| Gallery folder for the Slogans & Stamps contest! Fill it up! |

Name That Baby1) Audio Version Here and 2) New Audio Version here Scroll to "Read by SilverInkBlot," then find this title.Name That Baby by *xlntwtch
I'm gonna lay it on the table
Do the tell
Get the spelling right
Tight.
Got called "depressed"
Took it up to "manic"
Bipolar in the head
And they said --
"Make it longer,
Schizo-affective
Bipolar tendencies"
New dependency
On taking pills,
To flatten my hills
Knock out the frills,
I got double-damned.
'Cause a this shit --
Father dies in a pool
Mother dies too,
In love with a fool
Mother let days pass,
No food or water
How did she last?
I closed her eyes,
They felt alive,
Like little butterflies.
Hector also dies,
Left alone by

Tips For the NoviceTips For the Novice by ~suture
Tips For The Novice
It's an all-too common occurrence on my periodic forays into the world of internet poetry - writing weakened by a lack of fundamental knowledge concerning the essence of poetry writing. There are no rules set in stone about creative writing. The writer that strikes new trails can make a lasting impact on the world of poetry, but the chances of a writer stumbling upon golden words without a solid knowledge base are slim to none. The following tips for novice writers are intended to help shore up those fundamentals, to help the young writer breathe the essence of life into their poems, and to better share that essence with

Tips For Editing PoetryTips For Editing Poetry by ~suture
***Tips For the Novice (and otherwise) - Editing***
The blanket statement, "Editing/revision harms poetry," is simply wrong. It's akin to a photographer claiming that focusing the lens ruins the emotion of the photograph. It is the details, and the appropriate attention paid to them, that separate a photograph from a snapshot. Imagine a film maker slapping every frame he shot up on the screen without editing for continuity, for pacing, for effect. What a disaster. That is not to say that editing can't be destructive - there is such a thing as poor editing, just as there is poor writing. But done correctly, done well, it is one of the m

W3 Series: Fish in the SkySince the beginning of suture, the goal has always been to aid aspiring writers and poets to learn to focus their work into something that transcends simple "expressing one's self". One might claim that such an endeavor is "the blind leading the blind" in a community such as DeviantArt, due to the "amateur" nature of those involved. It is true, most of us involved don't have any kind of awe-inspiring credentials as to the validity of our criticism of much of the work submitted to DA -- except for one thing: Our work.W3 Series: Fish in the Sky by ~manadrake
I challenge anyone to peruse the galleries of those involved with Suture and not come to the conclusion that, although we may

Bluster, Part 2Bluster, Part 2 by ~suture
Bluster
Chapter 2
I'm at a small toy fair in Middlesex when the call comes. Last day before I'm due to begin the assignment. I move around the various tables in a pleasant reverie, half-recognising many of the stallholders from the last toy fair I went to - evidently, many of them move around the country from fair to fair.
I'm not really looking for anything, although there is the vague intention, somewhere at the back of my mind, to buy a model of a Ford RS200 rally car. This stems from a conversation I had earlier in the morning with Nicole, which began as I was wriggling i

Bluster, Part 1Bluster, Part 1 by ~suture
This is the story of the Nightwatchman. As an operational officer for the British SIS, he is about to embark on the most dangerous mission of his career. At home, his marriage is falling apart. As near to the brink as he's ever been, he can only confront the latter by raking over the details of old love affairs in his study, while his way of handling the former is a secret he must keep from both his enemies and his allies alike.
Chapter 1
Reading through the contents of the yellow folder, I realise once and for all that I was never funny. The jokes in these old stories all fall flat, or have the flavour of something borrowed, while the insu
| Gallery folder for the Slogans & Stamps contest! Fill it up! |
![]() To the new deviant, and even to deviants who have been here a while, this website can be an intimidating maze of resources, features, and tools that are difficult to navigate. Because of the nature of the beast, we here at ~suture would like to direct members of the literature community to the little-known world of the dA lit forums. ...a sampler of graphic fiction and non-fiction that amply demonstrates the power of sequential art. |

Tips For the NoviceTips For the Novice by ~suture
Tips For The Novice
It's an all-too common occurrence on my periodic forays into the world of internet poetry - writing weakened by a lack of fundamental knowledge concerning the essence of poetry writing. There are no rules set in stone about creative writing. The writer that strikes new trails can make a lasting impact on the world of poetry, but the chances of a writer stumbling upon golden words without a solid knowledge base are slim to none. The following tips for novice writers are intended to help shore up those fundamentals, to help the young writer breathe the essence of life into their poems, and to better share that essence with

