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Can you read or write? Well then, that means that this group is perfect for you! Writing-Rampage is here for writers and non-writers alike. You can submit your work and browse other writer's work. This group is here to offer support for unseen writers, and for non-writers who just want to find good DA literature.

:bulletred: There are no limitations on joining. Anybody is allowed to join. :)

:bulletorange: We offer prompt challenges, featuring articles and contests periodically!

:bulletblue: We do not accept poetry in digital art format.

:bulletpurple: If you have a mature tag, it goes into the “Mature-ONLY" folder.

:bulletblack: Chapter works go into “chapter prose.” Singles go into “prose.”

:bulletgreen: If your work is denied, it's probably because it was submitted to the wrong folder.

:bulletpink: There is to be NO flaming of the art that is submitted to our galleries. Please be a nice person, it's the best thing to be. :heart:

:bulletpurple: Feel free to advertise your writing, contests and friends in comments down below! Just remember to keep it spam free. :heart:

Thank you for following the rules!

Group Info

Writing-Rampage is a group that allows you to participate in contests, discover unseen lit-artists, participate in prompts, features and a whole bundle of fun!
Founded 5 Years ago
Feb 14, 2010


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:iconinklings-nexgen: Inklings-NexGen :icondeviantart-smiles: DeviantART-Smiles DeviantART's Own Source Of Happy :iconmalereader-inserts: MaleReader-Inserts Male!reader fics everywhere! :iconapocalypse-writing: Apocalypse-writing How will it end for you? :iconwriters-by-heart: Writers-By-Heart Write from the heart, not mind

Latest Favourite Artists




    Welcome to the eleventh and final edition to deviantart's own Literary Almanac Monthly! This month, deviantART's own authors will be featured for their writing, involvement in the community, and for their dedication to what they love to do.  As literature comes in many forms, Literary Almanac is not limited any type of writer--everybody matters! I'd like to give out a big kiss to everyone who has given me inspiration to continue writing and publishing articles here on dA. LAM was the first article I ever wrote and you can bet your bottom dollar that is wont be the last. A big squishy hug to IrrevocableFate and to LadyLincoln for giving me good examples on how to build a pleasant looking and informative article. You guys are awesome! :heart: :heart: :love: :love: 



1. an annual calendar containing important dates and statistical information such as astronomical data and tide tables.
2. A way to tell deviantART: "Thank you."


   LAM will return in a new format, in a new article with a shiny new title and will feature familiar, old and entirely new faces. The article will be exclusive to literature features of deviants while becoming a sister article to The Swankiest Art in Town. Stay tuned for next month's article, "The Grooviest Lit in Town: Volume Twelve" for some ragingly radical people and writers! :heart: :love:


Bullet; Red 
(April) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume One
Bullet; Orange 
(May) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Two 
Bullet; Yellow 
(June) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Three
Bullet; Green 
(July) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Four
Bullet; Blue 
(August) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Five
Bullet; Purple 
(September) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Six
Bullet; Pink 
(October) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Seven
Bullet; Red 
(November) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Eight
Bullet; Orange 
(December) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Nine
Bullet; Yellow 
(January) Literary Almanac Monthly: Volume Ten


Bullet; Red Volume One: What is Love? - chromeantennae and Gingersanps 
Bullet; Orange Volume Two: What is Love? - SilverInkblot and fudgyvmp 
Bullet; Yellow Volume Three: What is Love? - A-Shadow-Rose 
Bullet; Green Volume Four: What is Love? - copper9lives and Nihil-Invictus 
Bullet; Blue Volume Five: What is Love? - everystupidstar and HollywoodRaptor 
Bullet; Purple Volume Six: What is Love? - LiliWrites 
Bullet; Pink Volume Seven: What is Love? - LadyLincoln 
Bullet; Red Volume Eight: What is Love? - S7alker117 
Welcome to the very first edition of DeviantART's very own "What is Love?" article!
This article aims to support writers and their day-to-day needs when thinking 
about doing writing while the WiFi is on. 

AWESOME ON Rabbit hole...

