Erlebnisse

Hello everyone!

Personal News!

My December has been exceptionally Floridian this year (read: no snow) but I have thoroughly enjoyed my holiday season! I am able to appreciate my family now in a way that I was never able to when I lived with them. Does that make me a bad person?

In other news, the beneficent jvsef has kindly gifted me a three-month Premium membership at the suggestion of HaveTales-WillTell and I am just ecstatic! Expect some poll-spamming coming soon!

Also - and this is pretty big - I WILL BE CHANGING MY USERNAME VERY SOON. I am actively working on something concise and lovely without using my real name, mostly using this inspirational blog for inspiration. I will post a journal once I change it, letting you know that it's me, so no fear!

EDIT: Oh wouldya look at that...I've changed it!

Hi! I've changed my username to Erlebnisse (it was previously the absolutely dreadful ~xoCaliGirl924ox, if you're confused. Glad that's over). Anyways, I'm still me! Yay!

So. How has your winter been? Do you have a favorite gift from Christmas Hanukkah the non-denominational gift-giving holiday of your choice? Any fun winter traditions that you or your family take part in? Share them with me; I'd love to hear them!

Happy New Year to all of you! May 2013 be your most elysian year yet!

Features!

So in my last journal two journals ago I mentioned a contest that Penpa was hosting with the theme "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."  Well, now that contest is over and the winners have been announced! Please take some time to congratulate these talented writers and check out their work; their entries into the contest were fantastic!

First Place: Beauty is a Love Withheld by jessica35

Beauty is a Love WithheldWhen empty tears cease to welt,
the underside of love is naught.
The barrens of indifference felt.
Healed the heart no longer wrought.
Thine flower left in dry to wilt.
May I have eyes to watch it die.
Tattered petals turned to silt.
Sent on lightened wings to fly.
And while my shoulder faces west,
thy hands reach out for fingers fated.
To kiss the skin the heart knows best,
and find that warmth hath now been gated.
Beauty is a love withheld,
to fertilize the passion grow.
But mine heart's desire has been felt,
and now it's time to let it go.

And some more:

Iron PartsI remember a time when the world was faded around the edges.
The diseased aroma of bleach sat on the tip of my frail nose
and the subtle caress of deaths lingering kiss upon my chapped lips.
I fought with the blackness which enveloped my body,
and every day I sank deeper into its six-foot forever.
How sweet a surrender. To give in. To let go.
To end the searing pain and rest my tired head.
To lay my crumbling bones upon gods alter,
and fray the silken edges of life's last thread.
I see flashes of all the things I've never felt.
The caress of a lover against my skin.
The soft coo of a baby in my bundled arms.
The footprints I'll never leave in lands unknown.
So this light of mine keeps burning brightly,
It's the knife that cuts through the darkened sickness.
I hold on to that one last thread with a mighty grip,
to re-stitch its frayed edges, and re-build my heart with iron parts. Ghost in a BarI lack the certain slant of charm that is required,
for talking to those handsome strangers.
When a grin floats in my direction,
I blow it away like a soap bubble.
I've got chainmail wrapped in layers around my heart.
My breath carries the sting of tear gas in a fiery riot.
I lack the ability to carry an intelligent exchange of words.
I feel those awkward spiders crawling in my stomach.
Weird word vomit envelops me every time.
I spook the strange away like a ghost in a haunted house. I am, You areIs she everything I wasn't ?
Does She
Make You Feel
F-R-E-E
Sometimes I just don't care.
About any of it.
Because  I am the most important thing
To me.
&
Other times it burns
                                                It CUTS
                                                It STINGS
                                    

