my late teens, trying to come up with song lyrics as a member of a four piece band. Prior to that, any writing was limited to school papers- essays, research papers, and the occasional creative writing assignment. My only artistic outlet at that time was D&D where I created worlds and adventures for whoever I could get to play, the writing aspect of those creations limited to general outlines and notes.
Like most bands, we started
W4-D6- HomeWe all know what “home” means. Even still, I looked up the definition and was surprised to see all the different entries, the adjective, noun, verb and adverb.W4-D6- Home by Eremitik
If we set aside the verb aspects, although, even those are really part of the same ideal, we can focus on one meaning.
For most of us, home is where we reside, our little space of refuge where we can be ourselves and not have to worry about disappointing anyone, or hiding our different sides, we can be complete.
Home can be further defined by where our loved ones are. For some of us, loved ones aren’t just blood relations or friends but things as well, such as our home town, or home team or home cooked meal. Taking all the different types of homes there are, those things can be combined to form a family, albeit in a non-traditional way; a family of our choosing and making, surrounding ourselves with all the various things we love
One thing I think we also should consider for our home is ourselves. Much like we
decryptJotted along the strands of her hairdecrypt by darkfeatheredwings
were secrets that no one was meant to decipher
but his fingers untangled messages and moments
that even angels had been previously unaware of.
Their love was forbidden trysts between dark dirty brick alleyways,
grainy blurred black and white pixeled long range camera snapshots,
filthy and disgusting and perfectly definitely absolutely totally wonderfully
the definition of being so wrong they were right.
forgotten conversations, remembered heartbeats "It's been over two years."forgotten conversations, remembered heartbeats by darkfeatheredwings
"No way. Really?"
"At least a year and a half."
And she grins into the receiver, wondering why her heart kind of feels like shattering.
"I don't believe you."
"The last time was probably December...it's been two years."
Do I sound different? She bites that back. She is different. She is moved on and long gone and he is wherever he is, doing whatever he's doing and yet still avoiding talking about certain things. And she knows it but there's nothing she can do. "You don't sound two years different." She spits out, overly confident in her brain's ability to come up with something not damaging and cringes as she hears those syllables crash into his thoughts and splinter them apart in his quick intake of breath. But he laughs it off and she is able to pretend it didn't happen as the conversation keeps flowing.
The things he doesn't say are choking her up and she doesn't know how to handle this.
TeatimeIn January, Elsa got new neighbors. She greeted them with apple cinnamon tea.Teatime by anapests-and-ink
It gets so cold, here, they told her, shivering in overstuffed parkas. Snow had turned to mud in their front hallan unavoidable side-effect of moving in winter. Elsa nodded along to their complaints and observations, silently brewing the tea in their kitchen. They were young; they had big plans. Allison and Steve, newlyweds, just starting out. They sat on the cold floor together, sipping with chapped lips. The house filled with cinnamon.
In April, Allison knocked on Elsa's door. We're pregnant! White tea in a china teacup; the taste of flower petals and champagne. The last caffeine for the next eight months. Elsa let her keep the cup.
In May, Steve bought a carseat and a crib. Elsa helped him carry it inside. Flat-packed, but heavy. Sturd