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About Literature / Professional Official Beta Tester doughboycafeSpain Group :iconthewrittenrevolution: theWrittenRevolution
The words are the spark.
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DDs

Analise April, 1921
Kaysersberg, Alsace

"And we could get a little house," she continued. "Somewhere near the coast. I hear it's still nice by the coast."
"Sure," he said.
"You don't think so?"
"No, it is."
She snuggled close to him, putting her head against his chest, pressing her shoulder up in the crook of his arm. She was so small. "I always did think a cottage would be nice. In Biarritz, maybe."
"Mm."
"You're right, too many tourists in Biarritz. Maybe south, towards the mountains. We could have a nice little cottage down by the mountains. Near the sea."
"Yes, we could."
She lifted her face; her radiant, round face framed with the loose curls of white gold hair tumbling down around it. She smiled and her little pink cheeks lifted. "And we could have children."
Marc laid his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. "Isn't it pretty to think so?"
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"Tell me again."
"I love you."
"Do you really have to go tomorrow?"
"I do."
"I don't see what need there
Becoming BrianThe soldier coming up on him was swaying, limping, climbing wearily up the stony street towards the terrace. He walked like an old man, thought Brian Strong, though he was scarcely older than Brian himself. He dragged himself along, tripping over the cracks in the cobblestones, hauling behind him a filthy rucksack all covered in gray trench clay. Pausing by the café, the old boy took off his garrison cap and worried it between his black-tipped fingers.
"Well, hey," said Brian Strong. "Sit down and have a drink on me."
Regarding him for a moment, the soldier conceded and sat.
Brian Strong ran his hands over a perfectly polished uniform and propped his shiny-shoed feet up on the trumpet case under his table. The fellow soldier opposite him rested his head on his hand and, though his eyes seemed hollow, Brian thought with a good night's sleep and a shave he'd be right as rain. He looked like a man who had seen things, thought Brian, and done things. A worldly man. He saw now that t

Christmas on the Border of England and Over ThereIt's snowing on Christmas Eve, and half the men I've ever known in my life are dead. But that was in the war, supposedly a long way away from Oxfordshire, where I am standing outside my brother-in-law's beautiful brownstone house watching the snow quietly cover the hillside beyond. The daylight is dying and it casts the once-white ground in pink, and the pine trees are black against the hillsides, and the truth of it is that the war is not far away because it has followed me here. I am smoking a cigarette, watching the hill, and my mind is slowly counting down the list of men that I once knew, now buried under hills and snow, all of the way from Lorraine to the Rhine. Some of them were my men.
Being an officer is like being a parent; when I left my boys in Paris, despite the Armistice, and despite how many times I reminded myself that they are not my children but in fact, grown men, I felt guilty, and frightened. Land mines don't know that the war has ended, and neither does hunger.
A Guide to Writing Combat-Related Mental IllnessComing Back from Combat: A Writer’s Guide to Combat Related Psychological Illness in Fiction
The aim of this guide is simple: plenty of people want to write about war, to explore it, to understand it and understand soldiers they know who are in it or have come from it. But, often times putting the aftermath, the pain, and the psychological impact war has on the mind into words is difficult to do well.
This guide exists to help fiction writers accurately portray psychological disorders in their work, because the people who suffer from these disorders and their loved ones deserve honesty and do not deserve to be misrepresented. The guide is here to help writers understand how these disorders come about, how they are treated, and how to think critically about how they might impact the person who has them.
I. Introduction
1. A disclaimer, and polemics.
2. Why are you writing a psychological illness into your story?
3. Terms you should be familiar with for this

And Here Is JohnParis, 1917
Here is John, beside me again. Sometimes when we meet he is courtly and charming. Other times he’s tired and he can only muster up a smile as the words “Bonjour, ma belle,” fall out of his mouth. Sometimes his eyes burn feverishly, sometimes they’re dull, sometimes he’s drunk. It depends on where he’s been that day. There are only two things constant about my John: he always manages to smile, and I can always see the fear deep in every line on his face.
Paris is grim; the front is moving closer to the city, and we’re losing more battles than we’re winning. John spends his time here waiting, and afraid. He lost in these brown streets among these brown buildings, as are all the uniformed boys playing soldier.
Only they are not playing, really. Not anymore. Time is short for him, and the front lines rise up and loom in the darkness. He will meet them again soon. He is like a starving man, needing a good meal and a kind wor

And Two Years After That Night in Nasiriyah, now in storage.