Second Place: Silver by Treo-LeGigeo

SliverThey say that if you stand in front of a wall of glass at exactly four minutes past midnight and tap your fingers on it three times, you can open a door to the void beyond this world. It has to be somewhere you can see your reflection, and see through it, hovering like a ghost over the darkness beyond, somewhere dim enough that you can't quite tell the difference between light and shade. And unless you hit the glass where you touched it, shatter the half-formed image before the fifth minute strikes, that door will never close.
Celia Gray has never been one for urban legends. So much so, that she would never turn down a chance to prove one wrong.
The girls are in the middle of their third round of Truth Or Dare when it's brought up for the first time.
"No way!"
"Come on, Angie, it's almost midnight!"
"No, Tracey."
"What's wrong, scared?"
"No, I—I just ...it's my house! I'm not smashing my balcony door."
"Jeez, guys." The five faces turn at the third voice. "We're fourteen no

And some more:

Russian RouletteThey take her on her honeymoon.
The wedding was lovely, or as lovely as it could have been with a couple that were more polite acquaintances than anything else and two sets of in-laws as stuffy as a dusty pile of money. They grab her when she sneaks out for a walk one night, two men, beefy, not even bothered to arm themselves. Her last thought before the bag is shoved over her eyes is to wonder how much this would ruin her parents' plans.
She comes to in a small brick room on a sallow mattress, windowless and lit by a cool yellow lamp. There's a man there, standing just outside the barred door.
"Kelly Shale," he says, voice nasally, greasy greying hair half-covering his forehead. She's not sure if it's a question or a statement.
She counts the days by watching the guards—one on day shift, one on night. They're probably the same men who took her, but they stay too much out of her field of vision to really tell. It takes until the third day for the woman to come.
'Meil,' they call h Across No Man's Land0900 hours, December 25
"Her name was Anna," the English soldier said, "our wedding would have been today, if I hadn't been drafted. She was always religious, said her childhood dream was to get married on Christmas."
"I had a wife," the German soldier replied in barely accented English. "Broke her heart when the conscription letter came."
It was an odd scene, this was, two people who had previously been trying to kill each other, talking now like old mates.
1200 hours, December 25
"I get letters from my mother every few weeks, she just can't seem to stop worrying."
"Me too, and my son as well. Always warning his daddy not to get hurt."
Odd indeed, but today it was a scene that was being replicated all along the Western Front, enemies brought together by the day of our Lord.
1500 hours, December 25
"Could I join you for lunch? Our next shipment of rations hasn't come in yet."
"Please."
Men who had been fighting so brutally the day before, laying down their wea The PianistA warm, lilting melody wafted through the nightclub, nimble fingers dancing over crisp black and white keys as the song of the grand piano drifted down from the stage, filtering between the irregularly spaced tables to fill every niche and recess of the dimly lit room. The lone figure in the spotlight moved gently with the music, her long chestnut hair billowing down her back in loose waves and her wine red dress fanning out around her knees as she sat on the worn leather stool. It was not a complex song she played, with no difficult notes or intricate rhythms, but there was something about it that was so enthralling, so entrancing, as if each sound touched you, clung to you, whispered to you.
As the tune swelled, as the notes danced, and as music came alive beneath her fingers, the pianist began to remember.
She met him at a cheap, backwater club on a cool autumn evening while playing yet another of those low paid unambitious jobs that she hated but needed to make ends meet. While

Third Place: Behold Beauty! by D-A-Skelly



And some more:

River Road!Endless rainfall, river road, pedestrians splashed.
2012 Delice1941
12th October2012 Life!Prelude, growing up, preparation for life.
2012 Delice1941
11th October2012 Ambush!Preoccupation
Infatuated heartland
Ambushed by honey.
2012 Delice1941
1st October2012

Congratulations to all three winners!

In other news, HugQueen's special Reasons to Love dA's Lit Community project is over and the random winners have been selected!  StrawberryChewies has been awarded a journal feature from yours truly! Go check out Part 1 and Part 2 of the article for some warm fuzzy lit-loving feelings. And many congratulations to Stephany for being so dedicated to deviantART's lit community and for making it to 100 (and beyond) issues of Love dA Lit.  You are an inspiration!

Without further ado, StrawberryChewies' journal feature!

