Happy 15th Birthday deviantART
Happy 10 years to me.
No matter how my own feelings about this place have recently been a bit all over the place lately, it is always nice to celebrate a big landmark, an important landmark. I am always delighted that my joining of dA always coincides with the sites birthday and this year brings something very special for me. I don't think I have any other account besides maybe Amazon that is older than a decade which is a big sign about how much this place means to me.
I have seen so many changes. Changes to the site, changes to the people and changes to the literature community that I adore. Despite not being a CV in over 18 months now, I still feel like one at times and still try to feel a responsibility to trying to hold the community together where I can, but in the last 6 months, that has felt like an impossible feat. Too many people have moved on or are too busy to commit to anything, and some of those are do it with such a negative energy it isn't worth it. However there are positive things going on despite everything we still have good people trying to do good things.
But here I am, 10 years on. When I think about all the crazy things that happened; massive drAmas (accident retard anyone?) and implosions in the old lit forms (when salshep
got a critique drive on) or the chat events (Atwood was 5 years ago). The groups before groups and the days when you seem to know everyone who was anyone in lit.
On a personal level I have definitely had my fair share of peaks and troughs both emotionally and as a writer. I remember in the earlier days being so sensitive about what people said to me about my writing and couldn't take critique for the first year or two. However once I started making friends and understanding they way good things work around here, it got better. There was one individual who a lot of people adored who was nothing more than a bully to me, who almost drove me off this site. I am glad I never let that person push me off because once that situation died, I grew stronger. I started believing in myself in what I could do here.
On the whole, I am so much more confident in my writing and would still like to consider publishing as a long-term goal even in these quieter parenting phases. I had an amazing opportunity as a long-term CV over 3 years and enjoyed that role so much. What I enjoyed the most was being able to mentor other CVs as well as inspire and encourage the community to do things. It was the right decision to leave when I did and I don't regret it, but never say never to a return if opportunity arises.
That's enough of the emotional ramble isn't it? Let's do something fun instead like this questionnaire!Rules:
As per tiganusi
's direction: tag
some people even if you're not tagging them, just make sure you mention some users on the name people shit
tag it #deviantartistquestionnaire
Let's go! How long have you been on DeviantArt?
So my ramble had already answered this. 10 years and counting. I was 19 years old and in my 2nd year at uni
It was a pretty rough time in my life and I think deviantart in a way helped me out of it.What does your username mean?
My current username BeccaJS
is my name (Rebecca) and my middle name and surname initials. I changed it earlier this year after 9.5 years of Beccalicious. This is my only account (unless you include Writers-Workshop
which I created before groups were groups about 8 years ago).Describe yourself in three words.
Reactive, Mentoring, Dork.
I chose reactive based on the fact I will often take an instant snap reaction to things then realise the consequences after. Even in my adult years I still do this- sometimes its good and others inappropriate lol
Mentoring because I always try to teach and help others, whether it is at work, home or online. I always want to help others find their potential and enjoy being able to see people change as a result.
Dork because I am and proud.Are you left or right handed?
Right. But here is something interesting for you. In my weekly boxing class, there are usually 5-6 regulars, 4 of which are left-handed. What are the odds of that? What was your first deviation?
I have un-stored this especially for this question! I don't think it is my very first as I know I had some awful photos of my garden I put up when I first joined, but its the first in my storage! This was a poem I wrote based on a dream, could probably do with a re-write lol!
The Fantasy lifeWhen did it all get so out of control?What is your favourite type of art to create?
Did I change into this bitter fail?
You cannot undo what is done
Only live to tell the tale
There were dragons in my world
Fierce and fiery, ready to fight
They set the world ablaze in glory
My life they did ignite
I took their passion, and made it mine
I flew above the flames
But of course it never lasts
Eventually I drained
I fell into a symphony
But the rhythm was out of time
I wept and cried and lost my way
I missed the dragons divine
The world around me disappeared
The heat it turned to ice
The winter had set upon my soul
And trapped me in its vice
I did not think there was escape
I suffocated here
And even with the coolest of air
I wanted to disappear
I buried myself for a thousand years
I hid amongst the sea
Its took me long to morn my loss
That loss of course was me
But when I rose from the water
I took a stride again
I raise my heads to the heavens
To be drowned in rain
The rain became a thunderstorm
The storm of lightning beams
It was as
Literature forever and always. I was never good at any other art, just not in my gifts! Here are some of my personal favourites:
Mediterranean breeze warmed my dreams;
cappuccino mornings blended
into Bacardi sunsets.