'Fairy Tale' ContestFairy Tale
BestestFriendContest Group ENTRIES
Bestest Friend (DreamingAutumn) and I are back with another contest! :eager:
:bulletred: This contest's theme is 'Fairy Tale'! What does that mean? Well,  why don't you just ruminate, whilst I illuminate the possibilities...
:bulletyellow: Simply put, you write something related to "fairy tale", that could be ANYTHING. Want to write your own fairy tale? Go for it! Want to modernize or rewrite the ending for an existing tale, do it! You can even incorporate another element into it. Maybe it's a cross between Sci-Fi and Fantasy or a Mystery and Fantasy tale! Or do some combination, how about a Snow White Sci-Fi where she is the one kissing the prince awake? ;P The possibilities are endle
  Who's Who On Da: Issue 2Hey everybody! Medoriko here with something I have been wanting to do for awhile. :heart: I enjoy doing feature articles, but I have realized more and more that a lot of features people do (and I'm super guilty of this) involve people that are more known in the literature community here. Or, in my case, it's a feature of people I'm good buddies with. There's an incredible amount of talent hiding in the corners of dA, and I want to give some spotlight to those that haven't gotten the recognition they deserve. We have all been there, and you gotta start somewhere right? Sometimes that's the push we need when we're new to dA, and just getting started. This is also for deviants who aren't new, but may be under the radar a bit. Either way, this is a good way to get some glimpse into who's out there in this big world that is the lit community on deviantArt.
Thus the entire point of this feature article series I'd like to call: “Who's Who on dA”. It will be feature articles spotli
Beauty In Raw Humanity - The Self Image Project"Beauty in raw humanity" is something I use a lot when referring to honesty and openness. Over my time here, I've always wanted to be open and honest, true to myself, and true to you guys because we all know there are too many instances where folks are less than honest. They lie about their names, appearance, personality, even their day-to-day lives. But lately, in the span of only two weeks, we have spawned a project about being completely honest with ourselves.
If only for a moment in that time, we are being true and honest about how we feel about our bodies, how we look, and how we feel about everything that makes us human. Whether it's affected by society, our own internal mechanisms, or all of the above; we have over 50 people at this point being completely honest and being completely human with themselves. And because of that, we have the opportunity to see all of these absolutely gorgeous people be unashamed about who they are and I must say, these are some of the most be
  Menagerie of Literature Contests: Updated 1/18:winner: Literature Contests and Contests That Accept Literature!
Don't forget this exists. ;P Now you can get straight to work on those contest entries. :eyes:
Last Time Posted: 12/7
January | February | March | April | May | June | July | August | September | October | November | December | Critique Contests | Unspecified
Space saving is fun. :heart:
:bulletblack:New Years Contest [800 Word Minimum; 2,500 Word Maximum; 20 Line Minimum; 200 Line Maximum] (January 18th)
CRLiterature Expands to Include Fan Fiction
With the recent evolution of DeviantArt and the Literature gallery, we've decided to evolve CRLiterature as well!
Beginning January 1st, 2015, CRLiterature will include fan fiction in its folders as well as original literature.
Within the recent past, we've seen numerous changes here at DeviantArt, one of which was Fan Fiction's recent move from Fan Art into Literature. Our decision reflects the Fan Fiction's recent relocation. Be assured, the group will run the same as before. Any contests run by or through CRLiterature will expressly state whether they accept only original literature, fan fiction, or both.
We are excited to welcome fan fiction to CRLiterature!
  Tips: How to get started with the lit community!Hello everyone! My name is Ricky Alaniz otherwise known as chromeantennae and today, I wanna give you guys a little guide on how I really got started here. How I got my name out there a little bit more and really got the courage to do more around these parts.
First off, understand that 99% of the literature community here on deviantART will give you just as much in return as you give back to it. It's a natural, human thing. But if you don't give back, you won't receive. That's always the number one thing to remember, but also that we're all here to support each other. Even the most popular of deviants started right where you are. Yes, even the Senior Members and lit CVs were newbies here on this site at one point too. And I know some people are intimidated by Senior Members and literature CVs but these folks are the LAST people to be intimidated by! They're in these positions for the exact opposite reasons-- they're not evil-doers or big bad monsters ready to reject whatever you sugge