Squall"It'll get worse." Red tears welled up at the edges of Patrick's wound. Ace spoke with no emotion, but his brother could read the hatred and distaste. "I told you if you snitched it'd get worse. It will. Now." Ace put the little knife back into his pocket and watched as tears rolled down Patrick's face. The four-year-old began to sob, quietly shaking with fear.
"You're a bad guy," Patrick cried. His round face, usually beaming with joy, was pulled up in a pained expression. When the words set in, Ace lifted his right foot, bringing it up behind himself.
"Yeah," he said, "it'll get way worse." The kick hit Patrick's temple, throwing the boy onto his side. Circles of color traveled round the room, seldom meeting Patrick's face. Ace looked up at the sun through the lace curtains, watched it tuck itself behind gray vapor sheets. "Behave yourself," he said to Patrick. "You belong to me, 'brother.'"
***
Ace's hands wandered from photo to photo, mentally crushing the once-exiled memories. Lit D is for DoubleA-Z Project: D is for Double
"Gina, please don't cry," Gulia begged as she sat on the very edge of the fluffy bed. "It'll be alright." Gina, nearly the mirror image of Gulia, was lying on the bed, silently crying.
"Gulia, this isn't the first time," Gina sobbed softly, "and it won't be the last, either." Gulia's hand reached down and gently stroked Gina's shoulder.
"You're my sister. I hate to see you like this," Gulia said softly. "I've been telling you for three years that we can make a change together. No more abuse." Gulia watched her twin sister eagerly, waiting for that excited, revolutionary decision that would change it all- the reckless forfeit and agreement to kill. However, Gina shook her head quickly, briefly. "Say it… No more abuse… You know it feels it right. You want it. I want it for you… You want it for me. We're in this together. Take my hand, Gina."
"We can't stop pain by causing it. It's not right."
"How so, Gina?" Intrigued by this logic, Gulia stood ClementineClémentine
I had a bad day, Clémentine thought as she quietly slid closed the door to her apartment in Marseille, France, where she attended medical courses at Aix-Marseille University. She slipped her shoes off and unwound the red cashmere scarf from her neck. Her feet led her to her usual place in the pink armchair across the living room. She slumped down in the chair, her socks gathering on the tan carpet beneath her feet. It doesn't bother me.
"Clémentine, you're home," Cameo said as she emerged from the hallway behind Clémentine. The words came out as if Cameo was letting Clémentine know that she had arrived, and they were not pleased and did not resemble a greeting of any kind; they were more like the words a snake would speak if one ever could speak.
"Yes," Clémentine answered dryly.
"We had a bad day today."
"Yes." Clémentine heard the central heat in her apartment come on as the temperature inside dropped. Cameo slid soundlessly

Furthermore, the darling MooingMoe has offered FREE ART for anyone who wants it! Visit this journal for more details! She is trying to improve her art, so please go help her out!

For an example of her work, check out her interpretation of my characters Jack and Emma here!

Jeez, all these contests and projects makes me want to host one! Think that's a grand idea? Would you be willing to participate? Tell me! I'll need all the help I can get.

Love you all.

Hello everyone!

So in my last journal I mentioned a contest that Penpa was hosting with the theme "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."  Well, now that contest is over and the winners have been announced! Please take some time to congratulate these talented writers and check out their work; their entries into the contest were fantastic!

First Place: Beauty is a Love Withheld by jessica35

Beauty is a Love WithheldWhen empty tears cease to welt,
the underside of love is naught.
The barrens of indifference felt.
Healed the heart no longer wrought.
Thine flower left in dry to wilt.
May I have eyes to watch it die.
Tattered petals turned to silt.
Sent on lightened wings to fly.
And while my shoulder faces west,
thy hands reach out for fingers fated.
To kiss the skin the heart knows best,
and find that warmth hath now been gated.
Beauty is a love withheld,
to fertilize the passion grow.
But mine heart's desire has been felt,
and now it's time to let it go.

