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Artists Aren’t Lottery Tickets
I have spent much of today trying to publish a single article. I have edited it, revised it, corrected transcription errors, adjusted the formatting, and submitted it repeatedly. I have tried to work out why a platform keeps rejecting my submission without clearly identifying the specific passage, link, or other element that needs attention.
By THE HONED CRONEa day ago in Writers
Paul's Super Fun, Multi-part Unofficial Challenge
So, I'm really dragging my heels with completing prizes for the winners of my last challenge. But, please be patient because I am not Rembrandt, Huizenga, Carravagio, Munch or Bosch. I'm not even Andy Warhol. But I am an arsehole.
By Paul Stewart8 days ago in Writers
I Am Alexandra Grant
The Journey I started writing 17 months ago, after our son moved out to begin his life’s journey. After 20 years focused on our child and my husband, I felt purposeless. After 25-plus years, I picked up my drawing pencils again and started writing. I have a lot to say, it seems, since I am still at it. The road has been long and full of rejection. If constant rejection doesn’t teach you how strong or strong-willed you are, I don’t know what does. This new purpose has also brought success.
By Alexandra Grant9 days ago in Writers
Recovery Mechanics
For a long time, my post-breakup survival script was written in advance. The moment the silence became too heavy, the routine took over. I would reach out to an acquaintance or find a technical stranger, using someone else's body to temporarily dull the sharp edges of my own trauma and validate my existance as a desirable woman and nothing was wrong with me. It was never a quick fix, But a familiar way to numb the ache, but it always left me feeling more disconnected from myself than before Always resulted with me in a downward spiral of self loathing.
By Syl De'Vil9 days ago in Writers
The Sovereign Ink
There is a common delusion among phantoms that because they occupy a corner of a memory, they somehow hold the pen. When a name ripples through a piece of writing, or an old echo from twenty years ago provides the raw spark for a paragraph, the ghost often mistakes themselves for the creator. They look at the architecture of the prose, the depth of the emotion, and the fierce gravity of the words, and they flatter themselves with the belief that they are the ones driving the current. But a muse is not an architect; a muse is just a passing stone thrown into an ocean that was already infinitely deep.
By Syl De'Vil9 days ago in Writers
