- Brevity is the Soul of Wit in Writing Poetry and Short Stories
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- Short Stories and Classic Literature
- Poems & short stories
I can't wait for the next email. It was of good value to me as it got me started thinking more deeply about my characters. I don't have a lot of time to write, working two jobs, but I am doing the ten-minute exercise with each lesson, and each evening, trying to get in the habit of sitting myself down to write I would recommend the course to anyone. Publishing Short Stories and Poems - Part 1 On this page, you'll learn about publishing short stories and poems.
At the bottom of the page, you'll find links to more publishing advice. How to publish a poem or short story - Getting started Most short story writers and poets begin by submitting their work to literary magazines or journals. It would be unusual for a new author to publish a book-length collection of stories or poems without a previous publishing track record. Publishing in literary magazines lets you build up this track record. It's a way to get your writing out into the world and participate in the literary community.
It is also a way to get noticed by literary agents.
Advertisement: Finding appropriate magazines There's a huge range of interesting literary magazines out there, both online and offline. Many of the online ones you can read for free. Your first step to publishing in a literary magazine after polishing your story or poem until it shines! I don't just mean similarities in terms of genre or form; also look for a similar aesthetic. Different editors have different tastes. You want to submit to a magazine where the editors love writing like yours. The best way to judge this is the other writing they publish.
You can normally find this information on a magazine's website. Check to see if they are currently accepting submissions and if your work fits what they are currently looking for. Then, before you submit to a magazine, carefully read and follow their guidelines for formatting and submitting a manuscript. More and more magazines accept online submissions, but not all of them do. Some ONLY accept online submissions. Some have special online submission tools that you have to use. Take note. Usually, an offline submission will comprise a short cover letter and either a short story or poems along with a self- addressed stamped envelope SASE for the magazine's reply.
Unless a magazine's guidelines specify something different, use standard manuscript format for your stories or poems, and use standard business letter format for your cover letter. You can read about manuscript format here. If a magazine doesn't say that simultaneous submission sending a story or poem to more than one place at a time is acceptable, then, generally, it's considered unacceptable.
The bar car was a wild ride and we took advantage of our lo'cal. All kinds of fine wine, liquors and illicit substances were available. We tried them all. You were beautiful, your laugh infecting everyone around you, I was charming and held a captive audience. It was a dark, loud and glorious blur. We were the life of the party and it chugged on till dawn. We woke up in our seats, disheveled and discombobulated. It was dark out already. Did we sleep through the entire day? The train was slowing down, maybe approaching a station.
The party was amazing but we were certainly paying the price for the black out. You moved over to the seat across from me to have some more space and lay down. I saw myself in the reflection. My hat, charm and smile from the night before had vanished. I must have left them in the bar car the night before. You had changed, beauty uninterrupted but different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it. Irritated maybe? Like you couldn't hear me or didn't want to.
I decided to let you be. I got up to use the bathroom and thought I would go look for my scattered belongings. Maybe I could find a scrap of leftover dignity while you rested. I inquired to the conductor who directed me to the bartender in the bar car. He hadn't changed a bit, somehow untouched and unaffected by last nights antics that had effected me so dramatically.
Same black suspenders and white pressed shirt with impeccably slicked hair. I asked him what happened and if I had an open tab. While slowly polishing a rocks glass he looked up and made eye contact for a split second before looking away. In the end we all end up paying one way or another". I still don't know what he meant by that or if he knew.
I asked him if he found my hat and he said he would check the camera. We walked in to a small back room, while he was reviewing the tape, over his shoulder I noticed a tragedy. We were drunk. I was going on to a group of new friends on one side of the bar, they were hanging on my words and I was eagerly explaining whatever nonsense they were drooling over. You were in the corner wearing that red dress I love, with your hair up in a tight bun.
A few curls had escaped and brushed your high cheekbones, a thin line of pearls dancing delicately across your perfectly symmetrical collar. You were stunning and inebriated, swaying with each bump and motion of the train. A man wearing my hat put his hand on your side to keep you from swaying over and then he left it there. I took a sharp breath. It looked like you put your hand on his hand to move it but then it stayed and you both swayed together.mail.wegoup777.online/pediatra-hospitalaria-aspectos-claves.php
Brevity is the Soul of Wit in Writing Poetry and Short Stories
As the air left my lungs and the blood drained out of my face I watched your lips touch the strangers. A small piece of my soul slipped away forever. I couldn't watch any further.
