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Welcome to Writers--club!

We are a group for writers of all kinds! We accept all types of literature, the only limit to what you can write and submit is what your imagination can create! :la:

For quick an easy navigation around the club, here are some links to help you out. Feel free to note the club if you have any questions or comments.



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Poetry
Tournament Round III
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Tournament Round I
Fantasy
Horror and Suspense
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Critique - Poetry
Critique - Prose
Science Fiction
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Entries in Past Contests
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Poetry 2009 to 2010
Poetry Early 2011
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We apologize for the delay in posting the results and thank you all for your participation! :heart:

:spotlight-left: First Place :spotlight-right:
Sapphire-X-Dreams
ShrapnelI.
I didn't speak again today. And no one took notice. They never do.
It was the first page of a new chapter– the first day of the school year. I sat in the back of the classroom, twiddling my fingers, keeping my eyes low.
My actions passed everyone's eyes. No one said hello. I must have looked unwelcoming, but it's not that I wanted it to be that way. I just didn't know what to say or how to say it. My voice refused to come out. It stayed hidden, tucked away, as it always is.
Mother comes to pick me up at 4:30. She peeks up at me through a frostbitten rear-view mirror with her smiling eyes. She asks how my day was and I tell her I couldn't do it. I couldn't break away. I couldn't speak to anyone.
Her laugh comes out in ribbons. "Someday you'll get over it. You'll do it someday. We're all human. We all get nervous sometimes."
But it's been like this for years. I'm more than just nervous. I'm more than just shy. Something in my soul is repressed. Maybe it's the stares of th
Shrapnel IIII.
The wisterias have eyes. They're blessed, I think, because they get a full view of the boy that sits by the window.
He sits by the open window. He's the boy with eyes like the Sahara and hair ink-black and wavy like raven feathers. Wisteria petals kiss his desk, but he brushes their love away with a tired hand. When the teacher isn't looking, he'll rest his head. When he's fighting to stay awake during lessons, his long eyelashes take flight and roost, take flight and roost, open and close, open and close, like ravens.
They call him Little Italy or Peretti, which is his last name. I don't know how they know it since he only scrawls his first name on all his worksheets. Ettore. In slumbering letters, Ettore. It's the Italian version of Hector, meaning loyal.
We know he knows English judging from his essays and diagramed sentences, but he only speaks Italian. He separates himself with Italian.
But somehow I was allowed behind the barrier.
He joined the class thre
Shrapnel IIIIII.
My milkshake is chocolate, anxious and cold. Ettore has cherry, somber and disoriented. There's also something else between us, it's called patience but it isn't very strong. We're both traipsing a thin thread. Who will speak first, him or me?  
Things got very awkward on the playground. I couldn't get myself to thank him for talking to me. He didn't know what to do. But now we're here.  
Who will speak first, him or me?
Neither of us, as fate would have it. Ettore's little brother with the corduroy overalls and the white-white bandages over his chest leans over the table to look me in the eyes. His eyes are brown like Ettore's. "Are you my brother's friend? He left all his friends in Italy. Lucia and Adriano and Elettra. You look a lot like Elettra. She was Ettore's favorite. Wasn't she, Ettore?" He grins at his brother, then sips from his glass a strawberry milkshake, peppy and unsuspecting.  
Ettore eyes him, shaking his head. "Lei non é il mio f


