This Is Halloween!

Before I launch our next workshop, which I'm uber-crazy excited about, I want to give a round of applause to Shuriken95, who hosted a fantastic workshop this past month. I had a lot of fun writing my palindrome poem, and it sounded like you guys did too. If you didn't get a chance to catch them, here are some of the entries in the group:

another fix, pleasethat feeling of relief
in darkened days –
remembering once
with hollow eyes and broken gazes,
floods my skin like taut stares,
uncomfortable –
the key snapping blurry worlds
into focus.
I dissolve, scars upon scars,
building tales of months
forgotten and
pain bleeding outside borders –
only blissful addiction.
[ breathing monitored,
as watched as I am – ]
confusion, hazy like counting
backwards
for that feeling in freedom,
for waiting.
perfection comes in blood
and agony, for searching
out hungry addiction.
watch –
addiction, hungry,
out searching for agony
and blood.
in comes perfection,
waiting for freedom in
feeling that,
for backwards counting like hazy
confusion.
[ am I
as watched as
monitored breathing? ]
addiction, blissful –
only borders outside bleeding
pain and forgotten
months of tales building
scars upon scars.    dissolve.
I focus into worlds
blurry, snapping.
key the uncomfortable stares,
taut like skin.
my floods &

Chantar VII: ILLUMINED NIGHTLight shed shadows with darkness giving fright -
     Horrors past bear the bad name marauders
          Plight and vanquish: to name new the dark night
               "Queen's night" undoing, undoing night - queen's
          Night: dark; the new name to vanquish and plight -
     Marauders name, bad, the Bear "past horrors" -
Fright giving darkness with shadows, shed light.

SaltFelicia was, quite blatantly, beautiful.
Possessing the delicate features of a porcelain doll,
she seemed surreal and faraway as a deity to her peers...
Even so,
She feared water, and acted human.
She wasn't human at all...
Her friends discovered why she never swam in pools or lakes.
When one of her neighbors jokingly pushed her into the pool
She melted.
When one of her neighbors jokingly pushed her into the pool
Her friends discovered why she never swam in pools or lakes.
She wasn't human at all...
She feared water, and acted human.
Even so,
she seemed surreal and faraway as a deity to her peers...  
Possessing the delicate features of a porcelain doll,
Felicia was, quite blatantly, beautiful.

Feelthese broken wings,
I fall because of
they flit past me,
the glittering pieces of my emotions
the ground stares up at me,
as I look down
it tingles my very bones,
this shiver of the unknown that dances
a small leaf fluttering gently to the ground,
I know that it is worth more than me -

the makers, the breakersif what
is imagined
is what
broken pieces
from echoes of stars
harmony, birthing
dischord in mind
of euphonious creation stitching
                                                  (we)
remnants together:
bone and water, light
then
(light, water
and bone)
together, remnants we,
euphonious of mind,
in dischord birthing harmony,
stars of echoes,
from pieces
broken:
what is imagined
is
what if.

It was nest to see how everyone explored the prompt using their own unique styles and subjects.


Now, without further ado, I present...some Writer's Workshop Weirdness.

For the first time in Writer's Workshop history, we're teaming up with two contests to learn as much as we can about writing horror and other kinds of scary, spooky stories and poems. While the genre theme is the same for each, we'll be running two tandem workshops, and because they're with contests, you could win some pretty juicy prizes.

First Up? Memnalar's annual All Hallow's Tales contest.

Check out the official news article here: fav.me/d5f8h2u

"This is a Halloween-inspired, Literature-only contest asking for submissions of PROSE FICTION around the theme of Blood Country, or the horrors that await unsuspecting victims in the far-flung, remote corners of the world, from back roads to the summit of Everest to the bottom of the ocean. Cell phones don't work. Help isn't coming, and the flashlight battery is starting to give out. What happens now? Maybe you'll tell me. Maybe you won't live that long.

Interpret the theme however you see fit, but do remember that this is a Halloween contest, and creepy, suspenseful, scary, bone-chilling, spine-tingling, and even darkly humorous or ironic stories are preferred. If you aren't sure if your idea fits the bill, feel free to note `Memnalar and ask. "


Deadline? October 22nd.

Word Count? 2000 words or less.

Be sure to read the news article for all the details.


Meanwhile, in another part of town...Poetry Screams!

Check out the official launch article here: dreamsinstatic.deviantart.com/…

"Choose one of the following prompts and write a piece of poetry based upon it. Allow your mind to stretch the words out as far as possible, be creative and have fun. In fitting with the theme I have chosen 10 prompts for you to experiment with."

Deadline? November 1st.