When I asked the bartender how long it went on he fidgeted for a moment and uncomfortably muttered "quite some time". I never found my hat or the other part of me that left that day. The train slowed. I walked to the back, as far away from you as I could get, in utter disbelief. How could you? I thought to myself. I mourned the loss of the you as I knew you yesterday, quietly and to myself.
There were a few passengers back there so I had to pull together relatively quickly. After gaining some composure I knew it was time to get off. I knew we could never get back to yesterday morning though I would have said or done anything to do so. The train had stopped. I went back to my seat and you were sleeping. I took my coat and gathered my things. The conductor looked at me confused as to why I would leave something so magnificent, I assume he had no idea what had transpired. I walked to the rear of the car and slid the door open slower than required. I stepped to the stairs and put one foot down on the step and the other on the ground.
I stopped, rooted with my hand on the railing, lingering between two very different paths. I knew that it was time to get off, I knew this was the sensible thing to do, that I couldn't get past this offense regardless of how I had felt earlier the day before. The whistle screamed from the locomotive. The conductor looked at me and shook his head, I'm not sure if he was trying to tell me to stay or go but a decision had to be made. The train lurched forward and I watched as the station slip away slowly.
I sat in between the cars for a while and watched the ocean and birds. With a heavy heart and shoes I walked back to my seat. You were waiting. You knew. The bartender had told you.
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You didn't mean do do it, didn't realize what you were doing and thought it was me. He was wearing my hat and the whole world was blurry and dark. I believed you. Self anguish mixed with alcohol was dripping from your pores. I knew you didn't mean it and were drunk, but could I ever forgive you or trust you again?
I loved you still. I caught a glimpse of my reflection, a weaker version of myself looked back. The charming, confident man from the bar car the day before had been replaced. Something was off but not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough to know a change has happened. The train started to pick up speed again as we distanced ourselves from the station. I second guessed my decision to stay but I didn't look back. I found the man with my hat and punished him with a few blows in the dark.
I never got the hat back. The engineer announced that we would be going through a tunnel soon and to turn on our lights and keep our hands in the windows. It would be dark. We stayed away from the bar car for a while but the draw was irresistible. After a few hours we were there again but you never left my side. Then you did. I was looking for you but you would disappear and not answer me when I called you name. The tunnel went deeper and darker and I didn't know where you were and I suspected you liked it that way.
The train began to slow down again as we exited the tunnel. I finally found you back at our seat, you had moved one row away from me. I asked you to come back, tried to hold your hands but you pulled away with vehemence. When I came back from the bathroom you had moved another row farther.
I knew I was losing you. I begged you to return but you told me calmly that it was time for you to get off. Your mind was made. You were going to catch another train at the next station. When the train stopped I thought for sure you would reconsider but you didn't. Didn't even give it a thought. You just grabbed your coat and hat with one big bag under your arm. You kissed me on the cheek like a french stranger and were off.
Going somewhere else on a different train. Just like that. I rode the rails for quite some time by myself , many people getting on and getting off, passing me by. I often thought I could smell you but when I breathed deeper it was always gone. A ghost dancing on the edge of my senses. A young girl in a headband got on the train. She was listening to headphones and dancing to herself as she bobbed along. She sat down in the seat next to me flashing a smile. She had a wedding ring on and I dismissed her immediately.
She didn't move from the seat or stop glancing my way. Eventually she confessed that she wanted to talk. I told her I wasn't interested but she persisted. I hadn't talked to anyone on the train for quite some time and after some more mild persistence, I gave in. We had a lot in common. We were both riding alone, desperately wanted attention and were thrilled to receive some.
After a few laughs she slid her hand in to mine and interlaced her fingers. I left it there. It was warm, comforting and wrong. She was married but I had been riding alone so long it felt good to have some company. She stayed and we talked. She was broken and I had a knack for fixing things. Trees and rocks were a blur of green and grey. The engineer must be trying to make up for lost time I thought to myself. The girl was asleep with her head on my lap. I looked down at her hand and the rings were gone. I woke her briefly to ask where they went.
She could of sold them, I said, but she said she just wanted them gone so she could be mine and fell back to sleep. All of a sudden I couldn't breath. This train was roaring down the tracks, the once gentle click clack had become a loud hum. Suddenly too loud. This girl in my lap who had just gotten on the train wanted to stay. I considered her for a while as she looked up at me with big blue eyes, shining and wet, like a puppy in the shelter, terrified of rejection and desperate to be adopted.
