the little magpie

pretty things and jellyfish ♫

August 9, 2014 8:39 am
"No writing is wasted. Did you know that sourdough from San Francisco is leavened partly by a bacteria called lactobacillus sanfrancisensis? It is native to the soil there, and does not do well elsewhere. But any kitchen can become an ecosystem. If you bake a lot, your kitchen will become a happy home to wild yeasts, and all your bread will taste better. Even a failed loaf is not wasted. Likewise, cheese makers wash the dairy floor with whey. Tomato gardeners compost with rotten tomatoes. No writing is wasted: the words you can’t put in your book can wash the floor, live in the soil, lurk around in the air. They will make the next words better."

Erin Bow (via writersrelief)

LOVE. THIS.

(via kyrafic)

(via bluishtigerrs)

April 27, 2013 8:58 pm

100 Words for Facial Expressions

jehanprouvaires:

aneira-hailey:

1. Absent: preoccupied
2. Agonized: as if in pain or tormented
3. Alluring: attractive, in the sense of arousing desire
4. Appealing: attractive, in the sense of encouraging goodwill and/or interest
5. Beatific: see blissful
6. Bilious: ill-natured
7. Black: angry or sad, or see hostile
8. Bleak: see grim and hopeless
9. Blinking: surprise, or lack of concern
10. Blissful: showing a state of happiness or divine contentment

Read More

(Source: dailywritingtips.com, via thesirvant)

March 18, 2013 8:43 am
whatth3mel:

Shelley Jackson’s Skin project, a 2095-word story published exclusively in tattoos, one word each on as many willing volunteers, so it can never be read in its proper order, but just exists, pulsing, out in the world at all times. 

whatth3mel:

Shelley Jackson’s Skin project, a 2095-word story published exclusively in tattoos, one word each on as many willing volunteers, so it can never be read in its proper order, but just exists, pulsing, out in the world at all times. 

(via whatth3mel-deactivated20131030)

February 24, 2013 2:42 pm
"

Let me tell you a story.

I was never the girl that boys wrote love songs for
never the girl that had the world yoyoed around her fingers,
never the girl that spent midnights on the beach
with red plastic cups in her hands

I was the girl that spent recess on the swings,
my palms stretched around chains that locked me to the earth
and swung me to the stars
I was the girl that hid behind four corners of a novel
because words have always been more patience than people
I was the girl that held the superpower of invisibility
behind the cloak of indifference

On my yearbook, they would write:
“You rock, don’t ever change.”

But how do you listen when you stare at your reflection in mirrors
and only see a paper crane falling apart at the seams?

I told myself what no one else would tell me,
I said,
“Your body is made of ivory bridges
beneath the pavement of skin,
You are the causeway to every destination
where you go and what you do is entirely up to you.”

I said,
“If you don’t like the route you’re taking,
the car you’re driving, the world you’re in,
you can change it.

If you don’t like you,
you can change it.

You want to be a writer, so let this life be your work of art.
You are the poet and the poem, the conductor and the orchestra.
Write your life like you would read it.
Remember that every line within you can be crossed out,
every noun not needed, every adjective all wrong.

Throw yourself down unexpected roads,
turn right when you want to go left.
Remember that it’s okay to take more than one route,
it’s okay to be more than one genre.

You’re allowed to sit down on park benches
reading Bukowski at midnight and stand up listening to Kayne.
You’re allowed to always wear black when your favorite color is pink.
You’re allowed to be a sonnet and also a country song.”

I told the girl filled with self-hate,
“It’s okay, this is only the first draft.”

"

Kelsey Danielle, “First Draft” (via pigmenting)

(via commovente)

February 6, 2013 3:54 pm
mega bee collision: "Persephone Lied"

The truth is, I was bored.
My mother blissing ahead of me, rosebuds rising in her footsteps,
And I skulking behind, thinking,
Oh look. She walks in beauty.
Again.

Her power could boil rivers, if she chose.
She doesn’t choose. She scatters
Heliotrope behind her.

And me, I’ve no powers. I…

(Source: spuffyduds.livejournal.com, via ohnoghosters)

September 22, 2012 2:01 pm
writingsforwinter:

drowning lessons by writingsforwinter

writingsforwinter:

drowning lessons by writingsforwinter

August 10, 2012 7:45 am
http://i-just-have-a-lot-of-feelings.tumblr.com/post/28756859293/she-hit-me-like-the-notes-of-a-song-on

i-just-have-a-lot-of-feelings:

She hit me like the notes of a song on piano keys; hard, rich and heavy; staccato, to match the irregular beating of my heart. I could feel her sooner than I could see or hear her. She was stunning; something otherworldly indeed.

And falling in love wasn’t quite like being hit by…

July 8, 2012 11:40 am

I want colors

I want to be stained

I want

Your colors

All over me

Wherever I’m touched

I want the sunburst streaks

That dance up my sides and flare at my waist

The lime green splattered

On my cheeks, a messy ring around my wrists and ankles

I want the reds

So thick they make me dizzy

And I want those

Smeared

On my collarbones, into the skin around my shoulder blades

I want

The blacks and blues like bruises on my hips, my thighs, my arms, like tattoos

Like proof

May 20, 2012 2:47 pm

summer nights

standing on tiptoe,

I whisper little starry secrets

to a single cloud

above.