literature

Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.

  • Sam Puett
    Published 8 months ago
    The Middle-Aged Wizard

    The Middle-Aged Wizard

    My aunt tells me I was born thirty-five and get more middle-aged every year. I used to resent this, but I’ve grown to accept it as an undeniable truth of my life. I am, perpetually, a grumpy old man. Not in a quirky, funny sort of way either. More so in the literal sense. I’m always losing my keys. I think that eight is way too late to eat dinner. I get weird back pains. I like to be in bed by ten or I get cranky. Let me explain more clearly; I do not relate well to people my age. Inherent responsibility and a strict moral code do not give off the impression that I’m fun to be around. It doesn’t help that I have a look about me that makes it seem like I’m always being sarcastic. Due to this curse of maturity, I directed my focus toward the future at a very young age. As if the moment I turn forty my mind and body will finally align, and I’ll be comfortable in my skin. It doesn’t work that way, though, and thinking about the future all the time is taxing on a young person. In order to cope with the grumpy old man constantly nudging me with his cane, I carve out moments in my reasonably managed daily schedule for my inner child, moments when I give myself permission to act my age, or even younger. It just so happens that these moments usually involve reading Harry Potter.
  • Emily A Dinwiddie
    Published 8 months ago
    The Thistle Legacy - Pilot Episode

    The Thistle Legacy - Pilot Episode

    Copyright (c) 2019 This screenplay may not be used or reproduced for any purpose including educational purposes without the expressed written permission of either of the authors.
  • Sumaiya Soha
    Published 8 months ago
    Romances: Is the Genre at the Verge of Getting Stagnant?

    Romances: Is the Genre at the Verge of Getting Stagnant?

    It's easier to prove than a theorem that most avid readers of romances are girls, and I don't claim to be any different. There was a time when I could have devoured a romance faster than you could say the word. But in the last couple of years I have probably shelved 30 half read romances because I didn't have the energy to sit through "boy meets girl, both have attitude/ class/ gender/ health/ race issues that they need to overcome." I blamed it on getting older and wiser, because let's face it, though we know these problems exists and we have been reminded of these time and again, we also know that in this day and age we have evolved enough for solutions to these. However, now I don't think I should be blaming my wisdom for not being able to relate to such romances, there MUST be something that is not sitting right with this genre!
  • Ry Lewis
    Published 8 months ago
    The Operator

    The Operator

    Despite the sun radiating through his bedroom window and the sound of his sister’s laughter next door, Jackson was heartbroken. Even the aroma of cinnamon that wafted up from downstairs couldn’t raise his spirits. The comfort of French toast could not replace what he’d lost—or rather, what he’d found—that morning.
  • Adri J
    Published 8 months ago
    The Night Bird (Ch. 3)
  • Lana Broussard
    Published 8 months ago
    Bonfire of the Rebels

    Bonfire of the Rebels

    Late August 1981, and the hot breath of summer was still beating down the back of my neck as I loaded up the 1964 T-bird and headed off to college. I had grasped the grizzly hand of Destiny and decided to join my friends who were two years ahead of me in the Phi Sig fraternity at WTU. It didn't take long upon arrival to ascertain my predicament. My former classmates, Curtis and Walt, had already flunked out, and that just left Ben D. and me. This would have been okay except, not only was Ben disinterested, but also moderately crazy. He had a girlfriend, a temper, and an alcohol problem. One night, after a particularly insane party, the frat house awoke to loud pandemonium. Ben had taken the sword from atop the fireplace mantle and had wrought some destruction on our living room.
  • Adri J
    Published 9 months ago
    The Night Bird (Ch. 2)
  • Victoria Tunney
    Published 9 months ago
    A Promise Kept

    A Promise Kept

    Rebecca drummed her long fingers against the dark wood, glaring at the row of gentlemen seated across from her. They had been at this current argument for roughly 4 hours now and were no closer to a solution than they had been at the start. Her daughter was not some piece of carpet or a prize pig ready for market, and her temper had nearly reached its limit. Magdalene was nearly 15 and, as of yet, no suitable husband had been found for her. She was a plain and homely girl, taking after her father in all ways, but this was hardly the issue. A son would marry whomever his father decided on, the problem was her dowry. Lord Ranolf had been a good and kind man, but a poor marshal of his lands, leaving Rebecca and their child almost penniless.
  • Adri J
    Published 9 months ago
    The Night Bird (Ch. 1)
  • Emily A Dinwiddie
    Published 9 months ago
    Anna's Botanicals (Ep. 6)
  • Emily A Dinwiddie
    Published 9 months ago
    The Scottish Festival Surprise

    The Scottish Festival Surprise

    Eleanor Morgan Dunwythe, a 30-something year old lady, five feet seven inches tall, a few extra pounds, with hazel eyes, auburn hair, fair skin, dressed in a burgundy skirt with a white peasant blouse, and a burgundy vest, walks through the local annual Scottish festival, filled with all different colour tents: white, blue and white striped, brown and white, canvas. The sounds of laughter, negotiating of purchases, tempting offers, and celtic music float on the slight breeze. She is perusing the items for sale or display in the various booths and tents: small statues, incense burners, candle holders, wooden signs, leather goods, bustiers, corsets, skirts, overdresses, children’s items, British food items such as vegemite, marmalade, Yorkshire tea, irn-bru, sgian dubh knives and swords. In one of the tents, she spies a handmade handbag, with a silk daisy on it, and purchases it. In another booth, she is drawn to a silver celtic triquetra necklace and matching bracelet, which she immediately purchases and puts on. As she’s leaving the booth, a six foot tall Scotsman with dark hair, ice blue eyes, and wearing a kilt comes running by and bumps into her, almost knocking her over, but catches her. Their eyes meet and they both feel an almost electric connection. He profusely apologizes and invites her out to dinner. She accepts his invitation and he explains he must first go to his Clan’s tent for a meeting and a commencement dance and would she mind coming along. She agrees, he takes her hand, and she matches his quick pace on the way to his Clan’s tent. People that they pass by look at them curiously and then resume their browsing.
  • Jenna Malin
    Published 10 months ago
    It Might Be Love

    It Might Be Love

    He brought the glass of whiskey and Coke to his lips, gulping down the last of it along with the undeserved guilt threatening to resurface. He eyed the reflecting light on the crystal glass, pondering the internal exchange for only a moment before holding the glass above his head and wiggling it in his fingers. "Hit me again, bar lady," he called, more than willing to continue stifling the emotion brewing inside him.