“The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.” –Calvino

It's fictional, of course. I hope you can give me a critique about my writing. The style, what's wrong with it, plot holes, sentences that doesn't make sense, the lot.

This was published a while ago by a zine that's now shut down, so I just republished it on my blog. Has a tone I guess half way between Nick Hornby and Chuck Palahniuk, if that makes any sense (I doubt it).

4thewords are increasing their price from $40 a year (equivalent in-app currency) to a straight subscription model for $144 a year. I've never seen a hike quite like this and I'm now priced out.

Is there any other similar gamification tools for writing out there?

What a happy little coincidence: To commemorate the great Bob Ross, who died on this day 29 years ago, have some fanfiction. My short story 'Without paint, there would be no suffering' was published today over at "A Thin Slice of Anxiety"

Miguel and Alisha walked down the dimly lit street, their footsteps echoing in the silence of the night. The air was cool, and they pulled their jackets tighter around them. The day had been long but was filled with laughter and joy with with friends. Now returning home, the eerie quietness of the deserted road was a stark contrast to the warmth of the evening.

As they turned a corner, a van screeched to a halt beside them. Four men jumped out, their faces masked. Miguel tried to shield Alisha, but the men were too strong. They brutally assaulted both teenagers, leaving them bruised and bloodied. Gagged and bound, Miguel and Alisha were thrown into the van's back, the door slamming shut with a chilling finality.

But before they could get back into the van, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. His skull face gleamed ominously under the pale streetlights, and the air around him seemed to crackle with a dark energy. Skeletor had arrived.

The men stared, momentarily frozen by the skeletal visage before them. One of them sneered, trying to mask his fear with bravado. "Look, it's just one of those freak cosplayers," he scoffed.

Skeletor's hollow laughter echoed through the night. "Foolish mortals," he hissed, raising a hand that glowed with an unholy light. "You have made a grave mistake."

With a flick of his wrist, dark tendrils of magic lashed out, ensnaring the first man. He screamed as the dark energy twisted and contorted his body, snapping bones and tearing flesh. The other men watched in horror as their companion was reduced to a grotesque, lifeless heap.

Skeletor moved toward the second man, who tried to flee. But there was no escape. A bolt of dark energy struck him, and he disintegrated into ashes, his scream cut short. The third man fell to his knees, begging for mercy, but Skeletor was relentless. His eyes glowed with a malevolent fire as he summoned a dark force that engulfed the man, dissolving him into a pool of blood and gore.

The last man, paralyzed with fear, barely had time to react before Skeletor's magic ripped him apart, scattering his remains across the street. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of dripping blood.

Skeletor turned to the van, opening the door with a wave of his hand. Miguel and Alisha stared at him, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and sudden recognition. Skeletor's face was illuminated in the dim light, his skeletal grin unmistakable.

"It's you," Miguel managed to whisper, his voice muffled by the gag.

Skeletor gestured, and the bindings around their wrists and mouths vanished. He cast a shroud of darkness over the horrific scene outside the van, shielding them from the gruesome sight. Blood pooled just within their view, but they were unfazed, their relief and gratitude overwhelming their fear.

Skeletor's eyes narrowed, a sarcastic edge to his tone. "What would the point of saving you two back then, if I allowed such harm to befall you now?"

Miguel and Alisha exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. They stepped out of the van, the stench of blood and death lingering in the air. Despite the horror, they felt an odd sense of comfort in Skeletor's presence.

"Thank you," Alisha said softly, her voice trembling but sincere.

Skeletor waved his hand, and a portal shimmered into existence before them. "Go home," he commanded, his tone gruff but not unkind. "And perhaps consider learning some self-defense."

The teenagers nodded, stepping through the portal. They turned back one last time, their faces illuminated by the portal's glow. "Thank you again," Miguel said, his voice steadier now.