it's no longer worth a thousand wordsi took down the pictures; every last
they reminded me too much of the
shapes of my eyes three years
ago, and the way your shoulders
slumped in defeat when you realized the flash was on,
not off.
they reminded me of the books
stacked in towers around our heads, tilting
softly in summer sunlight
drifting through hazy shades of dust, left to pile into
mountains by morning from curious
fingers and a night owl's
they reminded me of yesterday
and ten yesterdays ago and how
they would never happen again. how even though
we smiled freeze-frame, it never lasted.
everyone wants to think they will
keep themselves forever, and seeing perfect pictures of pretty lives
lost years ago
made me realize: nothing is.
that was the hardest part.
so i took down the pictures, every last
and sent them
down to ashes in a
shoebox that didn't burn as
easily as i'd thought it would.
i would love to say i'm sorry, but -
i'm not.  
  *EcoSkeleton*Tempestuous sea
Ocean boils with cold fury
Reef of broken bone.
a self-recurring constellation gold-glimmer shells and
   how long has it been since you were older,
black smoke bleeding from injured headlights
    it's the car alarm that I didn't expect -
the empty sound of glass glittering on pavement
it all falls down, no gravity to catch it
    a wisp of atoms on the wind
         can't //
       a flurried combination, penumbra darkened;
existence on those furthest shores, buried waves
   winning atmospheres of candle wax. 
  not a brush against the pitch,
  the emptiness of colder circuits. 
quantum physics is annoyed
     (and you're the basis for our discontent.) 
"no absentee voting," says god, and the very weight he leaves
  could collapse, when things come to a point, right light
  pincushionUse my heart
as a pincushion.
Press the pins
into the steady thud,
thud of the clenched fist
wrapped in pink tissue paper.
Let the threads
dangle like loose strands
of blonde hair resting
on a child’s cheeks.
Pull the pins
and there will be
small tunnels and caves
filled with tiny rubies
making my heart glitter
with gemstones.
Use my heart
as a pincushion
if it will help you
make your own life
a tapestry of red and gold.
cannibals are scary because they're humantake my insides out and 
smear them on the kitchen floor
rip out my liver and
pound it against the cutting board
slash my skin and slit my wrists
take out my bleeding, beating heart
and fucking eat it
because that's what you want, right?
you want me to drown in my own blood
just so you don't have to
keep cutting yourself when you're
trying to prepare dinner.
you've always loved cooking
i just never noticed that your ingredients were
human flesh and softened bone
and i get it-- i do, really 
--you've been bruised so many times that
you don't want to hurt anymore.
but i am not talking to someone
who's trying to get at my organs
for their stew
i made that promise to myself
letting people take bits
and pieces off me
isn't right
and i'm not going through that agony
of being ripped open and eaten again.
i do not deserve to be used in a brew
built for your happiness
you do not love me
you want me to nourish your insides
you want me to rebuild
all the
  salem lives in youYou watch girls
like witches, as if
the opening of their Jupiter-
mouths will be enough
to condemn them to some
global podium of wrong.
Well? My bones are stars
(and maybe that’s why
eating feels like the meeting
of too much gravity and ash),
the Capricorn dots in
the alveoli of my lungs
making sure every breath
I breathe is frigid and black
like the ice in my fingernails –
they let me fly, but…
I’ll let you in on a secret:
it isn't magic to die early
or late on the doorstep
of a senile, nostalgic world –
so in longing for a past
that it repeats, repeats, repeats—
because most would call it mercy.
Ar noturnoAh saudade do ar noturno
E do calor que entra pela janela
Saudade do que me foi tirado e que era meu
Tão meu como a saudade que sinto
Pois ela vem e o seu rasto é mais escuro do que a noite que me falta
E o arder no peito que não se compara ao calor que entra pela janela
Mata-me se queres
Eu não resisto!
  pay no minddigging in the ashes stashed behind the albums in the closet
nevermind, you're a thought stuck in the cobwebs.
(pay no mind) to the beating of my heart within my ears
(i don't mind) the dreams that haunt my better years
because if past is gone and over, gone over
only useful as forgotten -
you're the fly, trapped in the cobwebs of my mind.
no, nevermind. you're both forgotten. forsaken.
your pieces made me whole but made me holey
made me (mad) to find the pieces to my puzzle
nevermind. you're all the past and the past is gone
over, and over, and over
in my mind
you are the fly, pretending to be pia mater - 
in false pretense and fallacy - tangled in the past.
i'm the arachnoid mater, above you.
your past will be your undoing, but not mine.
(pay no mind) the way she weaves her web will leave you mindless
Pirate Attack
The Deliverance.
That was the ship's name. A two-masted brigantine, built in a shipyard in Massachusetts colony, she was but one of many vessels of her type that cruised the world's shipping lanes. Sturd and relatively cheap to manufacture, brigantines were the stolid workhorses of the sea.
This was the only life the sailor had ever known. He'd signed on to the Deliverance almost a decade ago, a callow youth who'd run away from home seeking escape from the beatings of a strict father. Deliverance had been just that: a steady wage, an honest living, and the chance to see new places in far-off lands. Perfect for a young man who craved adventure.
Of course, in his line of work you heard stories. Stories of sadistic captains who drove their crews to breaking, who ruled their ships with all the arbitrary power of the kings of old. Captains who utilized horrific punishments like flogging, keelhauling or hanging from the yardarm for even the most minor infractions. But Ca
  Pretty LiesThe waters up to your ankles, 
coldness tickling your toes, 
small splashes in the shallows, 
a light breeze and you know.
The waters slowly rising,
but you don't have to care, 
it's a long way away, 
your minds not even here.
The waters to your calves, 
still fun and exciting, 
you're no where close to dying,  
the sun's not yet setting.
This couldn't get any better, 
at least just for now,