DLDs

And Here Is JohnParis, 1917
Here is John, beside me again. Sometimes when we meet he is courtly and charming. Other times he’s tired and he can only muster up a smile as the words “Bonjour, ma belle,” fall out of his mouth. Sometimes his eyes burn feverishly, sometimes they’re dull, sometimes he’s drunk. It depends on where he’s been that day. There are only two things constant about my John: he always manages to smile, and I can always see the fear deep in every line on his face.
Paris is grim; the front is moving closer to the city, and we’re losing more battles than we’re winning. John spends his time here waiting, and afraid. He lost in these brown streets among these brown buildings, as are all the uniformed boys playing soldier.
Only they are not playing, really. Not anymore. Time is short for him, and the front lines rise up and loom in the darkness. He will meet them again soon. He is like a starving man, needing a good meal and a kind wor
Yellow Brick FrontThe bakery at the end of the block had a yellow brick façade, so you could always pick it out as soon as you turned off the main drag onto the cross street, and it's what made the street famous. Between the rows and rows of look alike houses with slanted roofs and same-old red brick fronts, there stood the bakery like a golden gift wrapped box waiting to be opened.
It had everything you possibly could have imagined; the gooiest chocolate chip cookies, the sweetest pizzelles, and the fluffiest, richest bread. Half a block away you could smell you were coming up on it, and every Sunday the baker who owned it would bring his trays out to the sidewalk – as long as the weather provided – and share a few free sugar cookies and lemonade with anyone who passed by. Everyone in the neighborhood went there. They couldn't think of going anywhere else.
The baker himself was almost always behind the counter covered in flour with his big, calloused hands deep inside a pile of dough. He

Becoming BrianThe soldier coming up on him was swaying, limping, climbing wearily up the stony street towards the terrace. He walked like an old man, thought Brian Strong, though he was scarcely older than Brian himself. He dragged himself along, tripping over the cracks in the cobblestones, hauling behind him a filthy rucksack all covered in gray trench clay. Pausing by the café, the old boy took off his garrison cap and worried it between his black-tipped fingers.
"Well, hey," said Brian Strong. "Sit down and have a drink on me."
Regarding him for a moment, the soldier conceded and sat.
Brian Strong ran his hands over a perfectly polished uniform and propped his shiny-shoed feet up on the trumpet case under his table. The fellow soldier opposite him rested his head on his hand and, though his eyes seemed hollow, Brian thought with a good night's sleep and a shave he'd be right as rain. He looked like a man who had seen things, thought Brian, and done things. A worldly man. He saw now that t
The Fox BrideThe sky is a kind of periwinkle; dusky and undecided if it is lavender or blue, and the full leaves of the chestnut trees are black against the sodium backlight from the streetlamps. Ethereal is the word for them, as within the wrought iron casings are nothing more than softly glowing orange globes. They may as well be faery lanterns.
But that is my imagination running away with me again, so I bring my attention back down from the sky and the leaves and the imaginary world that lies in the space between them, back to the quiet pleasure of my company. She's done up in scarlet tonight, which is my favorite color on her, and one she so rarely wears at home, but it complements her olive skin and her dark hair and makes her shine. She's smiling at me again in that way that says she knows I was drifting and it amuses her.
"Where did you go just now?" she asks.
"Sorry, darling."
"It's alright, but do I wonder where you go."
"Oh, up among the trees."
"Is it pleasant there?"
"Yes," I smile at h

And Two Years After That Night in Nasiriyah, now in storage.

Interviews & Reviews

Being Historical with doughboycafeHistory is cool. I could try to explain why, but if you aren't already interested, there's a better way to get on board: read and/or write historical fiction. Only...I can't say anything there, I don't know anything about historical fiction!
Luckily, dA has a strong cadre of historical fiction writers. I (metaphorically) sat down with one of the outstanding, doughboycafe:
What is "historical fiction"?

I think that it is, quite simply, fiction set somewhere in history. Though it usually draws on one or more actual events, we get to make up the whos and the whys and the hows.
That isn't to say it isn't accurate, however. Historical fiction, good historical fiction, is well researched and the details of the time period, social situation, and culture should reflect real ideas, technology, and cultural values. 