Skeletor's skeletal grin widened. "Stay safe - unless you want to end up with a face like mine." With that, he dissolved into the shadows, leaving the teenagers to ponder the strange and dark guardian who had saved them once more.

It was an ordinary day at Galactic Glow, a popular skincare store in Coruscant, bustling with customers seeking the latest in beauty and wellness products. The ambient music played softly, and the air was filled with the fragrant blend of exotic lotions and creams. The employees, accustomed to assisting a variety of clients, were ready for another typical day at work.

Suddenly, the doors slid open with a hiss, and a heavy, rhythmic breathing filled the store. The towering figure of Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith, strode into the shop, his black cape flowing behind him, and his menacing helmet casting a shadow over the well-lit aisles. The atmosphere shifted immediately; the employees and customers froze in their tracks, eyes wide with a mix of fear and astonishment.

Whispers spread quickly. "Is that...?" "It can't be..." "Why is he here?"

Vader's presence was intimidating, to say the least. His reputation for ruthlessness preceded him, and his very appearance commanded both fear and respect. The employees huddled together, their usual customer service smiles replaced by expressions of terror. No one dared to approach the Sith Lord, whose patience seemed as thin as the razor-sharp edge of a lightsaber.

All but one employee stood petrified. This employee, known for their unshakeable composure and professionalism, stepped forward. It was just another day at work for them. With a calm demeanor, they approached Vader, maintaining steady eye contact, or at least as much eye contact as one could manage with a man wearing a mask.

"Good day, Lord Vader. How may I assist you today?" they asked, their voice steady and polite.

Vader's helmet turned slightly, his mechanical breathing the only sound breaking the tense silence. He looked down at the brave employee, considering for a moment.

"I require skincare products suitable for maintaining... optimal condition beneath my armor," he stated, his deep voice resonating through the store.

The employee nodded thoughtfully. "Of course, my Lord. We have a range of products that might meet your needs. May I suggest starting with a moisturizing cleanser to help with any dryness, followed by a soothing serum to keep your skin in top condition?"

Vader gave a slight nod of approval. "Proceed."

With careful precision, the employee led Vader through the aisles, selecting products that catered to his unique requirements. They explained each item's benefits, how to use them, and why they were essential for maintaining healthy skin, even beneath a helmet.

The rest of the store watched in awe as the transaction unfolded. Darth Vader, known for his power and control, was now discussing skincare routines with an unflinching employee. The juxtaposition was surreal, yet the employee remained unfazed, treating the situation with the same professionalism they would offer any other customer.

After selecting a collection of products, Vader made his way to the counter. The transaction was completed smoothly, with the employee efficiently packing the items.

"Thank you for your assistance," Vader said, his tone as formal as ever.

"You're welcome, Lord Vader. If you need any further assistance, please don't hesitate to return," the employee replied, maintaining their composure to the end.

With a final nod, Darth Vader turned and exited the store, leaving behind a roomful of stunned employees and customers. The employee who had helped him returned to their colleagues, who stared in disbelief.

"How did you stay so calm?" one of them asked.

The employee shrugged. "It's all in a day's work. Everyone deserves good skincare, even Sith Lords."

And with that, they returned to their duties, ready to face whatever else the day might bring.

I had a little writer's block in the previous weeks but at the same time I had the urge to do something artistic. So, I cut up some texts and reassembled them into something new, something absurd, something weird. Usually I feel bad when I don't write, so writer's block in my case is often a vicious circle (can't write -> feel bad -> can't write etc.) but doing this cut-up thing really helped filling this non-writing period and overcoming the block. And it's fun.

For those interested what came out of it, you can find one of the things published in this lit mag: https://donotsubmit.net/the-midsummer-merchant-king-romeo-richard-of-venice-and-the-tempest-hamlet-nights-juliet-lear-a-dream-ii-by-felix-anker/

Once upon a time there was a magician with knowledge divine,

that lived through ages, met kings, fought wars and put his life on the line.

