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Saturday Spotlight for March 10th, 2012
Daily Literature Deviations is proud to feature this special recognition article!
You can show your support by ing this News Article. We hope this gives you some insight into
the person behind the art.
Please comment and the features and congratulate the artist!
Artists will be featured in a special news article every Saturday. Major points to SilverInkblot
for doing the hard work and research that goes into these articles!
Today's featured deviant is:
1. Tell us a bit about your writing.
I've been a storyteller for as long as I can recall. I remember sitting on my teacher's knee at nursery-school, repeating my father's wild, nonsense tales of far-distant lands and bright, strange people -- myth-borrowed at times, his very own at others -- for a rapt little audience to hear, embellishing with abandon along the way. I remember lying awake in bed, fantasising ridiculously long-winded possibilities for my most beloved characters off the television screen or the pages of the countless, countless books I read in years after. I remember always being in love with what if, and I remember all the other lives I've lived -- am living -- in worlds I've dreamed for my own.
I started writing stories, prose only, in composition classes at school, crammed full of detail and dialogue with gleeful disregard for 'six-hundred words or less', and still wondered if I should push a little further and let my wider world spill onto the page. The turning point, if you will, was when I picked an essay from my notebook and started typing it up: it took on a life of its own and went rambling for ten pages and multiple thousands of words and made me feel pleasantly stunned I'd done it, and suddenly incredibly, implacably restless because there was so so much more to tell.
There were a couple of abortive attempts at would-be novels -- utter juvenile drivel in retrospect, but one of my closest friends is sentimentally keeping them despite my insistence that she feed them to the first raging inferno she might chance upon. But I digress.
I shifted from prose to verse when I suddenly found my mouth too full of words, and my worlds too full of too-bright moments that wouldn't flow into each other the way things used to. Prose became awkward and restrictive, not nearly fluid and vivid and immediate enough. That's when I was pushed enough to see if I could get away with slashing a few line-breaks through run-ons laced with pretty words where they looked right. I did get away with it: once, twice, again -- and I haven't yet looked back or wanted much for prose proper in the year or so that's since been.
2. How do you feel about da as a literature community?
I love it. I love it to bits. It's been the single platform that I've ever gone even slightly public with my writing on, and the response has been so fulfilling that I can't see myself ever looking for other avenues to exposure. It's inspired me, challenged me, even saved me, and that's all apart from the friends I've made here. They're amazing writers and still more amazing people, and the support they give is ready and unconditional and I honestly cannot ask for more. Most of them, if you care to have a look, are in my watchlist. They make me want and try as hard as I can to give back, because really, it's the very least I can do.
3. How "personal" would you consider your work to be? Is it something you slave for days over, or does it just come pouring out from some place intensely private?
It's been a bit of both so far. The more intimate and real pieces spill formed and ready the moment I'm brave enough to put pen to paper with them, and with the less immediate, more indulgent instances I take longer getting every word and verse and such into my version of perfect-fit. It's taken me seconds to finish some things and months to get others right.
4. You've recieved quite a bit of recognition in the short two years you've been a deviant - what is that like for you? Does getting recognized for your work ever get old, or is it always a fresh feeling?
Honestly, I can't quite wrap my head around it still. I've far miles' worth of room for improvement yet, and getting this degree of support and recognition so early on is priceless. I'm humbled and honoured; the dA lit community is chock-full of talent so much of which is still unfairly anonymous that it's more gratifying than I can say to have a foothold here at all. As such, I love sharing my audience with other writers whose work -- oftentimes much, much better than my own -- isn't getting it's due.
It never gets old; it couldn't possibly. That little feedback bubble puts a smile on my face every time. I'm grateful for every fav and comment and feature and watch, and I can only hope I'm worth them all.
5. What advice would you give to a beginning writer?
Read, read, read. Take in the world you live in: it's wide enough that inspiration is seldom a hard thing to come by. Once you've got that, write. Practice is the shortest route to improvement. Keep writing, keep creating, and watch yourself get better. Seek out critique from peers and mentors alike. Here on dA, I'd recommend #theWrittenRevolution, #ProjectComment, #Expose-Lit, #The-Writers-Review and #Critique-It as excellent platforms for exposure and critique.
Last but certainly not least, give back. Fav and comment and share. It works wonders, I've found.
the world is brighter where
dregs of strangers' revels remain --
i keep this half-light for my own.
i'll stay until the wind sighs a scotch-and-smoke
cliché, til the Muscadet's slipped from the lip
of my wayward
hello.(i know you're there before you do.)
your night is told in
patchouli-pulse wanders; mine,
in whorls of liqueur-breath. come
close and i'll find the warp
through the weft, the trails telling tales
in synaesthesia --
Platinum Blonde's been 'round and gone.
(-- closer, find syllables strewn
in an exhale's wake; stolen from my throat-
ful of careless farewells, spin and sway
and beg you stay.)
time enough for a kiss-
and-never-tell, for a stumbling waltz
to the dissonance of crystal-shatter odes
to the summerlong i knew you --
we were(n't) meant for more than this.
morning goes right through you,
and breathes a thousand fortunes in-
to shards of (our) stranger starfall.
"leavetaking" by Avallynh
ersatzyour wake is the warm
languid whorl of a sachet-latté
gone when six a.m. rain swirls
pavement scents of whiskeysmoke
& a careless caress away
under cinnamon-sugar grace --
and it was only ever this:
you were lovely
by trembled halflight, when you almost had
my summer-boy's eyes.
"ersatz" by Avallynh
strangeryou came clinging to the grace of a summer storm's
underbreath, came cold hands and tired eyes
and a bruised lip i'd longed to kiss
when you stumbled on night listing
too far to the left
cross my thistledown garden by old dusks
that wilt between, i'll keep my door open:
your lady in sepia doesn't live here, only
the ghosts and i -- and Grandmother,
in the far-between wanders when she can
but i've a place where you can
lay your wayworn bones to dry, and
if morning should come calling, i'll not
tell her where you sleep. and stayed awhile.
"stranger" by Avallynh
joeyi want him unpoetic and graceless and impossible, rawboned and alive with the thrum of stubborn, stupid strength, arrogant and cocksure and good, with a roughscuffed heart of gold that longs for home and loves whole and pure and hopeless with a wanting that makes the words all tangle and catch in his throat but flow warm and willing from fingertips that know me better, with a rogue's twistlipped lightning smile and a laugh that rings echoes of the child he wasn't long enough, and eyes always, always burning fire-under-glass: brighter by the weight of the world on his shoulders or my dreams between his lashes, gold whispers blinking slow by dawnlight.