Writers of the Revolution, February 9th

Featured by Solarune
I became completely absorbed reading glossolalias' pieces (and had to triple-check that we'd not featured him before, because it seemed unbelievable that we hadn't). Each one shows something new, like opening a hundred tiny windows that show different views into a secret, magical place - because glossolalias is a storyteller of the best kind, who doesn't compromise with the truth, who treats it with respect. His writing is sharp, precious and multi-layered, calling out to you to read it from the first line, assuring you that you are in safe hands. His works feel polished, professional, startling, full of love and also complete - as if each one takes you painfully apart and puts you back together again as something new. I was blown away. In the end, I gave up trying to pick four "best" pieces, because after narrowing-down I was left with way too many, and tried to pick them for variation. If you enjoy any of these even a little, go and explore glossolalias' gallery, because this feature shows only a fraction of his talent.

We Have Lingered in the Chambers of the SeaHis day oozed by, crushed drop by drop into a bowl carved from his patience and boredom. Like oil—slick—it pooled, culminating in opalescence when Kevin stepped into the classroom at the end of the B hallway. Marked 212, residing on the second floor, it housed an odd number of desks and Lincoln Way High School's saving grace: Mr. Patterson. Kevin looked at Mr. Patterson's left hand and took a seat at the back of the classroom, shoulders weighted by a heavy bag while his wire-frame glasses were smudged by fluorescent light. In four minutes, the bell would ring, and he looked at Mr. Patterson's left hand and ragged nails—chewed to the angry quick, cuticles scabbed or bleeding.
In four minutes, the bell would ring, and Kevin dropped his bag on the linoleum floor, shoulders aching and glasses smudged by fluorescent light. The bag landed with a dull thud, faded black against yellowed white; hunchbacked, Kevin shuffled through its contents and found his English folder. It was
We Have Lingered in the Chambers of the Sea
"Everyone murmured. No one snickered. No one whispered. Everyone murmured, raising their hands like cornstalks growing in neat rows, repetitious and plain. Kevin looked at Mr. Patterson's left hand, at his indigo folder, at Jasmin Fuentes's shining black hair, at his faded black backpack, at the yellowed white floor, at Mr. Patterson's ragged nails with scabbed or bleeding cuticles.  "

This piece takes a commonplace scene - a classroom discussion of a poem - and turns it into something magical with the uncanny, stutteringly beautiful writing style and the reoccurring descriptions. Your heart is instantly tied to Kevin from the moment he opens his mouth, and reading this seems to both pass too quickly and leave you feeling as if you've experienced a whole world.

a string drawn tautthere are so many 
blue stars in your skin
but i can't believe 
each neuron is a universe
alight with planets,
gaunt aliens signing god
in the absence of your name,
dim cars on the street,
beneath an awning
like a glowing orange womb
you shudder saying,
god,
i just had a chill, 
is this room cold
or are we in the gut 
of a giant 
who's strung out
seven days lifeless,
biting the apple,
a dragon,
wishing for his mother,
mijo, dios
es magno,
the earth is spinning 
in the eyes
of a turtle
with a red shell
who swims in the flowers 
ophelia braided, 
who swallows supernovas 
and they pass through his kidneys,
oh god,
we could burst any minute,
a fly's nerves twitch,
tectonics shift, 
a city laid,
babel screeches
between microscope lenses, 
clutching wife to child,
do you know my name?
do you know you're shivering? 
do you know i'm the son 
of your nucleus?
i live in your cheek
and die at your
a string drawn taut
"in the absence of your name from
a dull life: dim cars on the paved street
and the cat walks sideways here, beneath
a ladder that clatters and you shudder,
saying god

i just had a chill, and is this room cold
or are we in the gut of a giant who's strung out
seven days and lifeless, biting the apple and
a dragon, wishing for his mother to coo
mijo, dios"

You could say this poem is about philosophy, science and love, or about something else entirely; every reading of it seems to show up something new, and the sharp and stunning images spiral off into wonder, grounding the reader only with the repeated "god" at the end of each stanza.

