Life

Timeless Bond Between Poetry and Folklore
Before ink ever touched paper and long before books lined the walls of libraries, stories lived in the breath of people. In the hush of evening, beneath open skies or beside trembling firelight, communities gathered to listen. Tales of gods and warriors, spirits and tricksters, love and loss moved from one voice to another. They were not recorded; they were remembered. In that oral world, folklore became humanity’s shared memory, and poetry—through rhythm, repetition, and sound—became the vessel that carried it safely across generations.
By Luna Vaniabout 5 hours ago in Writers
On blood moons, fantasy novels and the overwhelming feeling of what's the fucken point
Honestly, what's the fucken point? From the opposite side of the world, I recently tried to convince my sister that creative, artistic endeavours were still a worthwhile use of her time.
By Roderick Makimabout 5 hours ago in Writers
Unicorn Sightings (4/?)
Marion Sylverset’s journal — May 15th: I was called in to analyze footage today. I must say I was surprised. As the zoologist, I do comb over the preserve’s footage every two weeks to observe the wildlife’s uninterrupted interactions. But I just did that four days ago.
By Gabriel Shamesabout 24 hours ago in Writers
My Discoveries About Me as a Writer
Over time as we write story after story, we begin to understand what we enjoy writing about and what sorts of stories we're good at telling. We experiment with various genres. Science fiction, romance, horror.
By Jasmine Aguilara day ago in Writers
Why Golf Is a Powerful Teacher of Emotional Stability
Golf is one of the few sports where the greatest battle takes place not against an opponent, but within the mind. Each round requires patience, discipline, and a calm response to unpredictable challenges. The quiet environment, long pauses between shots, and high degree of precision expose a player’s emotional patterns more clearly than almost any other activity.
By Jeb Kratziga day ago in Writers
Breaking Down the Lyrics: Ophelia
Taylor Swift — “The Fate of Ophelia” *** “And if you’d never come for me, I might have drowned in purgatory. I swore my loyalty to me, myself, and I…. Right before you lit up my sky!”
By Gabriel Shames3 days ago in Writers
Breaking Down the Lyrics: Opalite
Taylor Swift’s “Opalite” — *** “I had a bad habit of missing lovers past. My used to call it ‘eating out of the trash.’ It’s never gonna last.” ***
By Gabriel Shames3 days ago in Writers
Mark Twain: The Man Who Lived, Laughed, and Witnessed America’s Transformations
Have you ever wondered what it was like to grow up along the Mississippi River during a time when America was transforming faster than anyone could imagine? Meet Samuel Clemens, better known as Mark Twain—a boy from a small Missouri town who rose from modest beginnings to become one of the greatest storytellers the world has ever known. Twain didn’t just write stories; he captured the soul of a nation, observing both its humor and its heartbreak with a sharp, unforgettable voice.
By Haroon Pasha5 days ago in Writers
The Accidental Novelist
I never intended to write a novel. But I did. And HarperCollins published it. Titled The Gorgeous Girls, it was based on a number of pieces I'd written for Toronto's NOW magazine. They appeared in NOW's feature, Naked City, which was all about love and sex.
By Marie Wilson6 days ago in Writers
Fading Ink
The box was never meant to be opened. It had lived quietly on the highest shelf of my childhood closet, taped at the corners, labeled in my own looping handwriting: “Important — Do Not Throw Away.” I used to think anything I labeled important would remain that way forever.
By Jhon smith6 days ago in Writers
Alone in the Jungle
The canopy is so dense that it suffocates all light. I am slashing through the dense boscage to get to the light, but I don’t know which way to go, or if I will ever get out of the forest. This jungle feels often filled with peril, and lonely. I came to this tangle of vines, underbrush, and unknown unfamiliar territory, with a dream, a goal, a determination. I planned and still plan to reach the end of the primeval and reach the inner sanctum of a place that is not easily traversed. I am a writer, and I want to write as a career.
By Alexandra Grant6 days ago in Writers
The Last Memory: Chapter Six
Trenton locked the bathroom and turned around to wash her face. The cool water felt nice against her skin and after wiping her face with the soft green towel on the towel rack, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her skin was slightly worn with a few wrinkles in the creases of her forehead and surrounding her lips. She looked tired and her blue eyes seemed faded in color, like she had endured a lifetime of experiences already.
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue6 days ago in Writers