:spotlight-left: Second Place :spotlight-right:
kidko123
Prisoner of Love and WarHe had always been captivated by her,
the way her hair would never behave,
the way snow would constantly accumulate
on the crown of her head,
the way her shoes would be soaked,
through and through,
after stepping in a puddle with cheer;
and most of all,
the way she never cared.
She had never really thought of him or noticed him much,
just a friend of an acquaintance,
as far as she knew,
but this friend of a friend
would much rather meet a fiery end
than be separated for too long
from you.
He worked to the bone for months on end,
while the days whittled away into years,
trying so desperately to catch her eye and,
if luck loved him, her heart,
that he would never show sign of weakness;
no sweat,
no tears.
She never caught sight
of his ongoing plight
or maybe just never truly bothered to look;
as she went about her day
she didn't know how much he prayed
for every single touch, brush, gaze,
that his imprisoned heart could possibly take.
He soon understood
that he had fallen from grace,
fal
And So We Walk OnHe walked through the little trail,
a frail old man,
the dirt road lined with bare,
barren beech trees on either side,
their leaves fallen and frozen
in the frigid frost of Winter.
But in his thoughts
he reminisced of times passed,
of the 77 winters he had already seen,
and decided that he would rather spend
what little time he had left
in the archives of his memory,
in the days of his youth,
in Spring.
So there he was,
on the trail,
78 years old,
yet, at the same time,
a little 12 year old boy,
gleaming eyes full with curiosity,
was standing exactly where the geriatric was
only, this little boy was flanked on either side
by blooming and blossoming shades of green.
He ran from side to side,
picking up flowers and leaves,
sticks and branches,
and anything that caught his short attention span.
Bundling them in his arms,
he ran to his house
as quickly as two little feet could carry him,
eager to display his findings to his mother,
for his father
never had the time for him.
Now that little
Heaven's Out Of ReachDance puppet,
dance,
move to the will
of your master.
Jump marionette,
jump,
jump until
you inevitably drop.
Despair slave,
despair,
because this existence
is all you'll ever know.
Hide from the whip,
flinch from the cane,
all this suffering;
enough to drive you
insane.
Bend to the whims
of your aggressor,
as there's nothing else
you can do.
Because with the Devil
riding on your back,
Heaven's out of reach,
for you.


:spotlight-left: Third Place :spotlight-right:
GrimFace242
Last WordThe little girl couldn't have been more than six years old when she ran through the old dusty house.  It was no longer a home.  It's owner deemed incompetent and placed with a relative.  Following her mother, the little girl looked around at all the boxes and furniture.  Where was it all going to go?  Surely there wasn't enough room to move it all to their home.  "Momma, where will all of Auntie's things go now?"
A soft smile and caressing hand reached out to stroke the little girl's round face.  "I told you.  We'll take some and grandma will take some, Anna."
"All of it?" 
"No."  The sadness was evident in her voice, but the child didn't understand the strain it held.  For this wasn't just Auntie's belongings that needed to be packed, but Momma's memories.  Memories of summers spent running through the house while being chased by Unca.  Memories of card games at the dining table.  Horrible stories her brother made u
Turn of EventsLeaping off the back of the green suede armchair that she hated, Nina finally got her hands around the offending bird she'd been chasing around the house for the last hour.  "I swear," she shook a finger at the yellow bird after getting it firmly in the grasp of her right hand, "when you die, I'll kill him if he gets another one of you!"  Walking into the kitchen, she quickly tossed the bird into its brass cage and locked the door.  She added a glare over her shoulder as she left the room for good measure.
"Mooooooom!  Hurry up!  I need your help with my hair and Spence will be here in less than a half hour!"
Nina shook her head as she took the stairs in twos to get to her complaining teenager upstairs.  "Do you think I wanted to chase that damn bird around the house for the last half hour?  I think your uncle has it trained to escape its cage."
"Uncle Scott doesn't have Princess Peninsula trained.  He says she just needs som
Family DinnerAs Spencer parked the car out front of her mom and uncle's home, Anna could hear them arguing inside.  It was probably about another bird that her uncle brought home, but she never knew with those two.  
“You ready?”  Spencer asked, breaking Anna out of her thoughts.
“Huh?  Yea, of course.  Let's go in.”  She reached to the backseat and grabbed the macaroni and cheese she'd baked earlier while Spencer got out and jogged around the car to open her door.
“Here. I'll take that.”  He quickly handled the casserole dish in one hand while offering his other to help her from the car.  
They walked side by side up to the house.  The voices of her mom and uncle getting louder the closer they got to the house.  Anna could barely make out their words, but it certainly wasn't about a new bird her uncle purchased.
Even though the house was her childhood home and she still in a way considered it home, Anna raised he


