A Writing by Adam Young/Owl City

Summer was the roman candle that took my favorite color up into the air. She splashed rainbow after rainbow across the sky and let them crackle, flicker, cool and eventually fade into silver metal flecks that floated above my head so far out of reach. Teenagers set off cherry bombs in parking lots and kids ran around backyards with sparklers in both hands, illuminating the evening in irregular streaks. Music was playing but from somewhere far enough away that it sounded like a dull heartbeat — only if you plugged your ears, you could still feel it because it was in you. Burnt orange and baby blue hung suspended in a mist for what seemed like hours even though there was a breeze blowing down the length of the coast. In the valley far below, a glowing galaxy of streetlights cast blurry shadows around the city, through alleyways, around corners and across the sides of buildings. You could touch the shadows and if you did, your hands came away black and sooty. You could walk through shadows hanging in mid-air like sheets on a clothesline and you could feel the tiny grains touch your open eyes before you blinked and they fell to the ground like dust. I imagined I was somewhere in the sky, running my hand down a moonbeam like you would a staircase banister but rather at an upward angle. I followed it across the sky from one star to another, connecting the dots until it led me through the deepest darkness I’d ever known. Finally the morning light turned over on the horizon like an ember in a fireplace before it glows and eventually catches fire. I made it home and you were there waiting for me and it was then that I realized it was you who stirred the fire and guided me through the blackness. I’ve been called a moonlighter before but this may be the first time it all adds up.

// Young Writer Chronicles: “Young Writers Are as Talented, Creative, and Resourceful as Older Writers”//

Look everyone! Here are some quotes from me, and here is the writer’s studio I take part in! 

lettersandlight:

image

Located in Kenmore, New York, the WNY Young Writer’s Studio is an organization we much admire. They offer year-long fellowships to young writers, and provide writing workshops and day camps. In their own words, “We learn how to honor and support the writer in everyone, because writers make the world a better place.” Their fellows wrote an amazing post about how they’re learning to use their writing to improve worlds, both the one we live in, and the ones they create:

The WNY Young Writer’s Studio is a writing community in Kenmore, New York. Here, writers of all ages and their teachers explore what great writing is, how to produce it, and how to inspire others to do the same. Writers at the Studio work hard to create a space where people feel safe sharing their ideas, their works in progress, the things they are good at, and the things they struggle with, too.

At Studio, the focus isn’t on craft alone. Writers learn a lot about the values, beliefs, attitudes, and practices that help people become writers. Jumping into a piece and focusing our energies on perseverance rather than perfection is incredibly motivating, and it’s what first drew us to National Novel Writing Month!

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(Source: lettersandlight)

Someday, I’m going to get this tattoo. Hopefully smaller. I’m thinking on my hip. 

Someday, I’m going to get this tattoo. Hopefully smaller. I’m thinking on my hip. 

mrserialx:

Falling

Yus. Dr. Who and Alice!! 

mrserialx:

Falling

Yus. Dr. Who and Alice!! 

(via mrserialx-deactivated20130710)

There’s just something about that one person that can make you the happiest. A relationship is never perfect, but it’s the little moments that make you realize exactly how special everything is that you two have. 

There’s just something about that one person that can make you the happiest. A relationship is never perfect, but it’s the little moments that make you realize exactly how special everything is that you two have. 

Someday, I will be here <3

Someday, I will be here <3

(Source: r-vivian)

“I’m in love with you,” he said quietly.

"Augustus," I said.

"I am," he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”

 John Green, The Fault in Our Stars  (via fallanangel13)

(via fallanangel13-deactivated201309)

The wishes, dreams, and fancies of a broke college student/aspiring writer.