And some more:

Iron PartsI remember a time when the world was faded around the edges.
The diseased aroma of bleach sat on the tip of my frail nose
and the subtle caress of deaths lingering kiss upon my chapped lips.
I fought with the blackness which enveloped my body,
and every day I sank deeper into its six-foot forever.
How sweet a surrender. To give in. To let go.
To end the searing pain and rest my tired head.
To lay my crumbling bones upon gods alter,
and fray the silken edges of life's last thread.
I see flashes of all the things I've never felt.
The caress of a lover against my skin.
The soft coo of a baby in my bundled arms.
The footprints I'll never leave in lands unknown.
So this light of mine keeps burning brightly,
It's the knife that cuts through the darkened sickness.
I hold on to that one last thread with a mighty grip,
to re-stitch its frayed edges, and re-build my heart with iron parts. Ghost in a BarI lack the certain slant of charm that is required,
for talking to those handsome strangers.
When a grin floats in my direction,
I blow it away like a soap bubble.
I've got chainmail wrapped in layers around my heart.
My breath carries the sting of tear gas in a fiery riot.
I lack the ability to carry an intelligent exchange of words.
I feel those awkward spiders crawling in my stomach.
Weird word vomit envelops me every time.
I spook the strange away like a ghost in a haunted house. I am, You areIs she everything I wasn't ?
Does She
Make You Feel
F-R-E-E
Sometimes I just don't care.
About any of it.
Because  I am the most important thing
To me.
&
Other times it burns
                                                It CUTS
                                                It STINGS
                                    

Second Place: Silver by Treo-LeGigeo

SliverThey say that if you stand in front of a wall of glass at exactly four minutes past midnight and tap your fingers on it three times, you can open a door to the void beyond this world. It has to be somewhere you can see your reflection, and see through it, hovering like a ghost over the darkness beyond, somewhere dim enough that you can't quite tell the difference between light and shade. And unless you hit the glass where you touched it, shatter the half-formed image before the fifth minute strikes, that door will never close.
Celia Gray has never been one for urban legends. So much so, that she would never turn down a chance to prove one wrong.
The girls are in the middle of their third round of Truth Or Dare when it's brought up for the first time.
"No way!"
"Come on, Angie, it's almost midnight!"
"No, Tracey."
"What's wrong, scared?"
"No, I—I just ...it's my house! I'm not smashing my balcony door."
"Jeez, guys." The five faces turn at the third voice. "We're fourteen no

And some more:

Russian RouletteThey take her on her honeymoon.
The wedding was lovely, or as lovely as it could have been with a couple that were more polite acquaintances than anything else and two sets of in-laws as stuffy as a dusty pile of money. They grab her when she sneaks out for a walk one night, two men, beefy, not even bothered to arm themselves. Her last thought before the bag is shoved over her eyes is to wonder how much this would ruin her parents' plans.
She comes to in a small brick room on a sallow mattress, windowless and lit by a cool yellow lamp. There's a man there, standing just outside the barred door.
"Kelly Shale," he says, voice nasally, greasy greying hair half-covering his forehead. She's not sure if it's a question or a statement.
She counts the days by watching the guards—one on day shift, one on night. They're probably the same men who took her, but they stay too much out of her field of vision to really tell. It takes until the third day for the woman to come.
'Meil,' they call h Across No Man's Land0900 hours, December 25
"Her name was Anna," the English soldier said, "our wedding would have been today, if I hadn't been drafted. She was always religious, said her childhood dream was to get married on Christmas."
"I had a wife," the German soldier replied in barely accented English. "Broke her heart when the conscription letter came."
It was an odd scene, this was, two people who had previously been trying to kill each other, talking now like old mates.
1200 hours, December 25
"I get letters from my mother every few weeks, she just can't seem to stop worrying."
"Me too, and my son as well. Always warning his daddy not to get hurt."
Odd indeed, but today it was a scene that was being replicated all along the Western Front, enemies brought together by the day of our Lord.
1500 hours, December 25
"Could I join you for lunch? Our next shipment of rations hasn't come in yet."
"Please."
Men who had been fighting so brutally the day before, laying down their wea The PianistA warm, lilting melody wafted through the nightclub, nimble fingers dancing over crisp black and white keys as the song of the grand piano drifted down from the stage, filtering between the irregularly spaced tables to fill every niche and recess of the dimly lit room. The lone figure in the spotlight moved gently with the music, her long chestnut hair billowing down her back in loose waves and her wine red dress fanning out around her knees as she sat on the worn leather stool. It was not a complex song she played, with no difficult notes or intricate rhythms, but there was something about it that was so enthralling, so entrancing, as if each sound touched you, clung to you, whispered to you.
As the tune swelled, as the notes danced, and as music came alive beneath her fingers, the pianist began to remember.
She met him at a cheap, backwater club on a cool autumn evening while playing yet another of those low paid unambitious jobs that she hated but needed to make ends meet. While