:spotlight-left: Honorable Mention :spotlight-right:
wispofcloud
A Caged LegacyAll that Eliza would truly remember about that evening was the sound of the wind howling. It was loud and persistent, but did not frighten her as it might have frightened most eight year old girls.
“You hear that wind, Eliza?” her father had said to her once. “That is the sound of the spirits in search of a new home. They mean you no harm and you need not be afraid of them.”
That night she thought that the spirits sounded forlorn and weary, as if they had been traveling long and far and were making one desperate, last ditch effort before abandoning hope and spiraling off into nothingness. But above their anguished cries, she could still hear her father in his workroom down the hall.
She did not know what he was making, but all day he had worked with a fervor that matched the winds. There was an anxiety hidden beneath his calm demeanor which he tried to hide but she still noticed, mainly because she had never seen it before. All morning he had worked the forges,
Once Upon A Starry CavernWe were only kids the first time we discovered the room of stars.
There was nothing seemingly special about that morning. It was the same cave we always visited; all the neighborhood children knew about it. The one tucked away between two hillsides on the far end of Mr. Laramy's crop field, it's entrance hidden by the hanging willow branches of the same tree that marked it's location.
It was a bright spring morning when Jason and I chased each other around the edges of the field and arrived at the willow tree in a matter of minutes. Normally we would play some children's games such as Find the Fox or Maiden's Mother first, but Jason said he had a surprise for me today.
“Look!” he exclaimed, pulling a little silver stick with an attached keyring out of his pocket.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It's a torch.”
“No it's not, it's too little!”
“It may be small, but it sure is bright!” And with that explanation, he twisted the end of it t
Writing Like the DevilHello?
A knock on the door.                        
Oh! Hello! You're here. I, um, was just stopping by to say that I, um...
Yes! Yes, of course, I should come in, shouldn't I. I guess, oh, sorry about that, I'll sit here. This is alright? Good. Thank you.
So, um, lovely office. Just lovely. Oh! Look at those succulents. I tried to grow succulents once, but they died. Don't ask me how, I didn't even know succulents could die, I never had much of a green thumb so I guess I just forgot to water them or something or perhaps just not enough sun-
Why am I here?
I suppose that is a valid question, I guess I wouldn't have come all this way to talk about your plants.
An awkward chuckle.                        
You see, I'm here because, well not really because of an issue, but more like an... observation has come to


:spotlight-left: Honorable Mention :spotlight-right:
HeadmistressMercedes
Sky for a SwingShe sits up, so high.
Back and forth, back and forth,
Above the crowds below.
In awe, they stand, and whisper her secrets
through the sandstorms that swirl over mountain and mire.
She has the cosmos at her fingertips, they say,
and the solar system for a swing.
What a glorious way to be free!
The sky as a swing for eternity!
But the eyes, gazing upward, cannot see.
The bars will forever chain this bird to her perch,
and the cage will always keep the moon and stars
from tangling in her hair.
The Tomb The Woman MadeAs the outer walls crumble and shatter to dust,
and debris coats the floor, hardening to a crust,
They enter, their purpose profound and robust:
Find she who lurks in the dark, they must.
Their footsteps calling bloody red,
They've come to take The Woman's head.
The fray outside is a ceaseless war.
The batt'ring ram splintering the front door.
They call out the she-devil, monster, and whore,
Before they even know who they're searching for.
As the night drags on and the fires burn red,
The rabble screams for The Woman's head.
The battlements breached, they creep inside,
Shadows an ideal place to hide.
To find out where this demon resides,
They enter the halls, where they think she abides.
As torches cast shadows of flickering red,
They dream of taking The Woman's head.
'Midst the fallen stone, they scurry around,
To the hell-beast's death, they are all bound.
And in an inner passage, where there is no sound,
At the end of the hallway, the devil is found.
With their veins flowing thick w
Discourse with the DevilI offered Satan a piggy-back ride today. So up he hopped, and away we went for a walk, and I asked him all the questions I could think of. For how cruel is it to burden the Heavens with all my queries? There must be someone else to talk to.
I speak with the Devil. He's bound to have some interesting stories.
I ask, “What is love?”
And he says “The blood of roses and thorns.”
I ask, “Why is the sky blue?”
And he says “Because its sadness is infinite.”
I ask “Why did the chicken cross the road?”
And he says “The crosswalk was painted only in its mind.”
I continue to walk. He continues to cling.
For his unbearable heat and flame, I find him an easy package to sport. And the weight isn't noticed under the cool of the trees.
“Why are the shadows cast from the sunlight?”
“Because the darkness needs a place to play.”
“Is there a plan for me?”
“What does your calender say?