Tobacco smoulders and I remember-
his name was Cristian Rosas.
Sunset passed. Spirits poured
European measures- unlike tight English twenty-five mil,
relieving the throbs of snow white turned red queen.
The glow led our intoxicated journey. Sambuca fused.
We invaded the dance floor.
blue, red, green
green merged with smiles.
Freedom spun me to his arms.
Giggles blushed sunburn. Cristian Rosas
whispered his name.
Fingers caressed my shoulder;
pulses shot down my back.
music people blurred
into echoes. His words
a treat richer than coffee. Citrus
perfume infused the heat; hunger took control.
Honey seeped into locked lips.
His wink broke the spell.
Notes flew off key. Samba swayed
a desperate grind of genitals, disgust
erupted in my throat. Honey
backhand met cheek.
On patio furniture I sucked cigarettes.
Cappuccino froth sank with my lust
Biscuits and YouWe used to fight over the custard creams. Not over who consumed them, but about the art of tea dunking. He would always criticise my dunking technique and I'd retaliate. I personally thought the best way to dunk a custard cream was to eat the first half, remove the cream and then only dunk the second half; I've always done it this way. He on the other hand treated the custard cream like its Oreo cousin and went for a twist, lick and dunk. They're not the same as Oreos- dunking Oreos in tea ruins both tea and biscuit alike.
Our tea drinking, biscuit dunking ritual was our time together with nobody else. The conversations started light; usually about things that excited us- like fantasy novels and word games. We judged people we knew and used it to review our past encounters, such as when we were at school and we'd sit under the chestnut tree in a gathering that lacked the sophistication of tea. The summers sat watching the cool kids play football whilst we pretended we were secret agent
Shopping and Wizards.A thousand bags
shuffle down the high street between
clasped hands, scrunched with new purchase.
They’re buggy-dodging the determined mothers,
the rushed businessmen-- a pinball
machine shopping centre.
A green-robed man, tall with wand and hood
must be a wizard. He’s happily
procuring sushi and sparkling water
whilst his companion;
short with her piercings and jeans treats him
as if he wore the same.
Down the high street,
two track-suited parents
zoom past on their children’s scooters—
half-smoked fags between fingers yell
how fucking amazing this is.
spotted teen raps
his love for Jesus on a muffled
He raps for the Father,
He raps for the Son
and Holy Spirit.
He raps for peace, for hope, for you.
In a corner,
Brown eyes, hefty tears,
a snot-ridden face--
four years old.
A train runs through the mall toot-tooting
as grumpy shoppers move out of the way.
The Beard of intrigueHis beard was fascinating.
It was a loom, woven with intricate detail and so long it would put any wizard to shame. Each pattern in the coarse mound of hair seemed to share a secret. Perhaps they were memories- I’d heard others collect memories in such ways- etchings on their bodies, collecting objects and even journal writing. Maybe this man was his own journal.
The rest of him seemed positively ordinary. He rested in his chair in a blue business suit- albeit a little outdated for fashion, but suited the character I had begun to form in my head for him. His sorrowful eyes narrowed on a frustrated brow of greying features, illuminating a sense of tiredness. Perhaps the beard in all its might was weighting down. His skin was as rough as sandpaper, blotches and scars etching his hands and face with no revelation to the puzzle of his beard.
I wanted to move closer, debating whether it was rude to ask. The very notion excited me as I built up theories as to why his beard had the
Twenty Ten FourWe never notice.
Our alarm doesn't ring, it sings
Pharell beating our mornings
'til we remove from our snooze. We
forgot the tink-tinker or
and emerge the same.
The same commute to work:
Heads sunk, tired eyes drunk by
thumb movements. Our ears dumb
locked into a Will-I-Am trance. Not
a glance of the changing scenes;
the only birds we see are angry.
The same office echoes with
of emails blaming others and smack-talking.
instead of actual talking. We fall for
the hype of Skype and only Siri’s
voice drones narrow answers
we accept as truth.
The same playground, huddled corners;
Children pick a blackberry instead of
picking blackberries, for their late-night
Facebook fights. Words will always hurt see:
no kids to hit with sticks and stones. Unless
there’s an app for it.
What do we do when stop?