Word count limit? 75 lines or less.




Your Mission, Should You Choose To Accept It...

...is to write the best damn contest entry you can. But you don't have to go it alone; Writers-Workshop is here to help!

From now through all of October, :Writers-Workshop: will be an all-critique workshop. As soon as you've written a rough draft of your poem or story, submit it to our Halloween folder (which may not open until tonight, due to technical issues) and we'll try our damnedest to get you the feedback you need.

Then, you re-write and revise. Maybe send it in again, if you liked the feedback you got the first time. Rinse and Repeat until you've got the scariest, freakiest, best Halloween story or poem you could possibly muster, and enter it in the contest.

In addition to the critiques (and we encourage all members to critique, even if you're not writing this time around!) we'll also be posting weekly blog updates with tips and tricks to tackle the horror genre.


Horror of Horrors: Homework!

Yep, if you want a shot at winning this, I'd suggest a bit of research reading.

Check out the winners of last year's All Hallow's Tales contest:

Buford"They're gone again Mom!" The distraught wail of my son wafted in through the still open door.
I pulled my head and a load of flailing clothes out of the dryer. "Oh no, sweetie, you're kidding!" I followed the cold draft to the open door. Buford was standing at the  bottom of the steps, tears welling up in his blue, seven-year-old eyes. He pointed to the spot where his Jack-o-Lantern used to sit.
My own heart sunk to the spidery frost formations on the steps. He was a timid kid, Buford. He was fiercely intelligent, and he took pride in his work, but he got discouraged easily.
His grin had been so unreserved last night when he had shown Bret and I the lop-sided cackle of his Jack-o-Lantern, his bright little face smudged with the orange-yellow juice and webs of pumpkin guts still trailing from his elbows and fingers. It had been a project of many hours of scooping and carving and even more drawing and redrawing the perfect face. It was his second one this year.
"You said it wo

:thumb261315821:



And last year's Poetry Screams contest:

offerings of a ghostand there was a vague veracity
in the whisper of your touch
that faded like feathers of frost
before the fevered kiss
of my breath.
winter settled slowly
down the curling knots of my spine
the same path
where your lips once burned
like candles in the night,
shadows tossed high
as autumn leaves riding reckless
on the wind.
at times i feel
this cup of bones
will crumble, blood and ash
and only that
and heavy hearts too full to bear
will break against the cool,
upturned cheek of earth
bare of greenery
but veiled in sinking snow.
your every echo is a curse
limned in regret
and the sting of dark hair whipping
in my brimming eyes
carries the coldest winds
across whitewashed memory,
the bite of ice built
upon a wasteland.
even a shiver cannot shake
the ringing feeling
that your absence speaks
a greater truth—
that you were never here
at all.

Dark MotherBleed your colors to the ground,
let them swirl in the vortex of your breath.
The gathering chill escaped from your lungs
whispers the green earth into death.

Dark Mother, keep the spirits
you hold within your hands.
Souls eternally bidden,
soaked and seeped into the land.
Dark Mother, keep your fury
quivering deep within the ground.
Harm us not, but let us hear
the power of that sound.
The wheel is turning, always turning
as the sun falls from the sky.
Mother can you tell me,
oh can't you tell me why?
Dark Mother, stir your cauldron
deep living waters of rebirth.
Wash clean this wretched wreckage
we have wreaked upon the earth.
Dark Mother, shall we reap
all that we have sown?
When spring returns will you be there?
to light our path toward home?
The wheel is turning, always turning
as the seasons slowly die.
Mother can you tell me,
oh can't you tell me why?
Will you exhale a merciful breath,
to warm our world once more?
Or stop the wheel from turning,
leave us trappe

kissing a ghostbend.
once upon a
time, i
inhaled a shooting
star -
silver trail
it was a falling
star (in
ha[i]led)
like kissing a ghost
in the parking
lot in the
stairs hollow
lips pressed
against mine
you said darling i
won't be here
forever;
just long enough
to make you love
me,
sunrise dim on
the horizon, blur
ring the li(n)es -
there is the present
and there is the
future but the
past is merely
memories  
/fingerprints
enclosed in
stories between
the pages
and the sun
it is strong it
is bright it is
scorching my moon-
possessed
flesh charring
my lungs burning
my heart
like kissing a ghost
blazing fire blazing
soul, suspended in
m i d a i r
[like a
body
hanging
from a
rope,
     dang
ling]
and you whisper
darling, i won't be
here forever;
just long enough
to make you
cry.


You can read all of them, or just some of them. The goal is to get your creative sparks flying. So get reading, and get writing!