Top Stories
New stories you’ll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Can Creative Writing Be Taught
After reading Alexander McEvoy’s “How Do (I) Write?”, I commented on how the unique journey of a writer’s process cannot necessarily be taught, that it’s something that we must figure out for ourselves on an individual basis. Alexander McEvoy replied that he does not know if creative writing can be taught because it is so individual. This led me to wonder the obvious: Can creative writing be taught? If it cannot, then why do we have so many courses and workshops claiming to do so? Are we just all being duped by some big money-making scheme?
Stephanie HoogstadPublished about 18 hours ago in Writers
Plus or Minus
The drip, drip, drip of the leaking faucet punctuated the silence like gun fire. How many times had she asked Michael to fix that stupid sink? How many times had he said he would, but never seemed to get around to it?
Gerald HolmesPublished 3 days ago in Fiction
A Glimpse In The Life Of Meagan Dion: 3 times Vocal Challenges Runner-Up
Meagan Dion is a mother to four children ages 11, 10, 8 and 6. She also home school her children. She has a degree in theology because she wanted to be a missionary but now her hope is to become a glass blower. She also can relate to Vincent Van Gogh because he left missionary work and pursued art.
Mariann CarrollPublished 2 days ago in Interview
Ebony Winter
It doesn’t snow here anymore. It hasn’t for decades. Not since mama used to wash clothes by hand until her fingers bled. Not since I realized that life gets harder with every twist of the knife.
Lamar WigginsPublished 2 days ago in FictionMeet-cute at the Corner Table
She hurries into the dimly lit coffee shop with a battered laptop pinched between her elbow and side, shedding raindrops from her jacket. Taking her place in line behind an elderly man with a soggy newspaper, she inhales greedily of the familiar air infused with hints of freshly ground coffee and notes of burnt everything bagels.
Donna ReneePublished a day ago in FictionTalk is Cheap, Silence is Golden
Talk is cheap Silence is golden Think before you spray But never hold back Just always be careful But don't hold it in
Paul StewartPublished 2 days ago in PoetsSandbox Eight
Sandbox eight was sealed off for a good reason, but occasionally someone’s kid would ignore the caution tape and unwittingly wander off and play in it anyway. Seven other sandboxes had been built around sandbox eight in a failed attempt to keep the kids out, but sandbox eight was a siren to the kids, it’s song continued to bring them into the sand until one last child was left in the city, Joey.
Alex H MittelmanPublished 3 days ago in Fictionmisunderstood
look me in the eyes. tell me, what do you see? * someone who cowers and heeds every plea? * do you see someone shy someone lacking defense?
The Writing Witch ✨🌗 (Joelle)Published 3 days ago in PoetsHow do (I) Write?
I read Mackenzie Davis's "How do YOU write?" and the questions asked in that text were very interesting for me. I think about writing a lot, and I think about how I'm going to write my next piece a lot. So the answer, for me, is haphazardly.
Alexander McEvoyPublished 5 days ago in WritersThank You Dumbledore
Standing at Platform nine and three quarters. Harry James Potter along with his wife Ginny Weasley Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermoine Jean Granger-Weasley all stand together as proud parents watching their children board the Hogwarts Express as they begin their new year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry himself could not be more proud to watch his children start their new journey of life the same way he began his 26 years ago.
Joe PattersonPublished 3 days ago in Fiction
Lesson Learned
I met a cute guy in a bar. We began to make out in my car. When I felt between us, his tiny green penis, I laughed till I puked in a jar.
Cathy holmesPublished 4 days ago in PoetsThe Beginning
In the beginning from a single feeling, the frequencies of vibrational light from the creator began to travel through the cosmic sphere.
Donna MorganPublished 4 days ago in Fiction
The feminine urge
The feminine urge to be pretty but also not seen as pretty, only hard. Only brutal. Never easy enough to love to be tricked into standing still at the wrong place. At the wrong time.
Georgia JonesPublished 2 days ago in PoetsThe Boy, The Duck, and The Goose
He looks up like a reader interrupted mid-paragraph. The little duckling he had been shelling corn to runs off to its mother. A woman sits down next to him. Her face looks just as long as his, the void of loss in her life as palpable as his.
Noah GlennPublished 2 days ago in Fiction
Next Great [American] Novel Challenge Winners
For this Challenge, we asked you to explore the theme of national identity and belonging through the lens of your birth country or the country you have lived in that you most deeply identify with.
Vocal Curation TeamPublished 2 days ago in ResourcesI packed too many books
I really did try to exercise restraint as much as I could... but I still ended up reading or using only half of the books I brought on my recent vacation. I think most of my fellow book lovers can relate to this, lol.
Maureen Y. PalmerPublished 3 days ago in BookClub
The Mary Tyler Moore Show featuring Rick Henry Christopher
This story is part of the Vocal + Assist on Facebook Lost in a Story Challenge. You can learn more about it here: "Yoo-hoo, Hiya Mare," Rhoda peeks in, "Why is your front door open?"
Rick Henry Christopher ☄️🔥Published 5 days ago in FictionI Found Success on YouTube. Then I Walked Away
The Beginner’s journey Being a successful creator on any platform takes a lot of work. You toil away in the early days hoping to find traction, you tweet into the void, write for hours every day to no audience, film videos, edit, and publish to get a handful of views. It’s brutal. If you’re a creator of any kind, you know what I’m talking about.
Daniel FalonipePublished 3 days ago in JournalOne Last Time II
I hadn’t entered the room since the night that it happened. How could I? Everything about her space remained the same. Frozen in time. And I was afraid to face it. I was even more afraid of the fact that one day, we may move away from this home. The only one she had ever known. Then, everything she had ever touched would be lost. Forever.
Ashley LimaPublished 5 days ago in Fiction
Refraction
taken by the tiny shards an imploded exploding house of cards every sacred slivered flash every hated silvered dash
