#Writeblrcafe

[robertjw4688]

We set our suitcases

ablaze

and huddle around

for warmth.

Our paper angst

becomes embers

and we catch the ashes

with our tongues,

pretending

we are innocent.

Robert J. W.

[alaskaisnothere]

isn't it funny how life is wonderful and messy and hard like one day you are crying your eyes out because you feel lost and the next day you are packing your stuff ready to leave your worries behind and start a new chapter in a different country and then you find all these people who love and support you and you still feel lost and you still have no idea what your life is supposed to look like but you're enjoying pink sunset and book dates at the park and overpriced coffees and maybe you just have to enjoy the breeze without expecting a storm

[palladiumfragments]

my fingerprint was in the things i didn't say

all the things i didn't say is a tortured poet whose pockets i filled with stones and coaxed into walking into a lake down, down she goes never to be seen again. deep within, you know i, too, struck a match that led us to this precipice but without a body, mystery shrouds it like a story the townspeople think they know until you ask them about it.

so say the hard things one last time, your heart in your throat words hesitantly falling like a light summer rain. at the same moment, i was staring at the crash playing over your face like a see-through film scene. necessary lies filled the spaces where it could have been i tell myself, "better that than asking for forgiveness" i was already mad enough to let it haunt me it's these hands i can't stain.

soon, this case will turn cold confined in polaroids collecting dust in an evidence room fleeting, but in a way, timeless. i'll never speak of it again but nostalgia is the god i believe in so forgive me if i would still hear it in songs feel it in the shadows, bleed it into poems but darling if i spilled my guts you'll be the last to know.

[innocentlymacabre]

Being a short fiction writer is hard. We painstakingly craft entire narratives, distilled to perfection, and when we're finally ready to publish...we slam face-first into a brick wall.

Rejections are par for the course, but we can't even get rejections if we don't know where to submit. There are so many wonderful magazines out there who are just waiting to read our work, but finding them can be difficult.

As a short fiction writer myself, I know the pain well.

So, I decided to try and help. I've compiled a list of 140 magazines and counting, with information on the genres they accept, if they accept excerpts from longer works, word count limit, pay scale, simultaneous/republished/multiple acceptance status, and their response timeframes.

And the best bit? It's free. All I ask is that you give me a commission on what you make share this with other writers so getting published can be easier for us all.

Grab the database right hereeee.

[pawkimishra]

I wear indiffernce like a robe

say I'm fine and moved along

in crowds it's easy, you see

my mind's a mess when it's just me

You don't leave my head

it's tough to live with your glances like that

a touch, a sigh, an ache within

i wonder now, is this a sin?

Do you love me too or am I trapped in a vicious cycle of loving and loving you even more

[nikithathampy]

[norwoodx]

Denied by Death

I tried to bargain with Death, with all my life to show. “What a pity,” he laughs. And shakes his head ever so slow.

“There’s no price I could take, nada you could suggest… even if you brought all your manners, your trinkets and dressed your best. It still wouldn’t be enough! Not a soul would mourn your death!”

My shoulders drooped, my head fell down, disappointment weighing heavy on me. But his claws lifted my face that frowned, An’ his eyes glowed as he said with glee:

"Now what is a deal if I am not pleased? I do a deed for you and your life does nothing for me? You, of no fame or fortune,  you’re not even happy.”

And with 1,000 mouths he laughs til I cry out, “how more humiliating can this be?! Death, face to face, laughing at me!!”

On an’ on he prances the floor, his mocking steps, a cruel show. With a dramatic huff, he spins ‘round and looks me over from head to toe.

“Ohhh they’ll whisper how low I’ve gotten, how desperate I must be! Just to fill my tombs. No, no, you’re not coming with me.”

With one last shove, he pushes me forth out into the cold harsh air. His door swung, then slammed with force, “Good luck, pitiful thing,” was all I could hear.

[itisiives]

Hey, y'all, I'm still raising money for this tuition that's gotten me in a chokehold, so I am still selling my books. But if money is too tight, would you mind requesting the title at your local library, instead? That may help!

📚 📖 📙

And to help convince you: I have a poem featured in Janus Literary.

[unmondefou]

love blew between my ribs

as the breeze blows on the branches.

a shiver ran through my heart

and it shakes like the leaves of a tree.

