The Ladies of Lit: Volume XVI

Dec 7, 201125 min read

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Published: Dec 7, 2011

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Welcome to volume sixteen my Literature series, The Ladies of Lit!

The premise here is simple. Below you will find an assortment of Literature features from a selection of female deviants here on DeviantART, all of them suggested by you. In this article, you will also find a variety of other things of interest, including:

This article's deviant spotlight: featuring the amazing thorns. She has offered to answer a few questions as well, to tell us a bit about what inspires her writing and which piece in particular she favors.

Additional information about our upcoming events, including a special critique Q and A session in our official TheLadiesofLit chatroom. And we also have a selection of other interesting Literature news links to share with you.

Our "meet our contributors" section. Be sure to note me if you would like to volunteer your services or offer additional suggestions as to how to improve this series.

We also have a new series format for this news article, due to recent DeviantART website changes. Deviants are still able to

this journal, so please take a moment to do so, to continue to show your support for our devious writers.

Now – On With the Features!

ThornyEnglishRose
The Golden Age UnwoundCharles had been king of England from the cradle.  He did not remember his mother, Queen Mary.  All he was able to learn about her was that she was devoted to God, and had burned hundreds of Protestants during her short reign.  Now Charles's father, King Philip II of Spain, carried on this great work.  He hoped to rid not only England but all Europe of the new religion.
'Do you know,' Charles's aunt Elizabeth said to him, 'you can stop him any time you want to.  You are the king.'
'But he is my father,' said Charles, then seven years old.
He was given possession of his mother's rosary, and told that it had first belonged to his grandmother, Katherine of Aragon.  People who had known his mother told him always to hold it when he said his Hail Marys, so he did.
'Hail Mary, full of grace, blessed art thou and blessed am I, the fruit of thy womb.'
Once, he allowed Elizabeth to hear this secret prayer.  Smiling, she strok MermaidShe was hauled up by a fishing vessel out catching cod.  The fishermen retired on the money they made, and Birds Eye had to find a new supplier, while the managers of San Diego Zoo thought of how to make the most of their new attraction.  They knew they could charge thousands to start with.  Then once all the millionaires had seen her they reduced it to hundreds and, finally, affordable prices with discounts on family tickets.
Years passed, and the mermaid was no longer bringing in any more money than the Panda Research Station.  After much um-ing and ah-ing, a management intern pointed out that baby animals always bring in the customers.  For some time the managers discussed whether it would be worth the expense of sending out a fishing vessel to try and catch a merman.
'But even if we got one,' somebody said, 'there's no saying she'd mate with him.'
This was hotly debated.  Some argued that the mermaid had a human head and t TildaWhen I was six, my dad started going out with a woman called Laura.  As soon as he told me about her, I decided that I wasn’t going to like her, but somehow Dad knew I had decided that and told me to give her a chance.
‘I still miss your mum,’ he said, ‘and I still love her very much, just like you do.  But I love Laura as well, and it isn’t her fault your mum died, so you mustn’t take it out on her.  She doesn’t want to be your mother - she only wants to be your friend.  And I think you should let her try.’
It was very difficult for me to accept that another woman was coming into our lives, because after Mum died it had just been me and Dad for three whole years.  I was only little when she died, but I remembered everything.  I especially remembered how much she, Dad and I all loved each other.  When it was just me and Dad, it was almost like it was still me and Dad and Mum.

_{Suggested by: Vigilo

"ThornyEnglishRose is a lovely and refreshingly original storywriter - her style is capturing and carrying, so that even the shortest work from her will always end in me reading it more than once."}

carriezona
No Difference BetweenEven with bare feet -
Shoes, a distant contempt,
We might have been flying higher
Were we not pressing soil
   into planets
   with them...
We might have been better off
Decked out in iridescent scales
   in mind,
   in skies,
   in seas,
   and in mud;
Flip-flopping about,
Flailing freely in breeze.
So let's take off these shoes, my dear,
And mix our edgeless skin
And pretend that there's a difference between -
   Living in doubt, and
   Living in sin;
pretend that there's a difference between -
   Living without, and
   Living within. RopeWith just another inch of it,
let loose, unwound
slack from secret stashes:
There might have been enough
sisal rope or
twisting twine,
to tie to you
to keep you close
or else,
to form into a noose
(so you might hang around this time.)