He was very well versed in the surrounding lands,

where his lonesome tower always stands.

There was a knock on his gate,

a sudden traveller visiting his tower.

Shook The Magician indeed was

at the sight of an unknown flower.

The Traveller spoke in a calm voice,

asking The Magician about the flower's origin.

The Magician looked on in disbelief,

and The Traveller showed a shadowy grin.

You call yourself a holder of divine knowledge,

yet you seem to be quite on the edge.

Have you not been beyond the borders of your kingdom,

never seeking the outside freedom?

The world outside the kingdom is vast,

though you have never left in the past.

You could have left but you did not,

have they, perhaps, tied you to this spot?

The Traveller left without another word,

leaving behind the questions stabbing like a sword.

The Magician suddenly longed to see the freedom,

so he ventured to the heart of the kingdom.

Unbeknownst to him,

the future was looking grim.

The people were living in poverty,

while wealthy nobles treated them like property.

On The Magician's adventure,

he felt his heart rupture.

What he saw,

was his kingdom's fatal flaw.

A broken mother's sad weeps,

as her young son eternally sleeps.

A hanged father's wish for his daughter,

who was taken like a lamb for slaughter.

The Magician was taken over by grief,

looking at what the kingdom has become in disbelief.

This kingdom he no longer understood,

when in front of a mountain of corpses he stood.

In front of the corpses where he stands, he saw blood on his hands.

A chill froze him to the core,

was there nothing he could have done?

Perhaps if he didn't stay in his tower,

the daughter would have grown into a beautiful flower.

The son would be a good father,

and with the old parents at the table gather.

Burning with blazing rage,

it was time for the final stage.

On this stage The King would appear,

confronted by The Magician full of fear.

As he confronted the King,

the birds started to sing.

They sang a song full of sorrow,

because The Magician would never see the tomorrow.

Once upon a time there was a magician with knowledge divine,

that lived through ages, met kings, fought wars and put his life on the line.

He was shackled under the kingdom,

for The Magician longed to see freedom.

An interview with Sefton Eisenhart, author of the new crime story The Chaos of Heat I asked him about what he enjoys reading, his writing setup, fanzines, and the authors who inspire him.

So, I'm currentlich reading Kobo Abe's "Kangaroo Notebook" and I'm a bit confused about his use of tense shifts.

In this scene in the picture, he starts with "I stepped" then "I noticed" but then he proceeds in present tense "It looks", "He doesn't", "He's", and in the end he switches back to past tense "the boy was having", "he wasn't", etc.

So, I'm wondering what's the function of this. This all happens at the same time, so it's no backflash.

Could it be that the present tense sentences are internal thoughts at the moment, while the past sentences are descriptions?

My daughter is studying Creative Writing and English Literature at Birmingham (UK) University. She's put together some pieces on Substack. Most of them are over my head, but this one hits right in the feels. Apart from a couple of technical inaccuracies, it's spot on. Hope you like it ;-)

What do you want to achieve this year as a writer and how's it going?

I'm writing a drabble a day and posting them online. I'm editing a short story and want to send it off to some magazines. And I'm reading way more than usual!

I'm looking for a place to share my short stories and flash fiction, get comments and critiques, and give feedback in return. There are a fair few websites but they all seem to either focus on smut or fanfiction. Do you have any recommendations for active writing communities?

Sorry if it's too off-topic 😅

I wrote a lot of short stories last month, submitted them, got a lot of rejections, but this one found a home in one of my favourite indie mags. So, don't let rejections get you down, just continue submitting

The farming post Issue num 2357 Date10/28/2030

Flu like illness reported A outbreak of a “Flu like illness” is being reported in Evans City. The reported cases are between 10-15 all infected persons are being held in the quatraine ward of the Samples of the Disease are being delivered to the CDC and are expected to arrive tomorrow.

