inkWELL: Defined

Hello Writers!

I created this doc to help spread the word about what our goals, hopes, and dreams are.Also, I want you to be able to read this if you are new to the group, and get a feel for what it is we are doing. Writing is one of the most important things in my life, and something that I never tire of doing. I want it to be the same for you.

The inkWELL exists as a central hub for authors to get plugged into their community and provide a platform for their writing, via shared projects and a bimonthly  publication. We strive to cultivate an environment of creativity and excellence in writing, by providing support and encouragement in our shared and individual endeavors.

Your goals are our goals:

Firstly to connect with our community through creating and producing a bimonthly publication featuring short stories, personal narratives, and poetry; focused around a specific topic or concept. Secondly, to foster a network of creative and professional writers and authors so that we may help each other to develop our skills and help to motivate one another in our individual goals and projects.

You want to write, we want you to write.
You want to be published, we want that too.

How do we accomplish this?

We meet twice a month, and talk about what projects we are working on for ourselves and for the inkWELL publication. It is a safe place to get feedback and constructive criticism about what you are writing. The bimonthly publication gives us an outlet for our stories, both as an external motivator, and a way to get your creative voice heard.

How can you get involved?

Come to one of our meetings! A Facebook event is created for every meeting, so you know when and where to be. Don’t be shy, come and see what we are all about, and if you want, you can be in our next edition entitled “Creation” which we will publish on the first of February.

Still have questions?
Email me at inkwellmanhattan@gmail.com to get more info.

Yours Truly,
Gabriel White
Admin / Writer, inkWELL Manhattan

National Poetry Day

Holocene Extinction

We stand on the brink
A billion burning suns
An endless void of midnight

We don’t even stop to think
We are the only ones
When nothing will be alright

Melting ice shelves sink
I can taste your tongue
As the oil wells burn bright

We are the architects of our demise
The snow of ash descends
Our skeletons, embracing, face night

Gabriel White - 10/04/12, 4:24pm

Cambodia

Cambodia, Free Write
Vickie Pantle
16, June 2012

I don't know how to go back. 

I don't know how to settle back to the life I had before I knew.

I would leave now if I could. I just want to help, in any way that I can. I'm sick of this life view. People are dying. Lives are being taken. This life I knew seems so shallow, so pointless. 

My heart is in this foreign country, this place, and yet I'm still in the States. Still here, living this life. Hoping, dreaming, praying with all that I have, all I am, that there will be change in this world. That those girls will be set free, that the pain and hurt that they have each and every day, every hour, will end. That they will be freed. Not only freed, but rescued. 

That they will be given a new life, a new light, a new hope. That they will know that they have worth, that they are worth so much more. Worth more than the little money they are purchased for. Worth more than what they are sold for, that they, in fact, are priceless. 

People by and sell, as if life can have a price tag, as if life is a trade, as if a life can have a purchased, then sold, as if a life could have a dollar value.

Heart Strings

Heart Strings

Gabriel White 

16, June 2012 - 12am

They were an item. She was his girl, and he knew that their hearts were linked forever. He didn't feel that he owned her, of course it wasn't proprietary, she was as much her own person as he was his. But to any outsiders, the relationship must have seemed ludicrous. They were never apart. She was his new religion his love for her came so close to worship that once he prayed to God that he wouldn't be judged harshly for his idolatry. He loved the smell of her hair, the texture and color and the way it felt on his face. He loved her eyes, they never ceased to amaze him. They would go from blue to gold to green with wonderful flecks of brilliant light. Most nights they would stay out as late as they could get away with, then fall asleep at opposite ends of the phone line. He knew she was the one. When he held her hand, it was like having his lungs deflated by the vacuum of space. His heart beat so loudly it hurt. 

They were both virgins. 

No one believed them, after all, they were often caught making out in various places around town. If they were that comfortable with each other in public, they must have been pushing it together when they were on their own, right? No. That's not to say that they didn't have moments of weakness late at night, they probably shouldn't have spent so much time alone. But they remained unconsummated until their wedding night. They felt they owed it to each other, that they owed it to God. They didn't even mind so much when people assumed the worst. They knew the truth. 

Her mom thought that they wanted to get married so quickly so that they could get it on as much as they wanted, and he knew that she probably wasn't the only one who felt that way. But she was wrong. He wanted to marry her because when they were apart his heart felt like a rope being stretched to the breaking point. His eyes burned with tears and his stomach clenched. All he wanted to do was fall asleep with her in his arms. She was everything to him. 

He was shaking when he asked her to marry him,in the backseat of his honda accord under the stars. Later, he would re-propose with a ring after the traditional way. But that first time was when his heart spoke through his lips and asked her to be his forever. He couldn't stop his voice from cracking like a thirteen year old boy. His palms were thick with sweat. He knew she was probably going to say yes, but there was always that small dark corner in the back of his mind where he had doubts. She said yeah, and smiled. 

The most beautiful thing he ever saw in his life was her coming down the aisle. She made angels look like homeless people. He wanted to sweep her off of her feet right there. The ceremony was a blur because it took too long. Now, he wishes they could get married again every day. 

Seventeen months later, their daughter was born. She was the second most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. Yet, he stayed with his wife in the recovery room to make sure that she was safe. He would die if she left him. 

Now, they both work and she goes to school. Their daughter gets juggled from one babysitter to the next. Most days are pretty crazy  Some days, it's not happily ever after. 

But when she falls asleep in his arms every night, he is the happiest man alive. 

When the Last Note Fell Quiet

When the Last Note Fell Quiet

Gabriel White

The guitarists fingers danced upon the steal strings

And the air was filled with a sweet sorrowful Symphony

His fingers were quick, they soon turned to a blur

With the picking and plucking the melody began to stir

A feeling deep inside my heart

As the dust in the sunlight began to whirl

In the music filled air they danced to a rhythm unknown

And faster and louder the music strummed on

Sweat began to dribble down

The passion-furrowed musician's face

Then just as quickly as he'd begun

His angelic music was over and done

Without a word he stood and pulled out

His case which he shut with the clicking of clasps

Yet the sweet stirring song strummed on

In the deepest regions of my mind, till at last

He had disappeared over the cloud shrouded horizon

And my eyelids, struggling, fluttered open

Realizing, too late, it was a dream

And forever the melody was gone

Thoughts

Thoughts

Ravyn White

June 5th, 2012

The gorgeous man sat in front of me bantering about nothingness. As I stared into his deep eyes I was completely lost but it didn’t matter because his words meant nothing. These words were carefully articulated and his expressions seemed to match his words but the content was incompressible. Was it him or myself? Were these words actually words, or some sort of foreign language? Was I the problem? Were the wires in my brain in the wrong section, or was this all just a dream? 

The Bus Ride Home (78 Words)

The Bus Ride Home (78 Words)

Ravyn White

May 24th, 2012

I got on the bus, a bus to anywhere. Where was I going I don’t know wherever this bus would take me I’d go. Just away, gone. Out of this world, out of this nightmare, out of this hell. To a place where I’m happy again place where I am whole. A place where my family is; a place where he is. My love, my angel, my Graham. That’s where I’m destined, that’s where I’m headed, my home.