:spotlight-left: Honorable Mention :spotlight-right:
Pternoha
OwlA bird in a cage. That is what I have become. Or perhaps what I have always been. A fish in a pond, in a sense. Clichés and self-deceptions, that is all the eloquence I can seem to muster these days. To be sure, illusions and make beliefs are a nice way to pass time, but they are only as good as one allows them to be. And I am afraid I have ran out of patience.
So, I brazenly kick open the door of my cage and dive right into sweet liberty. Freefall. Three seconds of pure bliss as I empty the air in my lungs for the first time in ages and discover uncharted lands, far away from my dull comfort zone. For three glorious seconds I feel the blood pumping in my veins and the unfamiliar thumping of my chest. It takes three short seconds for my veins to freeze solid as I realize my mistake.
What becomes of the fish in a pond once dropped in the ocean? What is a caged bird to do when he has the whole sky at his disposal? Nothing. The fish drowns as saltwater burns his insides and bacteri
Inside outA mute pen long overlooked,

And in my chest a dull call.

I see it. 
I see them.
The myriads of words,
The subtle flow of the cords.
I see that from which the ache stems.
I see the inexpressible fabric so tightly knit.
A mute pen long overlooked,

And in my chest a dull call.

I can take it in.
I will etch it all in my brains,
Burn it behind my closed lids,
Carve it deep within my soul,
So that the words may take their toll,
And that the writing may begin.
A mute pen long overlooked,

And in my chest a dull call.

The words pass through me,
Flowing freely through aging hallways,
Soothing the hurt of the days,
Gazing into my very core,
Every narrow corridor,
Every twisted nook and cranny.
A mute pen long overlooked,

And in my chest a dull call.

It is cramped inside.
Aye, and in dire need of dusting.
The years might not affect the outside,
But they have crushed my insides,
Tearing at my dreams as
DeadlineClock's ticking

I never seem to have enough time on my hands lately. Amusing, really, I could swear I never waste an instant.
Thoughts sail right through the window,
As I sit idly on my prime,
Contemplating the soft rays of the morrow,
And the wind blowing away the ashes of Time.
Oh! There goes another second, another breath I will never get back. Or that I will never take for the matter.
Don't hold your breath

Disappointments and shortcomings seem to have become somewhat of a recurring theme lately. Concerning somewhat, but delving on the matter hardly ever did me any good.
Dreams burn so easily,
Filling the air lazily
Leaving me to put out dull fires
And pick up the scorched embers.
Regardless, forward is the only viable direction I have. Or perhaps I do not even have that one. Go figure...
Words are falling

Strangely enough, I cannot seem to find my words lately. Frustrating, really.
Verses fly by,
Ideas scatter.
But, regardless, ink leaks as I try
And ground


:winner: Congratulations to our wonderful winners! :winner:

:bulletblue:   Prizes!  :bulletblue:

:bulletblue::bulletblue:   Prizes!  :bulletblue::bulletblue:

Gold Medal Emote by Mirz123 First Place Gold Medal Emote by Mirz123
Three Month dA Subscription from RollingTomorrow :dalogo:
150 Points :points: from RollingTomorrow
50 Points :points: from setmyworldintomotion
5 Points :points: from recklezz84
Poetry commission from RoseScarlet
Black and white art commission from Phoenix-FireMage
Drawing from willwriteforhearts
Art request from mruki
Digital or traditional drawing with background from MostlyCosplays
Prompt based literature request from Bluebellwriter7
Cover art of any arbitrary story the winner has written from KaizenKitty
Drawing from Turkeyhead987
Literature commission from Christianonfire7
Five critiques/comment form critiques from Annuski
Two critiques/comment form critiques from wispofcloud
Critique from OHiNeedTea
Feature from SMAdams
One month feature from Annuski
Feature from RoseScarlet
Feature from OHiNeedTea
Feature from LacedShadowDiamond
Feature from Christianonfire7
Feature at Writers--club
Feature at xWritersUtopiax
Feature at Poets-and-Warriors
Llama from RoseScarlet
Llama from willwriteforhearts
Llama from MostlyCosplays
Llama from SafyreSky
Llama from OHiNeedTea
Llama from LacedShadowDiamond
Llama from recklezz84


Silver Medal Emote by Mirz123 Second Place Silver Medal Emote by Mirz123
100 Points :points: from RollingTomorrow
Poetry commission from RoseScarlet
Black and white art commission from Phoenix-FireMage
Prompt based literature request from Bluebellwriter7
Literature commission from Christianonfire7
Four critiques/comment form critiques from Annuski
Two critiques/comment form critiques from wispofcloud
Critique from OHiNeedTea
One month feature from Annuski
Feature from SMAdams
Feature from RoseScarlet
Feature from OHiNeedTea
Feature from LacedShadowDiamond
Feature from Christianonfire7
Feature at Writers--club
Feature at xWritersUtopiax
Feature at Poets-and-Warriors
Llama from RoseScarlet
Llama from willwriteforhearts
Llama from SafyreSky
Llama from OHiNeedTea
Llama from LacedShadowDiamond