Showing, Part OneShowing, Part One by ~onewordatatime
If you've ever taken a class in creative writing, you've no doubt heard the teacher repeat the phrase, "Show, don't tell" over and over again. While there are few hardest rules in creative writing, this persistent little mantra might be the ultimate. Teachers and writers who write about writing spout it out all the time, but what does it mean anyway? After, isn't all writing really "telling" on some level?
It's best to view "showing" not as a single technique, but a summation of the most effective writing techniques. If we know anything about poetry, it's that the best poetry usually conjures specific and concrete images. Beyond languag

A Note on Writing CharactersA Note on Writing Characters by *jamberry-song
My dearest, darling Author:
I enjoyed reading your book, I really did. But there were some things that simply got on my nerves.
Your need to tell me absolutely everything, as if every tiny detail were just so integral to the plot, was supremely annoying. I do not need to know a character's hair and eye color when I first meet them, or every detail down to the style of his buttons when he walks into a scene; I do not necessarily need to know what his lunch was or that he went bowling with the guys last Saturday and has been in the league for five years. Take for instance that scene on the veranda, where the one protagonist stepped up to the

Cristian RosasCristian Rosas by ^Beccalicious
Mediterranean breeze warmed my dreams;
cappuccino mornings blended
into Bacardi sunsets.
Tobacco smoulders and I remember-
his name was Cristian Rosas.
Sunset passed. Spirits poured
European measures- unlike tight English twenty-five mil,
relieving the throbs of snow white turned red queen.
The glow led our intoxicated journey. Sambuca fused.
We invaded the dance floor.
yellow lanterns,
blue, red, green
blue,
yellow, red,
green merged with smiles.
Freedom spun me to his arms.
Giggles blushed sunburn. Cristian Rosas
whispered his name.
Fingers caressed my shoulder;
pulses shot down my back.
Lights,
music people blurre

Small talkTapping the baton of her teaspoonSmall talk by ~venturus
twice on the saucer, a bright start:
'You've dropped out,' says his mother.
Her vision of a career in White Hall
crushed by his arts trifling, not one
to acknowledge the legislative clout
of poets. She's a resurrectionist,
keen to deliver him to Society's
scalpel, 'What's wrong?' through
chat and china's light percussion,
a uniform hum he hears as Om.

The Skull: A Love StoryBuried beneath a debris of odds and ends - discarded carnival masks, willow patterned tea cups, toothless combs, and mauled little clown dolls - a curve of yellowed ivory, like an old woman's tooth, peeped. Smoothly translucent, surprisingly so, and he wondered if a bit of bleach upon an old toothbrush might not wear off the yellow sheen and convert it to a gleaming alabaster, like a bust of Nefertiti, and indeed there was something of Nefertiti to its cast, something exotic; a slant to the eye socket, perhaps? And he wondered, and pondered, and rubbed the cheekbone (zygomatic process, his mind faintly reminded him) and debated how much suchThe Skull: A Love Story by ~orphicfiddler

KallioKallio by ~root-kite
life cried wolf from winter's ransacked garden,
and a city standing on stilts of brick
settled its spirals.
the dirt doffed its cool in the scrawls of stairwells,
and I watched them turn to stones & stars
while shadows brightened their tricks
in the caves & towers, diffusing through stubborn shrubs
where they greened the dying and the din.
a noise's voice spiralled through walls like claws
and birthed a bastard calm
where numb bones broke & punctured space.
my yardward window only grinned
and wisdom wore a fever's face:
I studied the languages of smoke & snow,
& spoke the slow speech of a city mid-skid
w

if the woman .if the woman by ~WhoKilledKirov
If the woman is a stone
bury her in blue water,
If the woman is a knife
rub her til she's sharp.
His voice is a rattle at the bottom of a tin cup.
His arms are spurs, and rusted
where metal pinches leather.
He shakes like a drum in firelight
with the last fist still fresh on his back:
ama sa'ni, she grow curved low like a horseshoe,
&

