In the advertising world, marketing professionals often like to instruct or brief the creative department verbally. Although it is prevalent in agencies to submit a written brief, which runs into about 25 pages, verbal instructions are inevitable for managers, who might turn hostile to their words later. Marketing pros also frequently use their body language to express some ugly facts and figures about the project. And writers must read between the lines! However, those who write have to be specific while working on their projects. They should need clarity; to arrive at this clarity, they will need to ask questions to the marketing team.
The night stepped out
Like a prima ballerina
From the monumental shadows
That reached the very heavens
Behind the great mountains of granite grey
That separated the tranquil realm
From the world outside
Your absence is a raging storm,
One that refuses to abate;
It now wills to drive me, my fate,
Swirling and uprooting all calm.
How can I forget
those long walks, those long talks?
Those endless hours of plucking flowers?
Those mindful roams around winding roads?
Those flying kites and those starry nights?
Making a huddle while playing in the puddle?
Chasing dragonflies and chasing butterflies?
Smelling the petrichor after the rains galore?
The winsome smile after running a mile?
The roses no longer taste ruby,
Minarets swept into the sea,
Flicking digits hotly,
Pulling triggers until bodies stop twitching
I am black and silver and crimsoning,
War drums rhythmically.
The nuclei ripped asunder,
Thermal nuclear proclivity.
Stygian puts a legion at my dominion,
All I see is red.
We’ve always maintained that the English language is weird. And the list of verbs you are to find in this post is only going to validate our claim, a claim few souls have disagreed with. Wait for a second though! We’ve got a warning! In this post, you may come upon verbs you’d never imagined existed, so you’d better not gasp while reading. When you’re ready, begin!
Author Annie Mick started writing in January of 2019 when the ideas and characters crafted in her imagination needed to find their way onto the page. In an exclusive interaction with The Literary Juggernaut, Ms Mick, who currently resides in the state of Colorado in the US, a place where the sunsets are colourful and the mountains make for a beautiful landscape, says when she starts working on a book, she always knows who her main characters will be and the initial plot, but as the plot unfolds, she happens to tweak it. ‘Or it ends up tweaking me!’ she exclaims.
Having established herself as a professional writer, Ms Brett, who can also speak French albeit not very fluently, tells us that one of her works in progress deals with a young woman, a professional violinist, who was in a camp orchestra at Auschwitz. ‘She returns to Montreal in a borrowed body forty years later, meets Leonard Cohen in a café, and together they work to discover her mission. She is a folkloric character, an ibbur, a spirit who returns in corporeal form to do good in the world,’ she lets on.
Silence is a power
Endowed by gods
The human lineage
And ritualized by the
The sky beams bright
In sparkled shine.
The room lights up in faith.
I breathe in hope.
I feel the strength
Of my invisible army
And embrace their presence.
The stars greatly glowed when the night was young,
And the moonlight gleamed, glistened upon seas;
It looked as if the stars were lights well strung
By men who would prize nothing but calm, peace.
It’s a whisper in the touch of his nose
on mine & the way it collides
with my skin;
how he feels like a phantom even
when he’s within
reach. Then again, he’s never
within reach anymore.
The morning did beam when the sunlight flared,
Awakening worlds then asleep in men;
It made them alight from their homely den
While raging winds clavered, determined, dared.
Oh, he reigned in the field, fooling those watching him,
And he feigned innocence, made us believe his lies.
Hence, worlds that exist in our very small vision
Are just lies mirroring truth;
But what the true truth does is work illusion
Thus causing pain, agony, and ruth.
The waters of the seas are stilled
And the serene moon
Casts its benign regard
Over the placid scene below
Upon the seascape entire
The crashing of the waves
Pummels the sandy beach
And blasts the granite rocks
As the spray swamps the realm
You tell me you know best,
That there’s none that can best you;
Shall I put you to test
So I could find out what’s true?
There are days when I oft rue
The friendship we did share
When does come a blazing loo
That tells me you don’t care.