Welcome to the Literature Edition of Undiscovered Weekly
In case you're not familiar with it yet, Undiscovered Weekly is a series of articles aimed at putting a spotlight on some otherwise unknown talent across dA's various galleries.
Riencuran's Interview
Take a moment to introduce yourself. Tell me a bit about your interests and your writing.
I started scribbling poetry and telling stories when I was a kid and never really stopped. I get struck by an idea or a phrase and I write it down on whatever happens to be handy, whether it's an email draft, a receipt, or a random envelope. I have snippets lying all over the place, in drawers, notepads, books, my car, my purse. I went through a very cliched phrase, I suppose you could call it, writing about pain and heartache and everything else that plagues teenagers, and really tried to morph it into something a little more elevated, to make it a step above what my peers were writing. Recently, I'm interested in things that make people uncomfortable--because they're real.
What inspires you to write the most?
Life--the same thing that inspires everyone. Nearly all of my prose has an element of my own experiences in them, with an event that happened to me, a person I knew, or something I felt. My experiences trigger my writing, whether it's the excitement of staying up all night with someone you love, a bottle of bad Chianti or a worse sort of tragedy. When you write what you know, it becomes a part of your soul, an extension of your existence. That doesn't happen when you write about something you've never experienced.
Of all the deviations in your gallery, which one means the most to you and why?
They all mean so much to me, but if I had to pick one story, it would be "Nothing to See." It's written from the perspective of a man who stumbles upon a gang rape in an alley. He recognizes the evil taking place and wants to put an end to it, to help the young woman, but his cowardice holds him back and he shuffles on, knowing that he is ultimately as wicked as the alley gang. Despite the acts of evil that we witness every day, people often do nothing. They shut their eyes and close their ears and keep moving, cocooning themselves in their own lives, as if everything will go away if they ignore it, as if it can in no way affect them. "Nothing to See" is an example of that global abandonment and is also deeply personal.
Riencuran's Gallery Feature

Chianti and CigarettesI. We drank Chianti from porcelain mugs. Mine bore an Irish blessing--yours was decorated with a Chinese proverb that warned of things to come. We sat awkwardly by the window and I couldn't meet your eyes.
I never could bear the judgment within them.
You looked away from me then, perhaps realizing the futility in your attempts for normality, and I longed for a kind word, anything, but instead of begging, I watched the fire crackle in the hearth.
It was all too late.
II. The cigarette was burning down to the filter as I filled my lungs with the same blackness you roused in me. Your eyes stared blankly at th

An Elegy for LazarusThe earth fell away
as I waited for you to rise from the dead;
The moon was burnt orange
like a second skin.
We wept for you, Lazarus,
in the places we knew of old,
in empty rooms with silent pianos.
The Seine is lonely at 2 A.M.
and I long for your company.
I watched as the streetlights dimmed
one by one,
and another night passed without you.
The stars abandoned me
when you didn't show your face.
I prayed that you could escape death
and that you were immortal
but neither my words nor my incense
reached the thrones of the gods.
Come back, Lazarus, I wept
on the banks of the Seine,
yet my tears were lost in murky waters
t

Jack and Jilljackandjillwentupthehill
jackandjillwentupthehill
to fetch a pail of water
butjackfelldownandbrokehiscrown
and Jill laughed from the top
of her self-proclaimed castle,
her grassy green hill,
with a crimson moat and a gate
made of m a r r o w and b o n e.
Jackie-boy wont go up the stairs,
muffling Jills sobs in the night.
Jackie-boy wont break in,
stealing the only treasure Jill has left.
Jackie-boy wont come near her again,
taking what was never his.
jackandjillwentupthehill
jackandjillwentupthehill
fall down fall down
break your crown, Jackie-boy.
the well is the only witness
and she keeps her