Tips For the NoviceTips For the Novice by ~suture
Tips For The Novice
It's an all-too common occurrence on my periodic forays into the world of internet poetry - writing weakened by a lack of fundamental knowledge concerning the essence of poetry writing. There are no rules set in stone about creative writing. The writer that strikes new trails can make a lasting impact on the world of poetry, but the chances of a writer stumbling upon golden words without a solid knowledge base are slim to none. The following tips for novice writers are intended to help shore up those fundamentals, to help the young writer breathe the essence of life into their poems, and to better share that essence with

Showing, Part OneShowing, Part One by ~onewordatatime
If you've ever taken a class in creative writing, you've no doubt heard the teacher repeat the phrase, "Show, don't tell" over and over again. While there are few hardest rules in creative writing, this persistent little mantra might be the ultimate. Teachers and writers who write about writing spout it out all the time, but what does it mean anyway? After, isn't all writing really "telling" on some level?
It's best to view "showing" not as a single technique, but a summation of the most effective writing techniques. If we know anything about poetry, it's that the best poetry usually conjures specific and concrete images. Beyond languag

A Note on Writing CharactersA Note on Writing Characters by *jamberry-song
My dearest, darling Author:
I enjoyed reading your book, I really did. But there were some things that simply got on my nerves.
Your need to tell me absolutely everything, as if every tiny detail were just so integral to the plot, was supremely annoying. I do not need to know a character's hair and eye color when I first meet them, or every detail down to the style of his buttons when he walks into a scene; I do not necessarily need to know what his lunch was or that he went bowling with the guys last Saturday and has been in the league for five years. Take for instance that scene on the veranda, where the one protagonist stepped up to the

Cristian RosasCristian Rosas by ^Beccalicious
Mediterranean breeze warmed my dreams;
cappuccino mornings blended
into Bacardi sunsets.
Tobacco smoulders and I remember-
his name was Cristian Rosas.
Sunset passed. Spirits poured
European measures- unlike tight English twenty-five mil,
relieving the throbs of snow white turned red queen.
The glow led our intoxicated journey. Sambuca fused.
We invaded the dance floor.
yellow lanterns,
blue, red, green
blue,
yellow, red,
green merged with smiles.
Freedom spun me to his arms.
Giggles blushed sunburn. Cristian Rosas
whispered his name.
Fingers caressed my shoulder;
pulses shot down my back.
Lights,
music people blurre

Small talkTapping the baton of her teaspoonSmall talk by ~venturus
twice on the saucer, a bright start:
'You've dropped out,' says his mother.
Her vision of a career in White Hall
crushed by his arts trifling, not one
to acknowledge the legislative clout
of poets. She's a resurrectionist,
keen to deliver him to Society's
scalpel, 'What's wrong?' through
chat and china's light percussion,
a uniform hum he hears as Om.

The Skull: A Love StoryBuried beneath a debris of odds and ends - discarded carnival masks, willow patterned tea cups, toothless combs, and mauled little clown dolls - a curve of yellowed ivory, like an old woman's tooth, peeped. Smoothly translucent, surprisingly so, and he wondered if a bit of bleach upon an old toothbrush might not wear off the yellow sheen and convert it to a gleaming alabaster, like a bust of Nefertiti, and indeed there was something of Nefertiti to its cast, something exotic; a slant to the eye socket, perhaps? And he wondered, and pondered, and rubbed the cheekbone (zygomatic process, his mind faintly reminded him) and debated how much suchThe Skull: A Love Story by ~orphicfiddler

KallioKallio by ~root-kite
life cried wolf from winter's ransacked garden,
and a city standing on stilts of brick
settled its spirals.
the dirt doffed its cool in the scrawls of stairwells,
and I watched them turn to stones & stars
while shadows brightened their tricks
in the caves & towers, diffusing through stubborn shrubs
where they greened the dying and the din.
a noise's voice spiralled through walls like claws
and birthed a bastard calm
where numb bones broke & punctured space.
my yardward window only grinned
and wisdom wore a fever's face:
I studied the languages of smoke & snow,
& spoke the slow speech of a city mid-skid
w

if the woman .if the woman by ~WhoKilledKirov
If the woman is a stone
bury her in blue water,
If the woman is a knife
rub her til she's sharp.
His voice is a rattle at the bottom of a tin cup.
His arms are spurs, and rusted
where metal pinches leather.
He shakes like a drum in firelight
with the last fist still fresh on his back:
ama sa'ni, she grow curved low like a horseshoe,
&



| More Journal Entries |