Bronze Medal Emote by Mirz123 Third Place Bronze Medal Emote by Mirz123
75 Points :points: from RollingTomorrow
Poetry commission from RoseScarlet
Black and white art commission from Phoenix-FireMage
Prompt based literature request from Bluebellwriter7
Three critiques/comment form critiques from Annuski
Two critiques/comment form critiques from wispofcloud
Critique from OHiNeedTea
One month feature from Annuski
Feature from SMAdams
Feature from RoseScarlet
Feature from OHiNeedTea
Feature from LacedShadowDiamond
Feature from Christianonfire7
Feature at Writers--club
Feature at xWritersUtopiax
Feature at Poets-and-Warriors
Llama from RoseScarlet
Llama from willwriteforhearts
Llama from SafyreSky
Llama from OHiNeedTea
Llama from LacedShadowDiamond


Honorable Mention Medal + PLZ by Mirz123 Honorable Mentions Honorable Mention Medal + PLZ by Mirz123
One month feature from Annuski
Feature from SMAdams
Feature from RoseScarlet
Feature from LacedShadowDiamond
Feature from Christianonfire7
Feature at Writers--club
Feature at xWritersUtopiax
Feature at Poets-and-Warriors
Llama from RoseScarlet
Llama from willwriteforhearts
Llama from LacedShadowDiamond

We thank you all for your participation and hope that you will look forward to our next event.
More Journal Entries

Member of the Month

Our newest member feature goes to Martin Landry, known as 914four here on DA!

He has self published the novel The Kentauride.

The overview...

"Tanita awoke in an abandoned factory to the sound of gunfire, her memory blank, nude, with a terrible hangover. And that was the high point of her day...
Set in modern day New England, this is the first book of a three volume series that follows Tanita the Kentauride's evolution as she struggles to understand who she is, what she is, and how she came to be. Who are the voices in her mind, claiming to be angels, and what do they want from her? Why is Mark, a normal teenager, so intent on hiding her, and could she really be falling for him? Running for her life, fighting xenophobia and ignorance, can she unlock the secrets of her past before it's too late?
The technology and science in this book are, for the most part, entirely plausible, with a not-so-subtle nod to geek folklore. If you understand and appreciate the humour in XKCD, you will probably find this novel entertaining.
Contains absolutely no vampires, werewolves, witches, ghosts sea monsters or extra-terrestrial beings, but if you've ever dreamt of actually encountering a centaur, this book will surely appeal to you. "


His ebook book is available through Amazon.

The Kentauride on Amazon
The book is also available on Amazon in countries outside of the United States.
www.amazon.ca/dp/B00CLDQ92W
www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00CLDQ92W
www.amazon.com.au/dp/B00CLDQ92…

He also offers advice to fellow writers, exclusive to this feature.

"Holly Lisle is the author of over thirty books, mostly published by publishing houses. About four years ago she tried to convince me that self-publishing had come of age, and that she would never deal with a publishing house or an agent again. After speaking to several agents, I reluctantly took her advice, and in the end it turned out to be the right decision for me. Please note that I am a hobbyist author, and have a day job; your situation may be entirely different, and an agent may still be a better option for you in the long run, only you can make that decision."

He also provides extremely detailed and helpful information based off of his experiences with publishing.

<i."Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so. " - Douglas Adams

A few things I learned along the way, if you plan to self-publish, are as follows; remember, an agent or a publisher will normally do most of these things for you, but they will also expect you to write your novel on their terms. First, never trust your spelling and grammar checker, they are never infallible, and may cause you to become complacent. It's always best to hire an editor who is trained to edit manuscripts to proof your book; even if you are an English major, because your eye will see what you think it sees, you most likely will not catch errors in what you've written. Ever tried that reading test where you have to count how many times the word "the" appears in the text? I rest my case.

The second item is, unless you are highly skilled in cover design, it is worth investing in having a professional design and/or create your cover. My wife buys at least two ebooks a week from Kindle, and she says that if the cover "looks wrong" (her words), she will skip it without even reading the description. Make sure your cover looks good as a thumbnail too.

