Fri Nov 2, 2012, 5:21 PM
Welcome to theWrittenRevolution's new Affiliates Feature!* We decided that we wanted to get more involved with our affiliate groups, so we've started up this monthly blog to showcase and feature some of them. If you have the time, please do check out & support these wonderful groups!
If you're interested in seeing the other groups we're affiliated with, you can find the list on the group's About Us page.
*Suggestions for a better name, and suggestions of any other kind, are most welcome.
Shelf-of-Friends is a group that focuses on helping writers gain feedback on their work. It's a small, but very friendly group who strive to get to know their members. The group accepts both prose and poetry, they also have a special gallery folder where members may submit their work specifically for critique.
The group also hosts a monthly prompt contest which usually has a total of three different prompts members may choose from to use in their piece. If a member really wants to they may even use all three! The prompt formats switch between prose and poetry each month, so the prompt must be written in whichever is specified. As an added incentive they also offer some prizes to the first and second place prompt winners.
"A group new to dA that is dedicated to aspiring and/or inspirational writers who wish to receive quality feedback on their artwork. It is made up of a friendly and accepting community that focuses on resurfacing hindered and hidden talents that have submerged into the depths of dA."
Admins of Shelf-of-Friends
Be sure to read the group's FAQ and Admission Guidelines before submitting anything!
They even have a journal for you to leave any questions or comments you have.
In addition to prompts Shelf-of-Friends also has a Collaboration List that lists all the members who are interested in collaborating with other members.
You can find more of their blog entries here.
Work from Shelf-of-Friends' Gallery
Take a look at the rest of their Gallery.
The Movie StarI run, each breath coming out raggedly. I'm terrified. Rain pours overhead, heavily, weighing me down, and I begin to cry. I stop.
"No, Skylar, we have to keep going." Anthony, pulls me by the arm, the visage of a wild thing overtaking his features. "They'll catch up to us if we don't."
"I don't know if I can do this anymore." I sob, clutching what part of him I can. I avoid his eyes. I know he's disappointed in my weakness.
I look up into his face and I see him almost smile. A strengthening smile.
There's a rumbling behind us and we both turn. A scream once buried in my throat bursts.
"Alright! That's it. We're taking a break."
The rain stops and it is an ordinary grey day. I let go of the arm I had held so fervently seconds before, confused. "Where did the monster go? I swear I heard it, Anthony."
Anthony smiles at me weakly, unlike before. "Not Anthony, remember? Jon."
I roll my eyes, frowning. "And I'm not Skylar. Haha. This i
Ten Months OldDaddy when I was ten months old you were my favourite word
because I couldn't pronounce other nouns as properly,
I couldn't say mirrors until I was seven,
I ate synonym buns for breakfast
and I spoke like Elmer Fudd for a good chunk of my childhood.
You were the only exception to my speech impediment
every time I would visit my vocal therapist
she asked me to talk about whatever I pleased,
so I listed facts about my dad,
I explained that your beard made your kisses taste like carpet
I told her about how I used to sleep on the living room floor
so that I pretend to feel your beard sweeping away my tears like a boom,
I exaggerated about how your hair was even longer than mine,
I told her about your motorcycle and hazel green eyes,
your grey haired ponytails and even the
Harley Davidson leather jacket you bought for me
I told her everything about you Daddy.
I sang your two syllables to everyone I met,
I'd pretend, that you were the child,
your name was the lullaby, and I,
I was the bough
BeaconMy dreams have become wild and eventful, so much so that I can hardly keep up. So infused are they with my sleeping conscience that when I wake I feel lost trying to grasp those momentary realities. Rows of chills texture my arms as I remember back to the night when my dreams didn't take me to that familiar, chaotic world, but one that was simple, and clear. One that my rational mind struggled with but my emotions gripped with full certainty. I slept, and in my dreams found myself lying in bed, asleep and peaceful, moonlight falling through the window about my frame. I looked to the side, eyes sweeping over my blue-bathed room to the figure that lay beside me. He too, shone in the moonlight - irrelevant because seeping softly from his white skin was a glow so beautiful, so breathtaking that for a generous moment I felt every atom in my being vibrating. A quiet hum. Softly, I started awake to find the eerie blue room of my dreams and tossed my head over, searching for his form, but was
voice trips across heartbeat,i want to anchor my spine inside your gravity.
your smiles have been thinning down to pencil lines. there are no words between them. keep it that way so you can be a charcoal smear around my ribcage, so my body can become gray but still have color in the dead spaces you inhabit. we are both quiet. we sometimes have nothing to say.
you cannot practice tragedy, but it came to you in the white noise between our words. we do not know what we want. we are not decisive. we are young and our dreams are too big. we try not to talk about it.
you can buy sex if you want it, you can buy stars if your life is dark. you can let your knees hit the dirt but physics will not care and it will hurt more every time. you can let my eyes blink like the letters on your alarm clock at 3 a.m, but the abyss of a dark bedroom will not care if your lips part and you have nothing to say.
if we become the horizon, there will always be enough time. it is the only thing i can trust, the only thing i know lasts forev
Take a look at the rest of their Gallery.
TheCritiquables is a group specifically for giving and receiving critique. Much like here, their system relies on every person who submits first commenting on another work in order to keep the feedback flowing. Their front page is at once full of mystique and information, presenting you with their guidelines, their beautiful Captains Log and showing you as a Traveller Passing Through (although perhaps you will want to stay!)
The group accepts many kinds of literature, including fanfiction, journals and chaptered work, and also have a gallery folder for pictures and animations. They also run regular writing prompts (with prizes!) for which the usual critiquing rules are lifted.
"Good day, traveler and welcome in our humble corner. We are TheCritiquables and wish to help you with whatever quest you may be on."
- from TheCritiquables' Group Info
Admins of TheCritiquables
You can read TheCritiquables' rules (and find out more about their group) here!
Their latest prompt (posted Monday, October 29th) is spider.
They also have an ongoing collaborative writing project which is open for participation...
...and recently held a Halloween Contest.
And here is TheCritiquables' latest poll.
Work from TheCritiquables' gallery:
King RatI am the morning;:thumb335071454:
darkness from dreamers
Toward the depths of Earth
with the rain:
An eventide flood
that flows through ruts
cut rough in the dirt:
rifts amongst rubble
in the run-off,
their raven rule
and in ruin.
I am the mourning;
for rodent kings
An Artist's InspirationI like to sit on the metro, just to... see people.
Experiencing people is an amazing thing, really. Catching quick glances of their lives, then, letting them be. People are like water. They are beautiful to look at, and everyone needs to experience people. They are crucial to human survival. But try to keep them in your hands for yourself and they slip away.
People come in all different shapes and sizes. Mist, water, ice, and water again. They can be changed. They can be moved and molded, but if they are heated up too much, they turn to vapor and float away.
I never, ever take the metro. But, for some reason, here I am, surrounded by people. I like to look at them, and wonder about their reason, their story. In a world of selfishness, it's nice to be selfless, just for a moment. I make up stories for these people. People; they are an artist's inspiration, no matter what your art is.
That woman. She looks somewhat familiar. It must be the shape of her eyes or face. I can e
the secret to flight
death is beautiful
like the wings of a sparrow
waiting to unfurl
Take a look at the rest of their Gallery.