Orwell you're too late
took thirty years to demonstrate your
doublethink and we all cling to
Walking with a ToddlerSlow he may be, plodding gentle his
tiny legs. Each stick is a new
exploration three steps to
“come on” you shout as he trots over
gravel laughing delighted at the crunch-crunch
beneath his feet
and back again.
A dog bounds by, so much energy that
it sparks fear in the little trekker as
he clings to your leg, begging to be lifted.
Arms wrapped around his world,
he points at the sky, tells you its blue.
Machine WindWind tip-tapping against
desperate to attract attention,
off desolate rooftops
where there's no blue skies
but the lingering pollution of
The wind infers longing, where they once worked,
sweeping each corner in search of their presence
or past existence, a distance too far
of just what happened and why now absent.
Still tipping and raising the alarm,
there must be someone there-
a twisted gust takes one more lap of hope.
no more than hope.
OverworkedWe set aside a time, one hour for a meeting;
our search for a room hindered by our search
for the solution.
Can we set aside a day
for creation and have a canvas we can all paint on
at the same time in the same room
and order ice cream or chip-shop chips
whilst we make our master design?
Then do you think we can turn our idea
into a real life innovation?
Or do we continue to scavenge old buildings
for neglected conference rooms once
booked by occupants no longer present. Do
we panic about the problem and confirm
we are in shit before we've truly understood
the colour, depth, and complexity of the shit?
Do you think we could stick to our plans and
do what we say we will do when we do it? We
go home on time and drink gin-and-tonic in
a local beer garden, enjoying the warm sun instead
of an overheated, over-exhausted office.
The Man who walked backwardsFor thirty years, Praveen had only walked backwards.If you could instantly master a different art style, what would it be?
Through the city, he spent every day pacing the streets making scribbles in his notepads. He didn’t pay attention to the confused expressions of passers-by anymore.
He didn’t care for the comments, the questions or even the accusations of madness. He heard all their theories to why and even their concerns to his ability to walk forwards.
He continued to walk on, backwards.
Sometimes people would join in and walk backwards alongside him. It wouldn’t take long before they’d give up, realising the art meant crossing roads and dodging lampposts. He’d glance at them pointing their smartphones at his face as they filmed him with fascination, sometimes breaking a smile to let them know he understood.
Sometimes he would answer their questions. He walked away watching their confused expressions as they tried to understand his answers.
He did explain to a journalist once. He told her he’d taken this vow thir
Either being able to do something amazing with photography, or making stunning cakes like cakecrumbs
!What was your first favourite?
That took a lot of scrolling on sta.sh!What type of art do you tend to favourite the most?
Literature and fan art! I am a sucker for all these amazing disney interpretations and anything game or thones!Who is your all-time favourite deviant artist?neurotype
. I love them both for very different reasons and for dirty pictures.
If you could meet anyone on DeviantArt in person, who would it be?
I have had the amazing luck of meeting a huge amount of people through devmeets including some of the staff and people I volunteered with as CVs. I think for me now it would have to be a trans-Atlantic trip to meet neurotype
and I am sure a few more How has a fellow deviant impacted your life?
I had deviants at my wedding which is a huge impact on friendship and met some incredible people. In terms of my online experience then it will have to be some of the following people Pixel-Spotlight
, anyone who was in getlit and crlit chats, Synfull
on a personal level, and lady-shirakawa
wherever she is now. I've also had a lot of love from fourteenthstar
who will always be rockstars. There's tons of people I haven't mentioned but I do love and appreciate all my watchers, anyone who favs' my work and takes the time to comment and say hello!What are your preferred tools to create art?
Laptop, keyboard, notebook.What is the most inspirational place for you to create art?
As wrong as it is, I tend to do a lot of writing at work. Sometimes I get a bit of a lunchtime buzz and need to write something down and email it home to play with later. My job is much busier now so this isn't as often, but I do still knock the odd bit of writing out.What is your favourite DeviantArt memory?
IT WAS AN ACCIDENT RETARD! It sounds really quite childish of me, but it was the first drama I really saw across the site. I also have fond memories of the Atwood chat event, the first big HQ London meet (where Jobie and I took over the lit lot) Vodka Laser Derby devmeet, and the day I received deviousness in 2008. All in all it's been a crazy, crazy time.
Happy birthday deviantART, please stay an old soul loving art and the people who make this community what it is. Please find ways to make changes work for the members just as much as the business and get your project managers seeing things through to the end (come on, groups needs fixing!).
I tag PinkyMcCoversong Memnalar LadyLincoln