Mama Told MeMama, the way I'm dragging
This black death into my lungs –
I'm sure it's a pretty sight –
The taste of ash won't leave my lungs.
But the ache is so good and
Now we all be dragons,
Igniting flames and breathing smoke.
Mama, I should have listened
All those years ago and yesterday.
-
Mama, there's another stranger
Lying on the sheets you gave me
Three Christmases ago –
The scent of him won't leave my skin.
But the ache is so good and
Now I'm a dragon abed,
Cooling flames and breathing smoke.
Mama, I should have listened
All those years ago and yesterday.
hfeather53's Interview
Take a moment to introduce yourself. Tell me a bit about your interests and your writing.
I'm Heather. I fidget a lot. Hoodies are security blankets for me. I play the guitar (but not well), I sing (I'm ok with that), and I write a lot (also ok with that). The white paint on my keyboard for the letters "m" and "n" is completely gone.
What inspires you to write the most?
I use writing to get things out of my brain. Most of my work is extremely personal and highly emotional. My life has unfortunately been surrounded by tragedy... I write a lot about my past... I try and figure things out. I end up getting stuck on the whys too often. When I was younger someone used to say, "Build a bridge and get over it." I sincerely wish it were that simple.
Of all the deviations in your gallery, which one means the most to you and why?
It's about my mother. She committed suicide when I was four. I spent (spend) lots of time trying to figure it all out... It was nice to be able to write about it... To be able to share bits about my memories of her. I spent a lot of time being angry at her and hating myself for what she did. I'm finally inching passed those feelings and I felt a release like I've never before had in my life while I wrote.
hfeather53's Gallery Feature

and love becomes their songthe dark, seething, crimson rose
begged for your touch
upon her twisting, cutting,
luscious vine
"Bleed for me,"
she pleads,
"restore the color to my petals
winter's thieved."
she splays herself
before your palms
"Breathe of me,"
she requisitions,
"house me in your loving lungs
so I can be your song."
so you reach for thorny vine
and she wraps herself around you;
drinking of your vigor-
as you place renewed petals
before your face
and breathe her seed
into your waiting chest
"Water me,"
she sings,
"let me drink of you
in a new way."
and without waiting
for your bated
yes-
she tightens her spiny grip
around your flesh
and tears water the

fire breather~oxygen and sin
igniting our worlds; as we,
now- collide and spark

sleepless scarswhy does it feel
like a piece of me dies
with every scar that heals
and disappears from my skin
dare I reclaim my
tarnished history
with crass glass
smokescreened beneath
sheets
and a mattress weighted
with all of my poverty
fly away angel
kiss some other
dead girl's lips
I will not bed you
tonight

What you became.I wish I could hold you close to my chest. You are so very precious. You are the only piece of precious I will ever own. Your sweet little face is so dark. I'm so sad that no one sees it. Not for me, but for you.
If I could just take all of that hurt you hold in your heart, I think the light would return to your face. Maybe then you would smile. At least once, possibly, for me.
I wish you knew words to express what was in your heart. Words have never been your strong point. You know loneliness, self sufficiency, and obedience. Not self expression. No one ever asked what was wrong.
You felt so special and prized just being held in a lap. I
mistressofquills's Interview
Take a moment to introduce yourself. Tell me a bit about your interests and your writing.
My deviantART name is MistressofQuills, which was actually a suggestion from a dear friend of mine (=EclecticQuill) I'm primarily a literature artist, but I like to dabble in photography sometimesRight now I'm a second-semester freshman in college, and I'm majoring in English with a Creative Writing focus.
It is my goal to become a published novelist sometime in the future, so I see my dA community as a place to learn from other amazing writers and to try my best to improve through critique and community. I think what I'm best at is prose fantasy fiction, although that's not the only kind of writing I do.
What I love most about writing is that I'm able to take a moment of inspiration and turn it into something that is my own, and yet be something that others can be touched by. I love crafting characters and constructing scenes and imagining new plotlines, and then weaving them all into a cohesive unit that can speak with its own voice.
Poetry is my emotional outlet. I love getting the kind of inspiration that just fills your heart up to overflowing with some emotion until you simply must put it on paper or else explode! It's fun to mix potent stuff like that with all kinds of images that fit together like a puzzle.
What inspires you to write the most?
Well in case you hadn't already guessed, I think emotion is what inspires me the most. It's not the only thing, but I think it's one of the major ones. So many things can be born from an emotion - a poem, a story, a scene of a larger story... It's how most of my work started out, actually. When an idea comes to me, it's usually in a moment of great emotion, and a scene starts to take shape in my mind, building off that beginning emotion. My novel began that way, and so did most of my poetry
Of all the deviations in your gallery, which one means the most to you and why?
I consider myself a novelist first, so I feel the most attachment to my longer works, especially my novels (I'm in the midst of writing three, but only Pain's Fangs is uploaded to dA). Tori is a character that I fell in love with from the first moment she began to develop in my mind. I always strive for depth of character and personality in my protagonists, and I think Tori is a pretty good example of what I can do - though, I'm not done with the novel yet. I think every person is complex in their own way, and so I think believable characters should also be complex, with pasts that continually influence them in their present. Tori, then, has a very complicated past (which hasn't been fully revealed yet), and I can't wait to do more with her and her story!
:devmistressofquills's Gallery Feature