At the peak of the mountain, just when the train began to even out, you waltzed back in to the car with a champagne flute in one hand and your bag in the other. I don't know when or where you got back on, must have been a few stations ago when I stopped looking for you. Maybe you were wearing a disguise, who knows what you had been up to while you were gone. I'm not sure how long you were away but it was quite some time. That you had been through something was obvious, a new wrinkle had formed on your brow and you're once confident stride had changed to a cautious stroll.
What actually happened out there I don't know. I never asked and I don't want answers. You looked at me and smiled. It was good to see that smile, like sun on my face on a brisk day. You took a step toward me and then I looked down in my lap at the girl at the same time you did. I looked up. You and your smile were gone. I quietly and gently nudged her awake and told her I had to use the bathroom. She put her head down on my coat and fell back into what ever trance she had been in, eyelids gently fluttering, eyes searching beneath them for what I would never give her.
I dashed up the isle and threw open the door, almost shattering the glass. The conductor glared at me and rolled his eyes as I barged past to the space between the cars. There you were. Standing on the stairs with your head out the opening. The wind was blowing your perfectly formed curls around your head like a blonde explosion of familiarity. I yelled your name and you dove in to me. My senses erupted, my mind went numb as the train was nearing another station and I inhaled your essence greedily.
We moved to another car. I abandoned my coat with the married girl and never looked back. I hope she found what she was looking for. You told me you had encountered some other people out there on the rails and they had reminded you of what we had when we first left the station. I never forgot. The train started to rock and get going again. We were back in the bar car and starting to brown out.
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In a desperate moment we looked at each other and put our hands, together, on the emergency brake cord. I looked in your eyes with your hand on top of mine. You kissed me while yanking down on the cord. Time slowed, the breaks squealed and everything exploded throwing luggage, people and the entire contents of the bar car in to a nondiscriminatory chaos. We got up off the ground, ran to the end of the car, dove off the side in to a soft patch of grass and rolled down a small incline. He spotted us off the side of the tracks and shook his fist while shouting every conceivable obscenity combination.
We laughed, held each other in the grass and kissed deeply. We watched the train pick up speed and disappear in to the hills as relief spread over me. You interlaced your fingers in to mine and we both looked out to where the tracks disappeared into the horizon, wondering how far of a walk it was to the next station. Nat Lipstadt May Three Minute Warning A messenger delivers A three minute warning As I lay in bed at am Resting in preparation for, not from, our oops, early morning hike.
No problem cause I already know All I need is two. Splash water on my face Now I'm presentable enough to the human race, current company probably won't be happy, But I ain't telling her, are you? You crazed? Clean T- shirt and shorts, Yes, clean underwear too, Leaves me a whole minute to write this scribble. My flip flop noises coming down the hallway, Are the butler announcing our joint arrival, Me and my poem. Lest you think this is paean to men Another grand male boast, Be advised this ditty be writty By a man who, while no longer gritty, Just put jelly on his scrambled eggs And ketchup on his toast!
Mmmmmmm there might be a poem Lurking in that too We used to swing under the big willow tree We lived 3 doors down from each other We were princesses who fought dragons We could save the kingdom and find our prince by lunch time Our moms laughed and talked about how cute we were Four years old was a cute age Fast forward a bit We went into elementary school innocent and young Boys had cooties Girls had cooties Kickball always ended with someone getting hit in the face We would always sit out feild and pick grass and shape it into a little birds nest Life was good Until your parents started fighting and I mean really fighting.
Mak Jul The room was silent. Somewhere along the span of my mother's 35 short years on this planet, her immune system made a giant mistake. For uncertain reasons, her body began to attack nerve cells, severely affecting her brain's processing ability and mobility. I still have plenty of time. There was no way in hell I was going to let my family see me cry. Absolutely no way. This was a joke. My mom was not going to die. The morbid implication of those two short words spoke worlds louder than any words I could muster. I ran, and ran, and ran.
