Welcome to the Labyrinth

Literature Creep is turning six months old soon. Frankly, I’m feeling less than stellar about having to take so many breaks from posting here. The natural conclusion?

Giveaway!

Since not all Lit. Creeps are alike, I’m aiming to put together three packages over the next week or so. You will not know what these packages are themed or contain until later this month. However, chances are in your favor that there will be something you’ll enjoy.

This giveaway is specifically for those who are following before I make the three separate giveaway posts. Yup, just for my current creeps.

Further details to come.

literaturecreep:

Well, this is the official answer to the majority of asks I’m getting that seem to start with “where are you?/why aren’t you posting?/is everything ok?”

• Serious family medical issues are happening
• Those books above: 3/4 of the reading I have to finish before July
• First round of editing on my behemoth single spaced manuscript 
• Sadly, I could keep these bullet points going with reasons

I don’t want to give a definite date as to when things will pick up here. Of course, I’m not leaving, but I am busy and really stressed. I figure things should gradually get easier over the next few weeks and you’ll start seeing more regular posts. Wish me luck.

Also, don’t forget to catch up on all the lit. creeping you’ve put off until summer! :) Feel free to submit things and leave questions/comments/whatever in the ask.

Reblogging for those who haven’t seen. The queue is set.

I was raised by
Chitterling eating
Vegetarian cooking
Cornbread so good you want to lay
down and die baking
“Go on baby, get yo’self a plate”
Kind of Women.

Some thick haired
Angela Davis afro styling
“Girl, lay back
and let me scratch yo head”
Sorta Women.

Some big legged
High yellow, mocha brown
Hip shaking
Miniskirt wearing
Hip huggers hugging
Daring debutantes
Groovin
“I know I look good”
Type of Women.

Some tea sipping
White glove wearing
Got married too soon
Divorced
in just the nick of time
“Better say yes ma’am to me”
Type of sisters.

Some fingerpopping
Boogaloo dancing
Say it loud
I’m black and I’m proud
James Brown listening
“Go on girl shake that thing”
Kind of Sisters.

Some face slapping
Hands on hips
“Don’t mess with me,
Pack your bags and
get the hell out of my house”
Sorta women

Some PhD toten
Poetry writing
Portrait painting
“I’ll see you in court”
World traveling
Stand back, I’m creating
Type of queens

I was raised by women

Broom in hand, she screamed:
“Gal, I’ll knock your head off
And roll it out the back door.”
Hand on hip, I stood defiant.
How far could a broomswept
head go anyway?

I dreamed I called you on the telephone
to say: Be kinder to yourself
but you were sick and would not answer

The waste of my love goes on this way
trying to save you from yourself

I have always wondered about the left-over energy,
the way water goes rushing down a hill
long after the rains have stopped

Or the fire you want to go to bed from
but cannot leave,
burning-down but not burnt-down

The red coals more extreme, more curious
in their flashing and dying
than you wish they were
sitting long after midnight

The Outsiders

The Hunger Games

Les Miserables

Marvel comics

Well, this is the official answer to the majority of asks I’m getting that seem to start with “where are you?/why aren’t you posting?/is everything ok?”

• Serious family medical issues are happening
• Those books above: 3/4 of the reading I have to finish before July
• First round of editing on my behemoth single spaced manuscript 
• Sadly, I could keep these bullet points going with reasons

I don’t want to give a definite date as to when things will pick up here. Of course, I’m not leaving, but I am busy and really stressed. I figure things should gradually get easier over the next few weeks and you’ll start seeing more regular posts. Wish me luck.

Also, don’t forget to catch up on all the lit. creeping you’ve put off until summer! :) Feel free to submit things and leave questions/comments/whatever in the ask.

“Dr. Seuss wrote “Green Eggs and Ham” on a bet that he couldn’t write a book with fifty or fewer distinct words.

The bet was made in 1960 with Bennett Cerf, the co-founder of Random House, and was for $50.  Interestingly, despite Dr. Seuss, a.k.a. Theodore Geisel, winning the bet by producing one of his most popular works Green Eggs and Ham using exactly 50 words, Cerf never paid up.   Green Eggs and Ham went on to be Geisel’s best selling work, so he made out on it anyways.”