If you have to do the same amount of research, why not nonfiction?

I guess that all depends on your
Daily Lit Deviant - @doughboycafeDaily Lit Deviant is an article put out on a daily basis throughout the year that is devoted to showing the work and accomplishments of one writer per article and presenting exemplary pieces of their work. It is based off of bowie-loon123's series of articles of the same name.
Join me in welcoming doughboycafe as our Daily Lit Deviant for January 6th, 2014.
Nominated by Nichrysalis
:icondoughboycafe:
doughboycafe is the definitive resource for all things military fiction on deviantART, and her gallery exemplifies her love for crafting realistic, accurate fiction in a war-torn setting.

The guide above deals with mental illness sustained from combat, and there is nothing quite like it on deviantART. Anybody with any intentions to create a believable character should read and take something from this guide.
What

Writers of the Revolution, July 21Featured WRITER
doughboycafe
Featured by SilverInkblot
Reading work from doughboycafe is a matter of investing your time – her pieces are often dense and long, but your investment will be returned tenfold. I, as a matter of personal taste, have never cared much for war stories, be it in my literature or my movies, yet the works below sucked me right in.

Becoming Brian
"He crawled on his belly through the thick jungle of the Argonne Forest and he covered himself in the gray French clay. His fingertips went black from cleaning his rifle. He tripped while running over a field and looked up just in time to see the rest of the squad mowed down by machine gun fire - they landed one by one on the hard ground, nothing but tatters and holes. He shot a boy in the head. He ran out of bullets and gored a man with his knife, and his fing
The Saturday Spotlight for August 25th, 2012Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings
 
Saturday Spotlight for August 25th, 2012
Daily Literature Deviations is proud to feature this special recognition article!
You can show your support by :+fav:ing this News Article. We hope this gives you some insight into
the person behind the art.
Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artist!
 
Artists will be featured in a specia

Artist Interview - DoughBoyCafeArtist Interview with Professional Travel Writer http://doughboycafe.deviantart.com/ who has received a number of DD's with a recent DD being awarded for the piece A Guide to Writing Combat-Related Mental Illness at link http://doughboycafe.deviantart.com/art/A-Guide-to-Writing-Combat-Related-Mental-Illness-383688095. We have interviewed him below on his art.
1. What type of art do you do?
I am a fiction writer. I also do non-fiction work, but it’s mostly for my work, or in the form of guides. I consider my art and love to be a writer of fiction.
2. Have you attended education for your artwork, or are you self-taught? Do you do your art professionally or as hobby?
I have never attended classes for writing, no, but I wouldn’t say I’m entirely self-taught. My background is in History and Anthropology, which really helps me in writing because I primarily write historical fiction. My school study gave me a strong background in my material, and after that, I did coursework

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Historical Fiction Workshop- Week 4, Redaction

Journal Entry: Tue Sep 30, 2014, 3:15 AM


Ok so we’ve all gotten part way through our stories. And then stopped. Probably because several people hit a brick wall and realized they are either missing critical information or worse yet – they got something wrong.

    I.                     

First part of this week’s lesson is: Guys, you’re going to get a lot of things wrong. No amount of research is going to give you the 100% the first time through. This is history, this is the grind. So the first thing you need to do is come to grips with the fact that there are inaccuracies in your story. Have we done that? Good. Now we can fix them.

But, doughboycafe, you tell me, my mistakes are really big and change the entire flow of the story! How the hell do I cope with that?

Let me tell you a story. I wrote a novel once. Then I realized after about a year’s worth of research more that one of the units I had stationed with my primary group of characters was British, though the area I had selected and built the book around never had any British units stationed during the Great War. It screwed up half the plot. Literally. Without this unit being English speaking and also in that area, about 12-15 of my 30 chapters fell apart. So I had to go back and redo the whole thing, finding new ways to incorporate all the elements I needed to make it work. I’m still rewriting some of those 12-15 chapters.

But the world didn’t end, and I’m doing it. So, you can too.

II.

Second lesson: Your story has not fallen apart due to the inaccuracy. We will find a way around this. Remember that outline I had you make in the beginning? Go back to it. Look at the plot points. What is your story about? Is it about a murder? A prison sentence? An adventure? Or is it about the way the characters grow and change their perspectives via the adversity they’re undergoing? It’s the latter, it’s always the latter.