The third item is, make sure you have written something people actually want to read. If your novel is targeted at a niche market, be sure you identify that niche and mention it in the description. "The Kentauride," my first novel, is actually science fantasy, yet there is an element of romance and I was advised to classify the book as such ("because romance sells so much better than scifi, right?"). Needless to say, the reaction was less than stellar; the expectations of the audience were not met, and several people returned the book. Since the book was moved to science fiction and fantasy, it has had far greater success, and I now regularly get fan mail from readers.

Item four, make sure you price your book competitively. You may have written the most amazing book ever, but if no one wants to spend $9.99 buying it, no one will read it. My wife says that, unless you are New York Times best-selling author, she will not buy your book if it is more than five dollars, and if you only have one book, much less than that. Look at other books in your genre, see what they are selling for, and adjust accordingly.

The last item I think needs to be highlighted is, you need to promote your book. Word of mouth is great, but you either need the people who read your book to tell others about it, or you need to tell others. Reviews are very useful, but expect that you may need to spend a few dollars on advertising, running promotions, etc. If you have any questions or comments, please do not hesitate to ask.</i>

:bulletpurple: :bulletpurple:

:bulletpurple: AloneI am alone in the ground floor apartment, the one we have shared for almost two years.  I lie in bed listening, waiting for the discrete sound at the back door announcing that he is home.  The solitude is oppressing.  How many nights I've lain here quietly, listening to the sound of my breathing and wondering when or even if he will return.  Lately, he has been coming home later and later, and I am sometimes tempted to ignore him, to lock him out and not let him in.  
Of course, if I did such a thing he would simply go and spend the night with one of his many mistresses, leaving me all alone with my heart broken, worrying.  The address on his license is mine, but he has made it abundantly clear that I do not own him, command him, or have any claim to his affections.  He shares his love because he wants to, and stays only because he chooses to.  
He is quite handsome, a fact that is not lost on him; vanity s
:bulletpurple:

:bulletpurple: The Deal"So tell me, Miss, ah, Ms. Klein, what gave you the impression that my firm would have any interest in purchasing your eternal soul?"
"Well, I was told that that was what you do?"
"Amongst other things, yes, but the soul market has become quite saturated of late.  Definitely not a seller's market I'm afraid, what with the new banking laws and all.  What is it you want Ms. Klein?" he asked as he stroked his goatee absentmindedly.
"I want eternal beauty," the attractive young woman said, holding his gaze.
"I, ah, I'm afraid head office no longer allows that sort of thing, Ms Klein," the handsome man replied.  "Long term liabilities are frowned upon, and anything without a firm closing date in the agreement can not be made binding under any circumstances.  The best we can do is grant you beauty to a specific date."
"What?"
"Well, we could grant you beauty until, say, December 31st, 2020, for example."
"But that's not even worth it!" she exclaimed, d
:bulletpurple:

Please check out the rest of his gallery too! :heart:


Past featured members:
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Admins

Meet your staff! We are very welcoming and would love to help you! If you have any questions feel free to note or message us!

We appreciate all of our members!

Founder


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Co-Founders


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Contributors


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:iconnightswarriors:
NightsWarriors Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Hi, we're Not really sure where we should  submit our poetry? to
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(1 Reply)
:iconworlds-biggest-nerd:
Worlds-biggest-NERD Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2014
I'm really excited to see who wins the tournament :D Thanks for putting on such a fun competition
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:iconsinergy-v2-0:
Sinergy-v2-0 Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Hello; I'd just like to bring forth a concern; I haven't received a critique on a submission I submitted over a month ago. I hope this doesn't sound petty, but it really is frustrating to see other submissions, which were submitted later, having their critiques in a timely manner. Again, I don't mean to aggravate anyone, I'm just expressing an issue I'd like to find a resolution to.
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:iconheadmistressmercedes:
HeadmistressMercedes Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Hi-ho, my lovelies! Just wondering if there's any word on the results of the Lit Tournament yet? Haven't seen any updates, but I've been away for a bit, so I wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything...

No rush, just curious ^.^
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(1 Reply)
:iconode-brockenbrough:
Ode-Brockenbrough Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2014  New member Student Writer
Hey guys :P I'm just here to say I write fiction and short stories!
If you want to check out my stuff (which right now isn't a tone of stuff). 

My Page
ode-brockenbrough.deviantart.c…

My Book
ode-brockenbrough.deviantart.c…
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