Greg Jones arrested Greg Jones attacked sheriff Kenneth Hall and severely injured him Sunday. It was reported the sheriff received several bites and scratches on his body. Greg Jones was tased and subdued by deputies who Received no injuries. Sheriff hall was raced to (insert later) hospital where he was placed in the ICU he is expected to make a full recovery.

Local obituaries

Harry Cooper 2/15/2000-10/25/2030

Henry Rhodes 4/10/1998-10/25/2030

The farming post Issue num 2356 Date10/212030

Top news Tragic death in community

Greg Jones Son whose name is being withheld was shot dead during the search for him. He was reported as being aggressive and unresponsive by the volunteer (name withheld) and sheriff deputy Harry Cooper. Both received several bites and lacerations all over their body before their attacker was shot dead. Mr Jones has threatened to sue the department for the botched search claiming his son was only dazed and confused and should have been subdued and not killed.

Mayor Paul Kaufman under fire A major Scandal is underway as Mayor Paul Kaufman has been accused of taking bribes from the PFA (Poultry Farmers of America) both parties deny these claims but opponent Riley Denbo there is “an overwhelming amount of evidence” with the election only a month away the race for mayor becomes heated.

Dr. Matthew Logan under fire With the rise in attacks by cows farmers and some scientists are accusing Dr Logan and his team’s cure of back firing and causing an increased aggression of cattle. Dr Logan has denied all claims and accused local farmers of overreacting to normal behavior of their cattle.

The farming post Issue num 2355 Date10/15/2030

Top news

Rise of attack by cattle Over 15 farmers and farm hands have been attacked by their cattle over the last week. The attacks can vary from 1-3 cattle and injuries range from cuts and bruises to bites, bitten off fingers and broken bones. Farmers have been advised by the sheriff's department to not be near any number of cattle without at least one other person and a loaded firearm of 10mm or higher caliber.

Missing person report The Son of local farmer Greg Jones was reported missing after hospital staff noticed he was missing from his room and was not reported as having been checked out of the hospital. A search is being conducted and anyone wishing to help is requested to report to the sheriffs office at 8am 10/16/2030

Feed alternative for chickens?
With the continued raised demand for chicken and the lack and increased cost of feed many farmers seek cheaper forms of feed. One possibility is the new species of fungus commonly called “firefly” ; it is yellow in appearance and noted to be energy packed. In test trials the chickens it was fed to were noted to consume it in massive amounts. The fungus is easy and cheap to grow in industrial amounts.

The farming post Issue num 2353 Date10/8/2030

Top news

Attack by mad cow? The Son of local farmer Greg Jones was injured 3 days ago by an “aggressive and uncontrollable cow” he was taken by ambulance to Duane Jones memorial hospital where his condition is reported as “serve but stable” the reported cow was euthanized. Local vets noted that even after double the dose of the medication required to end the animal. It continued its rampage and was shot by local law enforcement after it nearly broke the vet’s leg.

Dr Matthew Logan and team receives massive reward for effort in stopping MCD. For their efforts and success in stopping the prion and saving millions and cows and billions of dollars Logan and his team were rewarded over 500 million dollars in grants and bonus.

Protest outside FDA. Refusing to accept the claims that the newly cured cattle are safe to consume, thousands are calling for retest and recalls of any products from the first 1000 cattle slaughter since the vaccination program had begun.

The Farming Post Issue num 2352 Date10/1/2030

Top news

Dr. Matthew Logan and his team announce an end to the mad cow disease epidemic. The epidemic reached almost every country in the world and infected over 750 million cows, almost resulting in the extinction of the entire species. It was stopped after the airborne vaccine, now dubbed GPV (general prion vaccine), was released worldwide. After 6 months, the reported cases and deaths have dropped to 0. The FDA had reassured the public that the beef from these cattle, which will be slaughtered in extremely limited numbers until the population has stabilized, is 100% safe to eat and will have no ill effect on humans.