Third Place: Behold Beauty! by D-A-Skelly



And some more:

River Road!Endless rainfall, river road, pedestrians splashed.
2012 Delice1941
12th October2012 Life!Prelude, growing up, preparation for life.
2012 Delice1941
11th October2012 Ambush!Preoccupation
Infatuated heartland
Ambushed by honey.
2012 Delice1941
1st October2012

Congratulations to all three winners!

In other news, HugQueen's special Reasons to Love dA's Lit Community project is over and the random winners have been selected!  StrawberryChewies has been awarded a journal feature from yours truly! Go check out Part 1 and Part 2 of the article for some warm fuzzy lit-loving feelings. And many congratulations to Stephany for being so dedicated to deviantART's lit community and for making it to 100 (and beyond) issues of Love dA Lit.  You are an inspiration!

Without further ado, StrawberryChewies' journal feature!

Squall"It'll get worse." Red tears welled up at the edges of Patrick's wound. Ace spoke with no emotion, but his brother could read the hatred and distaste. "I told you if you snitched it'd get worse. It will. Now." Ace put the little knife back into his pocket and watched as tears rolled down Patrick's face. The four-year-old began to sob, quietly shaking with fear.
"You're a bad guy," Patrick cried. His round face, usually beaming with joy, was pulled up in a pained expression. When the words set in, Ace lifted his right foot, bringing it up behind himself.
"Yeah," he said, "it'll get way worse." The kick hit Patrick's temple, throwing the boy onto his side. Circles of color traveled round the room, seldom meeting Patrick's face. Ace looked up at the sun through the lace curtains, watched it tuck itself behind gray vapor sheets. "Behave yourself," he said to Patrick. "You belong to me, 'brother.'"
***
Ace's hands wandered from photo to photo, mentally crushing the once-exiled memories. Lit D is for DoubleA-Z Project: D is for Double
"Gina, please don't cry," Gulia begged as she sat on the very edge of the fluffy bed. "It'll be alright." Gina, nearly the mirror image of Gulia, was lying on the bed, silently crying.
"Gulia, this isn't the first time," Gina sobbed softly, "and it won't be the last, either." Gulia's hand reached down and gently stroked Gina's shoulder.
"You're my sister. I hate to see you like this," Gulia said softly. "I've been telling you for three years that we can make a change together. No more abuse." Gulia watched her twin sister eagerly, waiting for that excited, revolutionary decision that would change it all- the reckless forfeit and agreement to kill. However, Gina shook her head quickly, briefly. "Say it… No more abuse… You know it feels it right. You want it. I want it for you… You want it for me. We're in this together. Take my hand, Gina."
"We can't stop pain by causing it. It's not right."
"How so, Gina?" Intrigued by this logic, Gulia stood ClementineClémentine
I had a bad day, Clémentine thought as she quietly slid closed the door to her apartment in Marseille, France, where she attended medical courses at Aix-Marseille University. She slipped her shoes off and unwound the red cashmere scarf from her neck. Her feet led her to her usual place in the pink armchair across the living room. She slumped down in the chair, her socks gathering on the tan carpet beneath her feet. It doesn't bother me.
"Clémentine, you're home," Cameo said as she emerged from the hallway behind Clémentine. The words came out as if Cameo was letting Clémentine know that she had arrived, and they were not pleased and did not resemble a greeting of any kind; they were more like the words a snake would speak if one ever could speak.
"Yes," Clémentine answered dryly.
"We had a bad day today."
"Yes." Clémentine heard the central heat in her apartment come on as the temperature inside dropped. Cameo slid soundlessly