Patient - Part 1The locker banged closed and she winced, taking a shallow breath. Her head hurt worse today, a dull throbbing that reverberated in her skull like the ring of a pick striking stone in a vast cave. The roar of conversation in the hall around her didn't help matters either.
She turned and made her way toward her next class as fast as she could to escape the deafening noise, holding her notebooks and textbooks clutched to her chest. Breathing a sigh of relief once the door closed behind her, she chose a seat in the far back, where she could listen but not be distracted and – more importantly – not have to speak.
Not that speaking wasn't a go

Untitled1.
inexplicable things
that we sense
like wings fluttering
in the shadows
or chest rising with the effort
of feeling
crystal chandeliers
so fragile in the wind
shards of memory
piercing the stillness
and screams silenced
with agony
the lashes to our eyes
hurt and bleed
come again
and wound me
so close to breaking
I can see the cracks.
they widen
and begin to disintegrate
the holes patched
the pain "forgotten"
(as if things
like that can just go away)
I see light
cold and clear through dry eyelashes
whispers in the ink
and music that sings
2.
inexplicable things
darling and sweet
unmistakable
…and there
I see the light in your

Feathered IceSnowflakes begin to fall as I walk, appearing out of the inky sky as if they were summoned for the night’s lack of silent light and feathery fantasy. I look up to watch them float to earth, making myself dizzy trying to find the cloud that gave them life. A smile turns up the corners of my mouth as I imagine their shimmering dances through the night’s breezy winds and frost-covered gusts. I imagine that they are dancing around me, alighting upon me for just a moment before fading to dust as the wind eddies around me. It pulls me into the dance with them, and tosses me from partner to partner as I laugh and revel in the beauty

MemoriesHe startled her as he came around the bend, emerging from the small copse of trees like a wraith emerging from a deep shadow. She stopped walking and stared at him, her heartbeat quickening in fright.
But as he stepped into the light of the street lamp that stood only a few feet behind her, she realized his face was familiar.
"Hayden?" she asked hesitantly, the incredulity and utter shock at his being there evident in her voice.
"Hey, Kisa," he said, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. There was a familiar light in his brown eyes that warmed her heart in the remembering. They had not been close friends; even so, seeing h
How Can You Help Undiscovered Weekly?
Simple, if you know a deviant that has an awesome gallery but lacks the exposure to become a big name on dA, send us a note with their name and your favorite thumbcode from their gallery. Please do not send a note to #fella, but to the deviant responsible for the medium you're suggesting.
*rainylake - Photography `Infinite-Heart - Traditional `GrimFace242 - Literature `cinyu - Digital









You weren't suggested. I picked you.
You deserved the feature!
One thing, "hfeather5*3's interview".
Fixed it.