_{Suggested by: SadisticIceCream

"carriezona is best-known for her incredible blackout poetry, but her gallery also contains original work as well. Regardless of type, however, her poetry is always lyrical and insightful."}

Rieal-Dragonsbane
Ash and PaintThe little girl in the painting liked to move. One day she leaned forward with hands on knees. The next, she stood straight with hands behind back. The next she looked up and to the left, and smiled to someone only she could see.
I showed friends the moving picture. They denied it.
They said, "She's always stood that way." And the next day they would say, "She's always sat that way."
I just laughed. "Of course. Silly me."
I burned the painting.
The next day there were old burns on my fingers. The next day they were on my arms. The next – on my face. When I cried out for fear of it, my friends looked rather worried and said, "You've always been that way. Dear, is everything alright?"
I didn't laugh.
This morning I woke with three less fingers than the night before.
I cleaned the ash from my sheets. Too Many Clever BuggersThere were too many university applicants.
A theory for the clever bugger influx was that previous generations of university graduates went forth and multiplied. Another was the rise in opportunities for the peasant classes. Whatever the reason, there were now legions of heartbroken students feeling quite miffed. Touched by their suffering, the government voted to triple tuition fees so that many of the peasants wouldn't even try to apply.
Apparently that didn't work so well, making all the politicians very sad. They consoled themselves by claiming second homes with taxpayers' money, because even if you lived less than twenty minutes from the workplace, having two homes was just nice.
Using paper money to wipe away tears as they sat in their second homes, they wondered what else they could do to discourage the clever buggers from fulfilling their potential. Eventually, an idea came to them.
Testing. They needed more tests.
Unfortunately, it was known that clever buggers had a certain a Ink VoiceWhile the other children spilled into the playground, Ren stayed inside. She sat in her beanbag and leafed through a book. Ren loved stories as much as she hated talking. This late into the year, she had read and reread every child-battered book on the shelf several times. And she loved them all.
They smelled like . . . magic.
Stories were doors and Ren used them to fall into other worlds.
Except, not really. She only pretended to do so, and it was hard to pretend when grownups decide to interrupt her quiet reading.
"Which book are you reading today, Ren?" Miss Payper asked.
Don't say a word.
Ren did not look up at her teacher. She continued to read The Gruffalo. It was funny, not scary, and very clever.
"Would you like to read aloud to me?"
If you talk, he will know. Oh, he'll know.
She didn't like reading aloud. Not really. The words were better on paper than on her tongue.
"Is there anything you would like to say?"
Never tell! Never never

_{Suggested by: SilverInkblot

"Rieal-Dragonsbane has a gallery full of variety, from satirical pieces to post-apocalypse settings to fantasy."}

prismatic-Lace
The Angel and The DragonWistful wyrm, render our fiendish desires.
Soar along the faded vault with absence of divinity
Envious flight on prideful wings.
Your wicked form displays our epitome.
Destitute Angel gazing above the haze
naïve virtue illusive mercy eluded in perfection.
Judgment gnarled, untried wisdom
Your Divinity tangible in the dirt.
Breathe the fire, let passions seek the soul.
Level now the wings are clipped.
Angels and dragons tempered when
Perfection is stripped
Heaven and Hell are connected
By a thousand drops of rain. Zombie in StarbucksHe walks in with his bright floral button up shirt, business slacks and sandals. As much as he tries to separate himself from society with his appearances, his years of trained predictability strangle his efforts.
Strolling up to the barista with a practiced smile he orders his double shot caramel espresso with skim milk and a sprinkling of cinnamon. For almost three years every Tuesday at ten in the morning that order rings up when he approaches the door. The baristas have given him the nickname 'The usual' He laughs at it like It is an old joke he has not heard in a while.
He sits down and relaxing to his Strauss and Voltaire classics on CD. I swear, that disc is worn and scratched but it is indestructible. It still plays without skipping. Sipping his drink in peace, he smiles at the tickle the whipped cream clinging to his lip. I wonder how he still finds a whip cream mustache genuinely amusing after three years of it. His wardrobe is exuberant but he is a machine underneath.
He nev hypocritical messageStand untainted above us.
Solemn Cathedrals tower.
Mountain steeples and rifted valleys
Dividing us from humanity.
Perfection, a Lonely state.
Never have you lived cruel temptation.
Redemption's taste has been denied.
Separating us from the Divine.
What grace can been given?
What judgment can atone?
How can mercy approach
When You will not leave Your throne?

