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The new deadline for this prompt is October 23rd. Partly to give you all more time to mangle our mother tongue, but mostly because I'm on holiday, today is my partner's 30th birthday, and I really can't be arsed writing an article to close it off. Take advantage of my laziness. Get to work!
There's just ONE WEEK LEFT to submit to this prompt. One week to get down and dirty with the English language, 2 Girls 1 Cup style. We've only had three entries so far, and anyway, it's not suprising Your Seperating sperm ring dimensions are smaller versus the Conventional paper measurement, so get writing now!
I've learnt two important lessons since the last transliterations prompt, lessons I feel are worth sharing. The first is that I like this place and I miss it when I'm not around. The second is that if you wait too long to release a new prompt, the Youtube video it was based on will be taken down for copyright concerns and you'll have to start all fucking over again. On the other hand, life is complex and full of surprises. And there are always more Youtube videos. So bearing all this in mind, let this serve as an announcement that transliterations is back once more, at least possibly and certainly hopefully. We'll see how we go down the road.
On that note: Prompt Exercise No. 13!
Back in 2011, our very first prompt investigated what you get when you cross really good poetry with a really bad automatic translator. Of course, mistranslation is a cornerstone of the transliterations philosophy--hunting for literature in the cracks between the smart stones of this and that. And there's nothing more satisfying than dragging meaning kicking and screaming out of gibberish.
Your first mission is to find a scrap of Engrish/Chinglish which particularly appeals to you. My favourite Chinglish website is sadly defunct, but www.engrish.com/ is always a good bet. If you want something a little more unique, I have my own substantial collection of Beijing craziness and am more than willing to share. Personally, I'm going for this fruity number. For best results, your scrap of Engrish should be a noun phrase, but it's not absolutely essential.
The next step is to take your Chinglish phrase and incorporate it into a poem or piece of prose. There's a catch, though--rather than simply using the phrase as a jumping off point for explorations in English, as we've done before, this time you have to describe your piece of Engrish as though it were a real thing. (Or concept--abstract is good too.) Bring that water dessert to life for us. Make that female nursing thing breathe. Hence the desirability of a noun phrase: you're more than welcome to attempt something else, and we would rather love it if you did, but be aware that it could be a challenge.
Examples: Maybe you've chosen the phrase 'wholesale children'. One approach would be to write a short dystopia where children really are sold off by the dozen. Or you could use it as a metaphor to explore issues child trafficking. I mean, if you wanted to. If you took a longer phrase, like 'various types of dread', you could tackle several of the better-known phobias in a poem or short story. If you've chosen 'Mountain delicacies miscellaneous bacteria pot monsters'--well, good luck to you.
Submit your finished work to the Transliterations Prompt 13 Folder. All pieces submitted by the deadline will receive a journal feature from the group and myself.
The deadline for this prompt is October 15th. Happy transliterating!
There's just ONE WEEK LEFT to submit to this prompt. One week to get down and dirty with the English language, 2 Girls 1 Cup style. We've only had three entries so far, and anyway, it's not suprising Your Seperating sperm ring dimensions are smaller versus the Conventional paper measurement, so get writing now!
I've learnt two important lessons since the last transliterations prompt, lessons I feel are worth sharing. The first is that I like this place and I miss it when I'm not around. The second is that if you wait too long to release a new prompt, the Youtube video it was based on will be taken down for copyright concerns and you'll have to start all fucking over again. On the other hand, life is complex and full of surprises. And there are always more Youtube videos. So bearing all this in mind, let this serve as an announcement that transliterations is back once more, at least possibly and certainly hopefully. We'll see how we go down the road.
On that note: Prompt Exercise No. 13!
Back in 2011, our very first prompt investigated what you get when you cross really good poetry with a really bad automatic translator. Of course, mistranslation is a cornerstone of the transliterations philosophy--hunting for literature in the cracks between the smart stones of this and that. And there's nothing more satisfying than dragging meaning kicking and screaming out of gibberish.
Your first mission is to find a scrap of Engrish/Chinglish which particularly appeals to you. My favourite Chinglish website is sadly defunct, but www.engrish.com/ is always a good bet. If you want something a little more unique, I have my own substantial collection of Beijing craziness and am more than willing to share. Personally, I'm going for this fruity number. For best results, your scrap of Engrish should be a noun phrase, but it's not absolutely essential.
The next step is to take your Chinglish phrase and incorporate it into a poem or piece of prose. There's a catch, though--rather than simply using the phrase as a jumping off point for explorations in English, as we've done before, this time you have to describe your piece of Engrish as though it were a real thing. (Or concept--abstract is good too.) Bring that water dessert to life for us. Make that female nursing thing breathe. Hence the desirability of a noun phrase: you're more than welcome to attempt something else, and we would rather love it if you did, but be aware that it could be a challenge.
Examples: Maybe you've chosen the phrase 'wholesale children'. One approach would be to write a short dystopia where children really are sold off by the dozen. Or you could use it as a metaphor to explore issues child trafficking. I mean, if you wanted to. If you took a longer phrase, like 'various types of dread', you could tackle several of the better-known phobias in a poem or short story. If you've chosen 'Mountain delicacies miscellaneous bacteria pot monsters'--well, good luck to you.
Submit your finished work to the Transliterations Prompt 13 Folder. All pieces submitted by the deadline will receive a journal feature from the group and myself.
The deadline for this prompt is October 15th. Happy transliterating!
A Matter Of Catching Up.
Gosh. So I guess I'm back. I posted a poem and everything.
Since I was gone, bearing in mind that I don't really remember when I left, I have:
Lived in San Francisco for four years;Been diagnosed with twelve chronic illnesses;Spent a year and a half bedbound;Got married, a bit;Reclaimed my autism (friends, I am autistic as heck);Entered a literary comic erotic fanfiction contest;Started a project called Share My Wonder;
Wrote a lot, but not nearly enough.
What have you been up to while I was gone? What's been happening around deviantART that I missed? What do you want to ask me about the years we spent apart? I just want to get to know yo
Devious Journal Entry
Gosh. Who's around here these days who I remember?
A Teachable Dicking
Last night I dreamt of a king who had journeyed far and wide, whose army had been decimated in battle, who was sick and weary of the world. Just when he thought all hope was lost, he came across the court of a foreign kingdom. They were suspicious of him—and for added flavour, the dream was very specific that they spoke French—but they invited him to refresh himself with dancing and music and a rest in a feather bed. Later that night, of course, two women of the court visited him and proceeded to ramrod him to death.
At this point, it was time to offer feedback. I told the writer I thought the plot was solid, but there were a num
Birthdays, Bubbles and Beauty
Talk to me about America. The green rind of the hills, the desert of the mind. The bubbles blown across Haight and Masonic by a hippy in her prime. Talk to me about the coffee shops, the flowers pushing themselves out of the earth in spring, the heart of things, the moles. Talk to me about dogs in the street and hobos in the park, the breathless rest, the soul. Tell me what it's like to land in San Francisco, the folk drumming of the engine coming to a stop and the tiny crumb you call yourself pushed out into the world. Tell me and I'll tell you how it feels to find a home in these tiny houses, to piece together a neighbourhood out of scraps
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