The price of chicken rises again. With the report of the renaming of cows to be limited to 3 million slaughtered a year until the population returns to a stable amount, the poultry price increases yet again. Protest against this move is expected, but the PFA (Poultry Farmers of America) defends this move as they point to the rising cost and limited stock of feed, most of which is being prioritized for the remaining cattle stock.

Mayor Paul Kaufman announces he’s running for a second term.. After a successful first term in office, mayor Paul Kaufman says, “I’ve done it once, and I can do it again.” As he announces he’s running for office again, his opponent Riley Denbo argues that Kaufman only cared about the elite of the community rather than the majority of the working-class farmers

Not the best, but still something I submitted without expecting publication

I hope this resonates with others who've been going through some stuff ♥

Inspiration strikes! Your muse has finally appeared and blessed you with a story, fully formed! It's so vivid in your mind. It's engaging, impactful, expressive, and beautiful. All you need to do now is put pen to paper and move it from nine o'clock to three o'clock.

You look at the blank document and suddenly anxiety floods you. Where to begin? How to begin? You write out a few sentences hoping to echo the grandiosity of what you have in mind. They suck. Obviously. These pathetic sentences are unbecoming of the story you have in mind. You crumple the page and toss it aside.

Clearly, you think, this is a story so deep that it requires intricate planning. You grab a second page and now your ideas flow out. A governmental system here, a character dynamic there, even a summary of the ending chapter. Now you have traction! This must be the way!

Weeks later, you have a binder of disjointed notes and not one page of story. The project has expanded exponentially and your expectations for yourself have risen accordingly. The story is essentially flawless, and it's yours. Why the hell can't you write it then!?

Cliche, trite, messy, plain, boring, inconsistent, unreadable. That's what those few paragraphs you've managed to get down have been. The shocking disparity between how the story goes in your mind and this childish attempt at storytelling is causing massive cognitive dissonance. Now when you look at the page with every intention to give it another try, you know whatever you end up with is going to be crap. Screw it. You decide to keep worldbuilding and hope that one day your plan will be so perfect the story will come naturally. Maybe.

This has been a dramatization of why I stopped writing for almost a decade and I'm sure I'm not the only one who has experienced this trap. This is called perfectionism which has affected me in other ways as well. I'm still very miffed that this tendency of mine kept me from engaging in one of my favorite activities for so long. Fortunately I've finally accepted that the reason my writing hasn't been up to my own standards was that I haven't been honing my craft. That was it. Simple.

I'm now no longer embarrassed by what I write, just a little embarrassed that I stopped myself from engaging in the art for what in hindsight seem like very silly reasons. I still write many things that I'm not satisfied with and probably always will. Instead of regarding this as somehow a personal failure, I can now ask myself why I'm not satisfied with it. The answers to my own questions here have informed the direction I take my writing stylistically and conceptually. I discovered that it was not actually a problem that my prose looks vastly different than that of many of my favorite authors. I'm not them and I'm not doing the same thing that they are doing even though we're all technically writing. I used to regard writing as somehow needing to conform to the proper academic style such as the neoclassical paradigm of the plastic arts in eighteenth century France, but in reality there isn't one aside from basic standards of formatting and readability (which are not hard rules themselves if you know them well enough to subvert them).

The most powerful thing however is that I'm now writing only because I want to do it, and practicing writing only because I want a better story to read from myself. The only way to be a better writer is to write, and the only way I can write is if I want to do it. When you really care about what you're writing you can see its potential through the mess of your initial attempts and you have the opportunity to bring it closer to your vision, or in my case, go in a completely different direction from the original idea. It really is what you make of it.

Whether it's a few hundred words or a few thousand, any amount of writing of any kind is better than no writing of any kind. The epic can wait. Until then you can write episodes, short stories, essays on topics you're interested in, and whatever else your fleeting desires pop into your mind. Even writing comments on Beehaw is something. If you want to write, write!