Furthermore, the darling MooingMoe has offered FREE ART for anyone who wants it! Visit this journal for more details! She is trying to improve her art, so please go help her out!

For an example of her work, check out her interpretation of my characters Jack and Emma here!

Jeez, all these contests and projects makes me want to host one! Think that's a grand idea? Would you be willing to participate? Tell me! I'll need all the help I can get.

Love you all.

See this journal for questions, prompts & games, and free love from yours truly!

My friend WishingUnderThatStar is hosting a writing contest through her group Penpa! The theme is "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."  There are tons of prizes up for grabs, such as premium memberships and points, so go check it out!  I am personally donating journal features and critiques, so if you would like to see yourself featured RIGHT HERE, go enter!

NOTE: She is in need of more prizes and (I believe) two more judges, so if you don't have the time and/or inspiration to enter but would like to help out in some way, please do! She would greatly appreciate it.

In other news, COLLEGE. I get such an absurd thrill from doing responsible adult things such as grocery shopping and banking. And my classes are killing me and I love it.

In other news, I am still looking for ideas for my prompt-y writing exchange thing (this journal has more details, if you can even call them details) so if you have any input whatsoever, please comment! In an ideal world, I would make a poll or something to see how many people are interested, but I am officially a broke college kid now and premium memberships are an impossibility. So comment if you're interested and we'll call it an unofficial poll!

Lastly, I want to hear from you: If you've started school already, what is your favorite class so far?  Who is your favorite teacher and why? Do you have any god-awful teachers and what makes them so dreadful? Is there that one class that you just know is going to kick your butt for the rest of the school year?

Love you all!

See xocaligirl924ox.deviantart.com… for questions, prompts & games, and free love from yours truly!

Welllp, I am off to college TOMORROW and you know what that means!

Abigail Hummel
19044502 Hume Honors East
Gainesville, FL 32612-1901

Write me letters! I have had an obsession with mail for a long time but I understandably don't want to post my home address all over the Internet. BUT now I can!

I am a terrific letter-writer (as underorion can vouch, I wrote her back the day I got her letter in Maine) and I will absolutely, 100% write you a letter back if you write to me. OR, if you don't want to make the first move, note me your address and I will write you! Pen pals, I want them!

In other news, I am ecstatic to be starting classes on Wednesday. I'm a bit of a nerd a huge, raging nerd so learning is fun! And all that jazz.

If you're in college at the moment, or have ever been in college, please comment with some tips/advice/stories/anything you'd like to share! I'd love to hear about your experiences.

See fav.me/d534gb7 for questions, prompts & games, and free love from yours truly!

Abigail Hummel
c/o Robin's Nest Camp
330 Thorne Road
Sullivan, ME 04644

I'm just going to get right to the point here:

I am going to Maine in four sleeps and I LOVE getting mail. Especially while at camp. I will not have access to my cell phone or the Internet for over two weeks after this Sunday, so my only contact with the outside world will be via snail mail. SO, if you would like to write me a letter, I promise I will love you forever and of course I will write you back!

I will be there from July 22nd until August 7th.

ANY mail will be treasured and cherished! Even just a postcard! I will even pay for your stamps! (Not really.)  AND if you want to note me with your address, I will write you a letter even if you don't write me one! The point is, this is basically a win-win situation.

I'd love to hear from you.