Read the whole article here

Can You See the Pride In the Panther 
As he grows in splendor and grace 
Topling obstacles placed in the way, 
of the progression of his race. 

Can You See the Pride In the Panther 
as she nurtures her young all alone 
The seed must grow regardless 
of the fact that it is planted in stone. 

Can You See the Pride In the Panthers 
as they unify as one. 
The flower blooms with brilliance, 
and outshines the rays of the sun.

—Tupac Shakur

Whoever now weeps somewhere in the world,
weeps without reason in the world,
weeps over me.

Whoever now laughs somewhere in the night,
laughs without reason in the night,
laughs at me.

Whoever now wanders somewhere in the world,
wanders without reason out in the world,
wanders toward me.

Whoever now dies somewhere in the world,
dies without reason in the world,
looks at me.

—Rainer Maria Rilke

Tell me why it is we don’t lift our voices these days
And cry over what is happening. Have you noticed
The plans are made for Iraq and the ice cap is melting?

I say to myself: “Go on, cry. What’s the sense
Of being an adult and having no voice? Cry out!
See who will answer! This is Call and Answer!”

We will have to call especially loud to reach
Our angels, who are hard of hearing; they are hiding
In the jugs of silence filled during our wars.

Have we agreed to so many wars that we can’t
Escape from silence? If we don’t lift our voices, we allow
Others (who are ourselves) to rob the house.

How come we’ve listened to the great criers—Neruda,
Akhmatova, Thoreau, Frederick Douglass—and now
We’re silent as sparrows in the little bushes?

Some masters say our life lasts only seven days.
Where are we in the week? Is it Thursday yet?
Hurry, cry now! Soon Sunday night will come.

—Robert Bly

They have hung the sky with arrows,
Targes of jubilant flame, and helms of splendor,
Knives and daggers of hissing light, and furious swords.

They have hung the lake with moth-wings,
Blurs of purple, and shaggy warmth of gold,
Lazy and curious wines, and curving curds of silver.

They have hung my heart with sunset,
Lilting flowers, and feathered cageless flames,
Death and love: ashes of roses, ashes of angels.

-E.E. Cummings

Also, I’ll be going on a hiatus. Under the cut for more information.

Read More →

Danielle Steel may be known for the titillating romance empire she’s built over a span of nearly four decades, but her own love life is a far cry from the perfect romance story. She’s been married five times—one of her husbands was a bank robber convicted of rape and another was a burglar with a heroin addiction.

It would make a fantastic book closet.

I turn round
Like a dumb beast in a show,
Neither know what I am
Nor where I go,
My language is beaten
Into one name;
I am in love
And that is my shame.
What hurts the soul
My soul adores,
No better than a beast
Upon all fours.

—W.B. Yeats

When I shall be without regret
And shall mortality forget,
When I shall die who lived for this,
I shall not miss the things I miss.
And you who notice where I lie
Ask not my name. It is not I.

—J.V. Cunningham 

I used to wonder
About living and dying—
I think the difference lies
Between tears and crying.

I used to wonder
About here and there—
I think the distance
Is nowhere.

—Langston Hughes 

Children of the future Age,
Reading this indignant page,
Know that in a former time
Love! sweet love! was thought a crime.

In the age of gold,
Free from winter’s cold,
Youth and maiden bright,
To the holy light,
Naked in the sunny beams delight.

Once a youthful pair,
Filled with softest care,
Met in garden bright
Where the holy light
Had just removed the curtains of the night.

Then, in rising day,
On the grass they play;
Parents were afar,
Strangers came not near,
And the maiden soon forgot her fear.

Tired with kisses sweet,
They agree to meet
When the silent sleep
Waves o’er heaven’s deep,
And the weary tired wanderers weep.

To her father white
Came the maiden bright;
But his loving look,
Like the holy book
All her tender limbs with terror shook.

‘Ona! pale and weak!
To thy father speak.
Oh the trembling fear!
Oh the dismal care!
That shakes the blossoms of my hoary hair.

—William Blake