_{Suggested by: Lupina24

"She is fantastic at short stories of the horror and suspense genre."}

tina-go-lightly
SynchronicityYou reassure and console and affirm
But I remember forward
And I know the patterns of love
That folds and bends and breaks and mends----
---can I be that fool again?
Perhaps, but only in the quick rising of youth
In setting suns and rising moons,
Yesterday and tomorrow and last week and next year
But I cannot love you here Cyclicalbreathe--quickly
in and out
rise and fall.
smoke and fire,
burn. smolder. conquer
fall back to ash. Mea CulpaI try to summon memories
Recalcitrant in a desert of long-ago barren thoughts
But freckles and the precise shade of your eyes
Will not quite come into focus.
And so I grow cynical and weary wise
With the sigh of desire
Stretching into some vague notion of responsibility
That can not quite conform to who we were.
You were always wiser than me.
Maybe-certainly-I, in a haze of arrogant knowledge
Dismissed you, but you were right--
Nothing is more glorious than simplicity,
Than the curve of a laugh or the tandem-heartbeat of love.

_{Suggested by: dreamsinstatic

"Tina's work is always beautiful even when it is breaking your heart."}

My Spotlight Deviant:

thorns

Mother Nature's WrathThe supposed deity, Mother Nature, was always present on the backwater planet. The bitter cold wind, stinging Bosch's face and ruffling his fur, was a constant reminder of her wrath. At least the sun was shining as he trudged through the deep snow.
"Machu's hungry." Shelly, his small human mate, lagged behind him. The snow was knee deep for her, but she struggled through without complaint.
He did not speak her language, but the translator implanted in his ear understood most human words.
"Soon." In the distance, he still saw the human structure they had escaped. He had killed the humans, but now they were in a race against time. Rescue was waiting for him two days away, weather permitting. He would be assumed dead if he did not appear in that time.
The pup in question, Machu, huffed and circled his bearer on all fours, impatient for his meal. Still light enough to remain on top the snow, the pup kept up better than Shelly.
Machu took after him in appearance, as was natural when his rac Core City - PromptProtagonist: Jack Ramsey
Jack settled back on his sofa and shook his head. "Fences are independent here. It's better for you and better for us that way."
Pat, his very distant cousin from New York, scoffed at him. "But we're family, Jack. Come on. You can't help us out?"
"I can help you out, but I don't take orders from nobody. I run my business how I run my business." He wasn't going to give in, not even for his mother's family.
"All right, so you run it how you want. We don't care what you do, not really, but help us out with this." Pat sipped his coffee.
Jack leaned forward. "What do you want me to do, exactly?"
"Not much, just don't deal with the Scarletti Family. Tell them you're busy or on vacation."
"Sounds like you're telling me who to do business with." He had been his own man since he was seventeen and doing small time thefts. At thirty five he wasn't about to fall in line like a sheep.
Pat shook his head. "We're asking you to take a vacation and Routine 23BioCorp America
2256 A.D.
Max listened to Emma's soft voice strain after reading aloud for two hours. Settled in her bed with her feet tucked under her, Emma read to him every night. A hint of rasp scuffed the lyrical recitation and she turned the page of the printed book. The paper had cost her a week's pay, necessary because the novel was unspoken contraband, but he treasured these moments. Hearing the controversial tale in her voice settled warmth inside him and, he suspected, the emotion was contentment.
At the end of the chapter she looked up. Her mahogany colored eyes were soft and the corners of her full mouth tipped up. "Are you sleeping?"
He shook his head and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "Please continue."
She fulfilled his request and tucked her flaxen hair behind her good ear. The left one, burned off in combat, she kept hidden and tilted away from his gaze. Feminine gestures of that nature had been his first indication Emma had feelings for