playing your role as a youth,
when its over you'll take a bow.
The waters now to your hips
and just a bit warmer.
Spending time with your lover,
going deeper and deeper.
It might not make sense
but wait till you see the ring.
"He's perfect," you'll say,
he's your own miniture king.
The waters now to your chest.
It got there pretty fast,
you didn't realize time passed,
thought it had more time to last.
With the end fast approaching,
and not much to show,
your warm safe waters,
feels a lot more like snow.
The waters past your head,
and life passed you by,
helloi want to talk to you
in between touches
but you seem so far away
and my words are as lost
as the chances
i would have to feel you
beneath me
it is bitter sweet
that i may only
write down such desires
and i fear that i will
be doing so
all night
  Sexism - a story untoldI. A mother scorns her infant boy for
wearing a dress; the fresh print of a
hand mark glows on his cheek.
Meanwhile, his sister plays in shorts
II. Lunchtime and a child, no more than
twelve, hurries home early. Tears
smudge the sleeves of his favourite
shirt as he tries to muffle his sobs.
A girl hit him in the face, but boys must
be strong.
III. Accused of sexual harassment, a
young man apologizes for complimenting
a lady at the bar. Somewhere in the
crowd, a girl pinches a stranger's bum
whilst her friends screech like hyenas.
She was only mildly flirting with him,
after all.
IV. In a restaurant, a woman insists her
date pays the bill. The following day,
he's accused of earning too much and
spending too little.
V. A man is pinned against the wall and
forced into sex. Even though he turns
away, he must enjoy it because he's
just a bloke. Women can't rape men - it
doesn't work like that.
VI. Somewhere in this world, a boy
holds the door open for his crush, a
husband hunts
Fiddling LessonsHarvey had a friend, once. An acquaintance, really; it took more effort than most people were willing to give to be Harvey’s friend, which was why he now found himself sitting alone on his threadbare sofa. That acquaintance had offered to give him fiddling lessons after learning of Harvey’s fascination with the instrument. But, as with so many others, he had disappeared before Harvey could ever take him up on the offer.
“Friends are a lot like smoke,” he remarked to the oval-shaped portrait tacked onto the peeling and faded floral wallpaper. “They only stay around long enough to make your eyes water a bit, and then they’re gone.”
A young woman had fallen on the charred and broken sidewalk at the end of his driveway. The glittering silver purse she had been carrying was draped across the curb, looking like a dead fish washed up on the edge of a poisoned river. At first, a squeak of fear had wriggled its way out of Harvey’s parched throat.
  excuses of a poor guesti am borrowing a chair, drinking coffee
made and paid by other hands, thinking
anxiously of zeus and legendary punishment
for spitting on the hospitality of mortals.
listening to someone else's music
and trying to get apples without asking-
this is a dance i do not care for. i am too much my own
self, rigid in rituals of waking up and taking meals
and writing to myself in sunlight, in silence,
in peace. which is not to say i don't feel gratitude
for this- these sweeping gestures of affection,
the coffee made and milked, the footrest by the borrowed chair
and access to the wifi- quiet to do homework in the living room. 
i miss home,  i miss autonomy, i know you love me,
i love you too. i want to offer this instead of the customary
cleansing of the dishes. i am too busy wringing my hands
and trying not to be a nuisance to laugh like you want me to,
accommodating accommodations, fearing wrath i know
never comes, but then legends are the exceptions
to a general rule- i do no
free radicals and free-range electronsstranded in the badlands
I’ve been purging
myself/from/my truculent/self
slowly …
calculating my own
mechanical dis-advantages
           [and what would the worst
           place on earth be without wolves?]
without something to feed
on my corpse and in turn
burn down the forest
like I did when I was eleven and
subliminally strange
but for now I’m still purging
and subversively learning
just what a beast can really do
when it scratches out a name
  flumei’m a simmering schizoid
    battering ram    
sledgehammering the   church
bell in my     brain
  then i complain    about the
r i n g i n g     in my ears
  crisp like the feeling
i get at four a.m., the one that
          opens     my gut with the
jaws of  life   then
    swishes things around     makes
a paste  and plays with it   like a little
kid    maybe   sticks its middle and
 index fingers
in    scoops some
up and   here comes the    train/airplane
          i’m an   inverse narcissus
  scandalized by   the  tar  that  sputters
up from the   ground   beneath my  feet  and
   engulfs me        i  know it’s all    my
fault but      i have to
free radicals and free-range electronsstranded in the badlands
I’ve been purging
myself/from/my truculent/self
slowly …
calculating my own
mechanical dis-advantages
           [and what would the worst
           place on earth be without wolves?]
without something to feed
on my corpse and in turn
burn down the forest
like I did when I was eleven and
subliminally strange
but for now I’m still purging
and subversively learning
just what a beast can really do
when it scratches out a name
  SapiophileIf I said
That I never much thought
About my sexuality
I would be lying.
But sex was never
Strange to me;
I never stumbled over words like
Gay or bi or lesbian.
Here is a truth
Not many people know
Because I don't flaunt it,
Because I don't care.
I am not straight.
When I was fifteen
I fell in love with a girl.
A flower of a girl,
Dressed in black
And suicide.
After ten days of admiration
She left me with a
Peck on the cheek
And I never saw her again.
With sixteen I fell for a girl
Who in fact  was a boy.
It wasn't complicated,
Loving him wasn't.
But he was scared of the
World and of the word
And no matter how much I begged
He wouldn't let me love his body
Because he had been taught
That if his mind isn't flawed
Then his body is
And he couldn't see
How beautiful he was.
Years later I still don't care
About body shape or organs
That are or are not there.
I just don't talk much about it.
I am attracted to minds,
Not bodies.