--- h.harouche

[ginadope]

rivers and poems

A spiral of duality - your warm side, it has Prepared for you a glass Of ache and gold

I am not much A single drop of softness I dare not greet you in dreams, I Hide my thoughts from myself

And I stand before you Barefoot in the sand A strange wound and a howl Born of beauty Their poetry simple - your fear I will carry away

[mkaugustpoetry]

Your leaves and vines and branches

Grew up around my arms,

My needles and bones,

My broken and dying limbs

Reaching for an unreachable sky.

Your leaves and vines and branches twisted

Around and across me and they

Bloomed and turned green and stretched high

Until they covered all my dead brown branches

That should surely have fallen.

My once strong trunk no longer stable

If it weren't for the strength you wound around me

Keeping me tall.

Keeping me upright when by all rights I don't belong,

still reaching for an unreachable sky.

When by all rights you should have grown

Elsewhere and planted your roots in

Healthier soil and your leaves should wind

Alongside stable vibes that still grow

Each summer.

I can't help but think that,

If you were less busy watching me sleep,

You would relate to the

Maple, down the street,

Twisted and thriving

Around the dying pine.

[robertjw4688]

I take all the times

I've wanted to die

and I coddle them

in my wings.

Crying midnights, alone,

become smiling evenings

where I sit

next to my heart

and let out

a brief chuckle

that sounds like a lullaby

for the river

and the nylon

and the razors.

Robert J. W.

[dg-fragments]

I write to you, of you, not because our souls are intertwined, neither because you're mine or I'm yours, but because I do not know of any other audience, for these thoughts, in the form of mere words, for this fragmented existence, which reveals through the cracks of past experiences, to lose itself in the captivating beauty, that is yourself.

- DG

[palladiumfragments]

the last august where i write what i know

august brings in more than petrichor and volatile skies. soft hauntings lick the windows. what's on the other side of the door doesn't terrify me as much as the absence of a knock. it's the silent requiem. it's the handprints that isn't there. it's the breath i held in my lungs that i never got to sigh. the tug at my ribs i first felt at a bus stop six years ago grows more and more restless each day. if i'm not twenty three i'd simply call it by its name, but i am twenty three in the kitchen brewing my second cup of coffee because the first barely kicks in anymore.

last week i told a friend over lunch that i'm a completely different person now, but the moment i stumbled back into the apartment i realized i still wear my burn marks like a badge of honor. my lover is in the other room, listening to his late brother's favorite song again. while i thrash, he remains serene. i'll never understand the amount of gentleness it takes not to bare your teeth to the world once your body sheathes an endless apocalypse. the fever came gently, but the tragedy lies in my inability to put into words the intricacies of its confusing corporality. you see the smoke in my eyes, you know the flames took something, but the ruins tell you everything and nothing.

[innocentlymacabre]

THE CRESCENT OF FOOLS AND FORGOTTEN TIME ⤳ a wip (re)intro

Lucille Carmine is not one to relinquish her hold on someone once her wicked talons have sunk into them, as Jayce all too painfully learns once more. He’s pulled into her employ again, Lott jumping in after his best friend, tasked - under extreme duress, of course - to retrieve The Liminality Paradox. Previously thought to have been nothing more than a bedtime story, Jayce and Lott find themselves unwillingly heading to The Crescent of Fools and Forgotten Time, right into the heart of The Fool’s domain, a place where time and space lose all meaning, where everything that has ever happened is happening all at once and where nothing ever happens all the same. A place where the ends of the universe could be nothing more than a hop, skip, and a jump away, but the five feet in front of you could stretch out to infinity and beyond. A place where the insane rule sovereign and the sane are grinded to a dust, folded into the ripples of the Crescent. All to steal an artifact of untold power for one of the most dangerous overlords of the criminal world, and to lay even more unchecked power at her feet for her to abuse.

STATUS: querying

GENRE: urban fantasy / heist / comedy

MEDIUM: feature film

WARNINGS: description/depiction of wounds, death and pain (will be modified as necessary)

LINKS: WIP tag (x) | Ko-fi 💜 (x)

general taglist in the comments (ask to be added/removed!) // newsletter

any boosting would be much appreciated!

picture credits: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

[pawkimishra]

Sail many seas and

you can chase every tide

But when it's dark and

you long for a shore

I am, sweetheart, your abode