So if you have a massive issue or inaccuracy, go back to your outline. You need to do the following things: (Exercise 1)

:bulletblue: Identify what elements you need out of the scene. In my case it was, native English speaking veteran soldiers, stationed in (x) area, not part of the American unit I was basing the story around. Pick out your own base elements and list them.

:bulletblack: Identify why you were including this in the story to begin with. What is this scene, plot point, whatever, bringing to the table? In my case I needed native English speakers to present a foil to the principle characters, showing a dark mirror of the future for what they might become. So what are you using this issue to do?

:bulletblue: start brainstorming other ways to fit the same concept with the same elements into your story a different way. In my case, I put volunteer Americans in a French unit that I knew was stationed there and it actually ended up working better for my purposes. Put these brainstorming notes at the bottom of your brainstorm scraps, and link me to that scrap again, so that VFreie and I can come around and help you.

 

III.

 

Lesson 3, Resourcing. Now that you have run up against a wall, maybe your problem is you have gaps in your knowledge and you don’t know where to go next. This is ok. Historical fiction is always a process of writing, stopping, researching, writing a little more. Because the story is going to take shape as we write it and so inevitably we will come upon something we didn’t prepare for.

So how do you re-source?

This is where having that outline you did in Week 1 is going to be so damn important. If you are stuck, go back and look at your list of major plot points. Exercise 2, in your research and notes scrap, write out the list of things, even if they are general topics, that you need to get from where you are to the next plot point on your list.

More often than not, I find what I am lacking from initial research is social day to day material. I don’t actually know how this group or people lived. But this is alright, it’s narrowing down the field of what you need, and now when you go searching for it, you’ll know exactly what you are looking for. There are a lot of great documentaries and also anthropological studies and social history resources that can help with these things – also it is worth it if social history is your issue, to read novels written at the actual time period you’re working in, as they’ll reflect some aspects of the culture of the time. (Be aware, though, that even doing this should be taken with a grain of salt. Authors are still artist and of course they will reflect what they see and believe to be true, not the whole truth.)

Now for your next step: exercise 3, go back to your research table and look up 3 new sources that will help with the information gaps you need. Those of you that need access to JStor, please ask here and we will help find it. Otherwise, google scholar is still your best friend. Put your new sources in your scraps.

:bulletblue: it is also worth pointing out at this juncture that you might have the information you need in your current sources. If you weren’t able to actually read through all of them, start doing that. See if they have an index to cut your research time down. 

:bulletblack: Or ask here because maybe someone else in the workshop can quickly point you in the direction of a good source, or just answer your question.

 

But doughboycafe, this is tedious and makes me lose heart!

Don’t. This is what you signed up for. This is the grind. Keep at it and you will produce a story you like, which will be good and solid and something to be proud of. You just need to stick through this tough part. I remember when I first went into archaeology school, I was sitting in a lecture hall with 500 other people for Arch 101. The first thing our professor told us is that 90% of archaeology is done in a library, so if we were expecting Indiana Jones, we should leave now. By the time I got to the second year course, there were only about 35 of us left. But it was totally worth it.

 

In outro, here are all the pieces currently underway – check them out! Leave feedback if you have time for the other participants.