    Thank you to chromeantennae for helping me put together the features this month! Love you! :love:



“. . . the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain.” ― Mary Shelley


Don’t wait. Writers are the only artists I know of who expect to get somewhere by waiting. Everyone knows you have to dance to be a dancer,
you have to sing to be a singer, you have to act to be an actor, but far too many people seem to believe that you don’t have to write to be a writer.
So, instead of writing, they wait. Isaac Asimov said it beautifully in just six words: “It’s the writing that teaches you.” Writing is what teaches you.
Writing is what leads to “inspiration.” Writing is what generates ideas. Nothing else-and nothing less. Don’t meditate, don’t do yoga, don’t do drugs. Just write. DANIEL QUINN (via booksandpublishing)


Write the kind of story you would like to read. People will give you all sorts of advice about writing, but if you are not writing something you like, no one else will like it either.” — Meg Cabot (via maxkirin)


The profession of book writing makes horse racing seem like a solid, stable business.” —John Steinbeck


To give real service you must add something which cannot be bought or measured with money, and that is sincerity and integrity. —Douglas Adams


“You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.” 
― Madeleine L'Engle


"Tomorrow brought exactly what you told it to bring." ―Maggie StiefvaterSinner (via. :devstarrstarrysky7267:)
“A learning experience is one of those things that says, 'You know that thing you just did? Don't do that.” 
― Douglas AdamsThe Salmon of Doubt
“I make lots of mistakes. I try hard not to make the same mistake more than three or four times.” 
― Janet EvanovichThree to Get Deadly
“There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.” 
― W. Somerset Maugham


“Tomorrow may be hell, but today was a good writing day, and on the good writing days nothing else matters.” 
― Neil Gaiman
“Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.” 
― Franz Kafka


“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” 
― Marilyn Monroe

“Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.” 
― Groucho MarxThe Essential Groucho: Writings For By And About Groucho Marx


"You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write." — Saul Bellow

"Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It's a way of understanding it." 
— Lloyd Alexander

I'm a prose admin for LitRecognition, so be sure to check out the rules of submission here if you know a piece of prose that needs some exposure!

Happy writing,


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hockeymask Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2015
Thanks for letting me join!
Exiolirion Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015  Student Digital Artist
I just opened my commissions, if anyone is interested there's a bunch of info in my journal!
SpamWarrior21 Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2014
Hi, I'm wondering why the third chapter of my story was declined, and what I would need to do to edit it to standard.
Naktarra Featured By Owner Dec 22, 2014   Writer
It was most likely submitted into the wrong folder. :heart:
flamespeedy Featured By Owner Oct 17, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Please give my story a read:…
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