I ran until my lungs hurt, and then kept running. But no matter where or how fast I went, I knew I could not escape the horrible reality of the matter. The woman who gave me life was losing hers. I was always the type of person who knew how to talk my way out of any situation. And this time, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
And with that, I began to accept her demise, and my defeat. I coughed a little, as the hazy feeling of drunkenness set in, setting my head spinning and my insides ablaze. The past two months 52 days, 4 hours, and something seconds were a continuous downward spiral into a constant intoxicated state. Instead of addressing my feelings in the endless sea of counseling sessions and semi-sympathetic family therapy hours, I isolated myself. The alcohol wrapped itself into me, braided itself within my better sense, and I began to let myself fall apart. The wall I so often hid behind, the wall of perfection, of cool, was crumbling.
Short, yet deep cuts lined my thighs, just high enough to be hidden by the hem of my shorts. My mother had the opportunity to save her own life. Russian research had found a possible cure for the disease that had been plaguing her very existence. My mother denied the treatment.
Title. Double click me.
Compared to the life of my mother, no amount of money nor convenience mattered. I was furious. I was drunk. I knew my mother deserved to live. Compared to me, she was a saint. I felt empty and pathetic. I deserved to die. I convinced myself that maybe if I did something extreme, she would value her own life more than she did. I walked drunkenly to the medicine cabinet, careful not to make noise and wake my parents.
I grabbed as many pill bottles as I could carry. Exactly 41 pills of assorted shapes, sizes, and colors sat in lines on my bed. Small to large, rainbow order. I wanted to die. Before starting my buffet of medication, my phone lit up. One new text. You matter. I laid down in bed, beginning to drown in my own tears, and let myself fall asleep. Neither I nor my mother would be dying tonight. Sara Kellie Jul Big Bent Bananas. Am I really that uncouth? Have you lot yet worked out the truth. I know you're dim but I thought you might. I've been feeding bananas to you all. Big bananas, none are small.
All are bent, of course they are. Enough's enough, it's gone too far. Dear Voyeurs, to all my fans. Some ride cycles, some drive vans. So I bait my line and continue the lie. But let's have it right, as well I might. Now most I know aren't, but one or two do. Boiler repair guy with the twinkly eye. Bent over in two, I spank with a shoe. And all that he asks is, I call him Sue.
So I have him pegged, for that's what he begged. But now he knocks on my door wanting much more. Threw some big bananas out today. Hope you all enjoyed the show. How many of you busted a nut? Not understanding what or why I'm doing what you can see, you just drank it all in. Well here's some more. Go on then drink it all up! A: Don't you find it irritating?
Z: Hm? A: Don't you find irritating the human need to feel happiness? Z: Isn't that only natural? When you are happy you feel good. So you will want to feel good when you aren't happy right? A: But that's not natural. Being happy is just a state you can be at. It's not the state you were at before or after. Being neutral is a state you came from and will go to. Z: So should I feel the need to be sad when I'm happy just as I have the need to fell happy when I'm sad?
A: No, that does nothing. You shouldn't feel anything at all. Or have a need to in the first place. Z: That makes no sense. Life is what the living does. You can't live without a need to feel can you? A: Well maybe being alive is not a natural state to be at as well! If it was you wouldn't die or be born. Z: What do you mean? A: Well maybe life and death are also just a state you can be at, but neither are the natural states Z: Ugh Third state beside Life and Death? A: Yeah! Z: What would that be?
A: Well for that to work I guess there would have to be a third party involved, like a soul or something, then we could say that it's only your body that is alive or dead. Your soul is then just a presence that trough a medium called body is collecting experience. Z: What about emotions? A: Let's add another body in the picture!
Emotional body is using a physical body as a medium to get experience from the world and then there is a soul that is using the emotional body as a medium so we get a perfect being! Z: Isn't that a bit of a stretch? A: Who knows But then we could say that there is finally a natural state to be at. In this state you resonate your three bodies the physical, emotional and soul bodies. A: Well you should ask yourself why do the other two bodies exist in the first place? Z: Hm.. Well to experience things right?
A: Yeah.. Z: Ohhh! So the soul is a presence that trough the two bodies experiences things! So once it has experienced all there is to see and feel. A: exactly! Z: But isn't there just soo much? We don't really have enough time to experience all there is A: well who said you live only once.. Z: Reincarnations? A: Mhm. Z: But why don't we remember things from our past lives?
A: Well it would be rather easier to experience everything if you think you have only so much time. That way you will use all of the time given to you to live at your fullest! Story I came up with to connect the puzzle pieces together in a way that i feel comfortable with XD. Frankie Gestone Mar A Life In Dreams short story. He woke up in a rapid sweat, darkness surrounding him, his soaked pillow was pressing up on his neck as he could feel the uncomfortable stabbing cold run right threw his whole body. His mouth was dry and his body was in great pain.
