June 2011
64 posts
7 tags
Male Writer Wanted : Please Reblog →
So, this is really informal, and I’ll probably end up doing something more formal within a few days, but I wanted to see if this grabbed anyone’s interest.
I’m looking for a male writer who is interested in developing and participating in, with me, a long-term writing project. The hope is that the project would end in a book deal or, at the very least, an ebook.
I want:
a male writer
aged...
7 tags
Male Writer Wanted
So, this is really informal, and I’ll probably end up doing something more formal within a few days, but I wanted to see if this grabbed anyone’s interest.
I’m looking for a male writer who is interested in developing and participating in, with me, a long-term writing project. The hope is that the project would end in a book deal or, at the very least, an ebook.
I want:
a male...
2 tags
a new shade of lipstick
taylormmeredith:
a new shade of lipstick, a few coats of poetry.
heart-shaped kisses like burns on your skin,
down to the bone,
fourth degree.
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“Don’t hold yourself like that cause you’ll hurt your knees. I kissed...”
– Damien Rice, Volcano
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Writing Rut and Rants
I sort of miss you Tumblr. I feel I’ve become more of a lurker than a contributor. I dislike that.
I’m still writing, but everything has become a draft. What does that even mean?
There’s so many words and too much space and well, yeah.
It’s late. I’m feeling odd. Trouble’s coming quick. I can already smell it.
Elle-Ellie-Ellienor
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“Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.”
– Henry David Thoreau
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consensuous:
hands refuse to write
when fingers crave skin,
not graphite.
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Day 69 →
learningtocountsheep:
Oh thank God, a muse. Someone to entertain in the day and fondle at night (i mean in my dreams of course, for who really has the gall to live life anymore, but then dreams are all I have anyway).
She puts on makeup. In here. It’s literally like dancing for fools - but I see her hang on to it…
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Tales of this Novel Writer #1
I post almost exclusively poetry on here. Poetry is my heart, and my first writing love. However, I spend most of my days working on two novels. Tumblr has brought me back to poetry, and I thank all of you for that, but I thought it was time to start sharing some of myself in prose. Therefore, I’m trying out a bit of an experiment here by sharing some stories, antidotes, mishaps and...
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Good Enough
Just let me try…
It’ll be soft, gentle. Nothing more or less than the down feathers of a broken-winged sparrow left to die. Alone.
Just let me try…
I promise not to lay a harsh hand or word upon your face. But I cannot promise that my love will not suffocate you.
Just let me try…
You can bring me peace, make me well. I know it. And I’ll be the best you’ve...
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“It’s always a mixed bag of emotions when I reach the end of a book....”
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My love is tired.
The ebb and flow
seems nearly dried
out. My love
is tired. Please,
let me sleep.
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Fanny Packs
Tim: Too bad fanny packs aren't cool.
Elle: (blank stare)
Tim: Because they would be so practical.
Elle: Don't ever talk to me again.
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A Poem for Every Day. A Poem for Today.: Gasoline →
todayspoem:
Let it be known that there’s not a soul out there now, who would understand why it is I work so hard, but how? There’s not a single one who understands what it’s like to breathe… …So I’ll pour out this gasoline There’s nobody around me that can possibly understand, you see That this empty city…
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“Sometimes while writing a novel, you just need to get your hands dirty. Turn off...”
– Elle LaMarca
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Savage Lee Writing: She Sounds Like Such Sweet... →
savageleewriting:
I want to be your solution to to despair. I want to be the weapon you reach for when you hear a strange sound in the night.
My mind is racing with thoughts of electric death, of ghosts on wheels, of fires in the sky blazing like hate in the eyes of a child. My mind is racing to keep ahead of…
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Loneliness my friend
when love left, you embraced me
we mourn together
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“When writing a novel a writer should create living people; people not...”
– Ernest Hemingway
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Era of Misjudgement
Rereading written lines of forgotten feelings leaves me with a bit of sadness. Thoughts linger on with old memories of a life —and a love that has too soon been overlooked by you.
My tears fall freely —and often while my body aches for your acceptance. You pull away from my loving fingertips as though they scorch your flesh. While your insults are truly ...
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Elle In Process: Bleeding Out →
Your leaving doesn’t break me for the reasons you think. I’m will not die of a broken heart, for it isn’t my heart that ails me.
Can’t you see what’s lying in front of you? I’m here bleeding out on the floor. How can you just step over me on your way to the door?
It wasn’t my heart that I opened up to you; it was a vein. I spilt my blood at your feet. A direct line that ran from me to you.
I...
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Could Be
You and me, we’re just like one of those movies where everybody dies at the end.
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To Sylvia, I Understand
Everyday is
a struggle to keep my head
out of the oven.
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Message received, silent though it may be
Our love is over your eyes cannot hide the truth you refused to speak
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note to self
foetalwrites:
How to feel less empty:
Cut out the garbage. Do something, however little. Make a stranger smile. Say good things often, but mean them. Every time. Look outside your window, and wonder how the birds live without life’s false sense of security.
Make a list of funny moments. But always remember, you will only feel less empty if you fill another up.
What is going on?
Why is everyone writing about sex tonight?
I like it!
Ellie
IT'S NOT MY BIRTHDAY, BUT I'M DRUNK ANYWAY!!
How are YOU my lovlies?!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANDREA!!!!
Word.
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This is beautiful artistry. Have a listen.
...
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Jigsaw Puzzles and You
There were long hyphens in our day- When no one spoke; no one exhaled As we contemplated the broken puzzles- The broken tiles all over the floor Some might have called us mad- Insane- in this ceramic nightmare Of yoga knees and bloody feet- Empty bottles scattered on a garden mat And still we persevered- With our buckets of glue and fingers of paste Figuring how to fit ourselves into this chaos-...
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“Don’t count the miles. Count the I love you’s.”
– Christina Perri
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I've Sat Here for Hours →
I’ve sat here for hours. If this were just last week, I’d say I was waiting for you, but, no more. Not here. There’s just emptiness left.
I’ve sat here for hours searching the lower basements of my mind trying to remember.
I’ve sat here for hours, but I just can’t remember how I started you. You just appeared like ladybugs on the sill in spring. Out of nowhere.
I’ve sat here for hours fearful...
“He called me a little ball of rage. And tonight, I am, I am, I am…”
there will be many more, but...
two shots of whisky are the first steps I will take to get over you