Dear Teen Me,I know what you're doing when you avert your eyes; you're not listening. You think you have everything figured out because you're not involved in 'trivial adolescent drama' and don't understand the 'minor emotional pitfalls' others 'slavishly weave their lives around'. In fact, you believe yourself to be spiritually enlightened—on the path to another pipe fat full of Who-Knows-What from Who-Really-Cares, but let's be frank: you're an escapist, a thief, an addict, and not fully recovered from the day I'm speaking to you. You may not have been afforded the best opportunities, but you squandered the chances you were given and wasted your intelligence pattering around—and for what?
The answer, before you can invent one, is nothing. However, I'm not here to belittle you; it would be a waste of time for both of us. Instead, I'm going to make a list because we've always been partial to those.
One. You figured out your sexuality early on, with little shame, and I am proud of you for that. You
Dear Teen Me,
"You learned from Mami's mistake-you never wanted to live an unhappy life just to please family-but were eager and naive. You don't like to think of yourself as naive; you would rather be cruel than naive, and that's something we'll address later. For now, the lesson learned is: you can't replace meaningful relationships with carnal pleasure. They are not one in the same, and the faster you learn that, the more and better satisfied you will be."

Creative non-fiction is hard to do well, and in Dear Teen Me, glossolalias strikes a perfect balance between honesty and beauty of writing. This is one of those letters that stuns with its skill and awes with its bravery, and then throws you with dryly humorous and self-aware it is. It's brilliantly beautiful and blunt and human. Read it.

the reasons we should not divorcei.
we have a breakfast of egg whites and turkey sausage (mine); coffee and tomato soup (yours); and discomfort (shared). you are unthinkingly deferential and a touch antipathetic, speaking over your bottom lip to the cherrywood table. i bought this table last week,  after you asked me why we didn't have a table. i said it was because we ate at the granite island. you said you would prefer a table, and we are sitting at the table now because it's the small things that make our lives normal, but the table does not make a difference when you will not look at me. you say, "we need to talk."
i say, "about what?"
you say, "about retirement. you're bored. and you miss him."
"viggo, why would i be bored? this is what we wanted."
"this is what i wanted." you are looking at your nails instead, and when you finally look at me, you look at the wall behind me. you ask, "what was he like?"
and i answer, "not you."
ii.
i owned this house before i met you; i owned this house before i knew
the reasons we should not divorce
"because then you would understand why i think we should stay together. then you would understand why i want to paint the nursery pink or blue. then you would understand why i don't lock the front door when we're home in the evening. then you would understand why i bought us platinum rings rather than a metal with mystical use. then you would understand why i hate road trips but love to fly. then you would understand why i find you most irresistible when you're half-awake and half-dressed and making breakfast in the late morning. then you would understand why i want nothing more than to watch television with you on the red leather couch we bought off ebay. then you would understand why, when you asked for a five-thousand dollar cherrywood table, i bought it without question and will eat every meal there if you want me to."

I could ramble for ages about the beautiful way this is written, but perhaps the most impressive thing about this piece is that it blends the fantasy and the contemporary so effortlessly. Although what Viggo and Lucas do and deal with should be difficult to understand or translate into the real world, glossolalias writes it in such a way as to make it relatable, and on top of that knocks you sideways with the power of the characterisations and emotions.

We glossolalias

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on The Scattered Monologues of Jessica Leland: Dinner by ElaineRose

The other thing I would very much like to see is more development of the characters. First, the names. Can "Jessica" be incorporated into the text to connect to title and the writing (and both, to the reader)? I love how you referred to Leslie, by describing his looks rather than who he was, and her response to him (his hair and forgetting his name, especially); it adds to the oddity of her, and the distance between them, as well as developing her through her reactions. You could use that more in other places- you've given an idea of her reactions to both mother and ex-girlfriend, and those reactions can shape an understanding of the narrator herself, even more so if expanded on.
[Read more here]

on Shade's Chronicles - Chap. 1 by Silver786

However, if you do plan on making this a longer story, I suggest you hold back the introduction of your second character. I want to know more about your first character. Her past is given out too quickly, and I have trouble having feelings for her.
If you do plan on making a revision, I'd include maybe one of her jobs in the first chapter, where we actually see her at work. You need to show us and not telling us. I want to see her boss throwing the money at her! Show me how she is a tool!!
[Read more here]

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A very useful compilation of fantasy and science fiction magazines where you could try to publish your work - well worth looking at if you write these genres and want to try your hand at publishing!
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I ran across this in raspil's journal and it was too good not to share. Everyone, I'm sure, has seen a "10 tips for writing" article or some variation on it, but this stands out from the crowd with how helpful and practical its advice is. Point 2 and Point 7 are particularly good.