He lay there practically naked, but not just physically, also emotionally. He wondered why he was so comfortable being uncomfortable and remaining frozen in time. He saw nothing but the subtle moonlight that peaked through the blinds of his window. A point of existence, he feels nothing because all he has ever felt has drowned him.
His numbness was being accepted and he embraced that if he remained this way, he would never have to feel hurt or heartbreak again. Eventually he got up out of his bed, walked outside to a nearby empty field. He looked up at the infinite night sky and contemplated the moon, the stars, and the endless space that sustained all of its existence. A tear fell down his cheek as he remembered the beautiful wonder of life and the universe; his realization that he is just a small spec of dust compared to all that is and all that is wonderful.
Whatever happened to that universal happiness he used to feel? The feelings of the unseen, the cosmos, the mysteries that remain unsolved were all love. He then felt ancient and brand new at the same time-always being around all that is, but recently born into the unknown. The silence of the night swarmed him, and he suddenly embraced all the things he could not accept. The lullaby of the wind put him to sleep. When he awoke, it was twilight. The sky was a lighter, deep blue and the sun in the far distance was rising in a fiery halo of mixed red, orange, and yellow colors, and the early morning clouds were clear and transparent.
He heard the sound of a train horn in the far distance.
Short Stories and Classic Literature
He followed the sound with his ears as the sound became slightly louder and louder. Then, suddenly he could see the light of the early morning train. The train had stopped as he approached it, and he hopped on with no hesitation or looking back. This runaway train was going to take him to where he needs to be, and he blindly and faithfully accepted that his fate was out of his hands now.
No more heartbreak, no more reminders of the past, and most importantly no more drowning in his tears. As the train proceeded to move forward, he could feel fresh air gently touch his face, and all that he saw and ever knew were now flashing lights disappearing into eternity. It was hours into the late morning when the train made its first stop. Next stop will be Riverhead. That was not his first true love, but his very first heartbreak. Riverhead was a forbidden memory, as he knew a classmate who had committed suicide off the Riverhead Bridge.
He had not returned there in five years because of his haunting memories that would always come back to remind him just how cold and frightening the world really is. While lost in thought, he felt a rough, sand paper-like wet feeling on his forearm. He looked down and it was a black cat, but not all black. The paws were all white like socks, and the chest and stomach were snow white.
The loud prominent purr was a very peculiar reminder of a cat he once owned. Her name was Midnight. She was not the friendliest cat to strangers, but she loved him, especially when he massaged her paws. This cat was practically identical to Midnight. Midnight was put down three years ago though.
He looked out in a hurry, but it was gone. It was just like everything else he loved. There for one moment, then gone the next. The strange thought that has one wondering if anything had actually existed that is now no more. A person, or a thing, could mean everything to you, but once they slip away, they become like the wind: occasionally brushing up against you, but never revealing its form.
On the train he began to wonder how he got where he was, and in general how the smallest decisions he made lead to bigger events and all in all, everything was all connected. There are no isolated events, or isolated people- it is all proven fact and science.
Poems & short stories
Everything depends on each other to survive. The trees depend on the sun to keep themselves alive; we give off carbon dioxide to the trees and in return, we receive the oxygen we need from the leaves of the trees. He thought about the potential of a seed-for example, a tomato seed. Within that tiny seed is unlimited potential of life: The seed may produce one plant of several tomatoes, and within all those tomatoes are countless other seeds. This is all from one seed. Then, one may take a couple of seeds from a picked tomato and plant them throughout the yard creating a garden. That original seed came from another tomato seed inside a tomato on a plant, and that seed came from another seed.
When did this cycle of reproduction begin and when does it end? Is it just another form of the infinite? When a person eats a tomato from that original seed, he receives certain essential vitamins his body needs for surviving and sustaining good health. This good health will effect his offspring and so on and so on. When he defecates, that will all return to the earth for potential fertilizer used for other tomato seeds.
This is the same when he returns to the earth again. His dust will fertilize the same world that he came from, for all things come from it just to inevitably return to it. He continued to think about how matter is never created nor destroyed and the same for energy. Nothing ever truly dies; the form changes into something new, like how water becomes a cloud and the cloud becomes water.