_{She writes a wide range of delightful prose, and helpful tutorials. Her writing is fresh, original and sometimes with a dash of humor, she keeps everyone coming back for more.}

She has also taken a few moments to share some of her own insights as a writer. I asked her a few questions:

Why do you write?

Primarily to get the crazy story ideas out of my head before they drive me insane!

It's tough to pin down all the reasons and I even had this discussion with a small group of fellow deviants (Squashies!) to sort my thoughts. In general, it's a great outlet for creativity and escapism. I think, like most writers, I write because I love it and I want to share my passion with others.

You have many years experience as a DeviantART writer. What things have helped you most as a member here throughout the years?

Tutorials! They're great for me because I like to learn as well as I can in private first. And it's the least embarrassing way to discover you've been doing it wrong for over two decades.

Critique! You can only grow so much on your own. A second set of eyes shines this godly light on the writing you thought you knew. It's a real eye opener.

There's also a lot of joy to be had in the critique process. When someone takes time out of their day to read and analyze my work it really underscores that my writing is worth the effort

This answer is running long already, but I also wanted to note that interacting with the community in general has been helpful. I have social anxiety. I'm not shy about letting the world know it anymore (thank you dA lit community!), and the positive experiences I've had here have improved my social skills more than I could ever explain. You guys are all amazing!

What things in your life aside from DeviantART keep you connected to your writing?

Writing spills over into just about everything else in my life that I have trouble thinking of things not connected to my writing. Anything I see, hear, or feel inspires me to write. If I'm not writing, I'm probably thinking or talking about a writing project.

My poor husband (bored out of his mind) puts up with my hour long rambles trying to work through a plot, drives around with a novel manuscript in his trunk so my editing notes aren't misplaced, and he looks the other way when I shove 10 pounds of notebooks in our limited luggage space. That's a big deal when you live out of a suitcase, and he's great about it.

What motivates you to share your writing on DeviantART?

It makes me happy to submit to deviantART! Most of my submissions are for prompts, contests, or other community projects. They originate here so of course they'll be posted here. It's my way of saying, "Count me in!"

In general submitting to dA is great for critique and socializing. If I liked something enough to write it, someone here will probably enjoy it too. When that happens it really makes my day.

Which piece featured is your favorite and why?

Mother Nature's Wrath. More than a year after I wrote it I still have a special soft spot for Bosch and his determination to save his family. The pairing is off-kilter, especially when the characters never overcome the language barrier, but I think that's very much so represents my love for strange relationships.

thorns will also be joining us in the our TheLadiesofLit chatroom for a special critiquing session for her wonderful literary work. If there are any critiquing tips you would like to offer her toward any deviations that you have seen featured here today or others that interest you – this is the place to be on January 8th at 7:00 pm EST! (What time is this for me?) And as an extra incentive: for those of who offer thorns the best critiques, there will be a few extra goodies in store for you, so don't miss out!

Meet Our Contributors:

I want to express my gratitude toward everyone for all of the ongoing support of this project. I duly hope to see even more suggestions in the future. Also – those of you who did not see your deviations selected and posted in this article, they may be featured on the next one. We will have plenty of upcoming deviants to spotlight in the future. If you would like to be one of those, or to suggest others, feel free to note me and be sure to tell me what you love most about them and why these writers appeals to you. Do not be shy – get involved! The more suggestions I receive, the more writers that get featured. For now, check out our volunteers who sent in their features and offered assistance, and don't forget to thank them!