Vive ou mortRaucous laughter behind me. I do not turn, but continue folding his clothes. Perhaps I flatten the uniform more than is necessary.
"My dear vivandière, how does this day find you?" Sabine—I shall never call her Frau or Fraulein—drapes her hand on my shoulder. The rest of her contingent is not with her. Her kind are not trusted this far inside the camp, and no surprise. Most of them are thieves. I watched one filch a gilt photo frame. God only knows what she planned to do with it.
"I am not a vivandière. I am Leutnant Brauner's wife."
"Leutnant Gauner," she snickers. "Perfect match."
My nail snags on the heavy cloth. Instead of responding to Sabine's taunts, I lift it to my mouth and tear it free. Too far—a sharp pain, blood welling at the jagged break.
"Best you tend to that. Surely Leutnant Brauner will have other tasks for you."
Sabine is a filthy woman. Before I joined the Prussian forces, I had not met such people, although I had heard
Historical Fiction Workshop Assignment 3Aurora Growing Radiant- Chapter 1
Fall came upon us early that year.
While the wives and we girls gathered in the great kitchen for the week's baking,  the men gathered, without fail, in Frau Heigel's parlor. Her parlor was the largest out of all our homes, and her brother boasted he offered the best brew of beer to their guests. Papa disliked the gatherings when the men grew inebriated, but Papa himself never took more than one tankard.
As great as I feared the Frau's chiding were I caught eavesdropping on the men's discussions, I cared not. My fears outweighed any chiding she could mete.
In weeks prior, Papa had grown terse. His face darkened with such a grimace, it started me at times. Opa became restless as well- but for me, I think, he feigned his usual joviality for my sake.
There was talk of the Holy Roman Empire being killed- how does one kill an empire, or whatever it was? I was baffled, and none of my elders-even Papa- answered my questions.
So I fin
Historical Fition Workshop - Story StartJulia wipes the sweat off her brow with her left hand, holding the bucket between the cow’s legs steady with the other. She was really dying for a drink right now. She continued her milking, and Berta gently continued to chew on the grass in front of her. They didn’t own much in the way of cattle, just a couple of cows for milk, and two sheep for wool. A good thing, too, as the Germans only bothered to take things in large amounts. The neighbors just down the road had owned a large cow farm before the war; then the Germans came, and had taken them all, leaving them but a single cow. Julia wondered whether that had been out of mercy, or out of cruelty. The beast had been old and sickly, and they’d barely managed to even sell it. They’d moved to Amsterdam shortly after, and were now, presumably, staying with family there. In the city, she’d heard, there was at least some manner of controlled food supply. Ticket-offices, Markus had called them.
She cursed qui

Histfict Workshop Week 3“Abaie, what will happen to us now?” I asked.
Shivering from the cold unknown future that awaits for us, I tried to snuggle up next to my sibling, my abaie, for comfort.
“I don’t know,” Numfon replied, barely audible as her silhouette buried its face into its hands.
They had swooped in like birds of prey, quick in pace, and before we knew it, we were whisked away. Up until then, the day had been tranquil, and we were playing in the field with the other children. In a sudden moment, all the other children, probably noticing shadows, had run off and yet we were so concentrated on observing that one small lizard that we had not noticed until they were close. Managing with only a short, brief cry, we had been cut off by them, bound and gagged, and carried off into the unknown. Their darker skin glistened under the sunlight emulating through the trees, and their unconcerned expressions unreadable. My eyes and cheeks stung from the endless tears that kept flowin
HistFic First (very rough) DraftElizabeth Stannum sat at her bedroom window, watching as the raindrops distorted her reflection. She recalled a million similar days at this same window, her reflection and the weather the only things that changed. And she craved change. The kind of change that happened 3 levels  below where she now sat, in her father's basement laboratory. True, it wasn't as grand as the one at her Uncle's Estate in the country or at an Institute or University, but it was the only one that she, a woman was allowed in. In her eyes it was a wonderland, and every time she descended the stairs her heart fluttered and she felt like Alice tumbling through the Looking Glass.
    At 18, she had already read every book, journal and scientific publishing her father kept in their home. In fact, he was so astounded that she could not only decipher the concepts in the technical and manly writings, but could understand most of it that he allowed her on occasion, to tinker with her own ideas or
Historical Workshop, Week 3 - WritingNic awoke to a violent headache. He clamped both hands over his face in an attempt to rub the fire from his eyes, but it only spread the flame. His bunk mate chuckled darkly from above him.
"Had yourself a good one last night, yeah?" Adler thrust a bottle of beer toward Nic's face. "It'll help take the edge off." 
"Thanks," Nic said, then downed the bitter ale quickly. He coughed and Adler chuckled again before leaving the room.
Nic sat up and stared around blearily. In the center of the room, the remnants of the previous night's revelry lay scattered across the table. Friderick was slumped over his unfinished hand of cards. His cigar had burnt a hole through the SS insignia on his uniform. Bottles lay on the floor like corpses sprawled after a great battle. The stench of drunk sleep and vomit lay thick in the air. Nic coughed again, then cradled his still aching head as he sat up.
He pulled on his clothes and left the room, hissing against the chilled morning air. He headed for t

HistFic Draft 1My earliest memories are of the Roman invasion.  Many men and some women took up their farming tools, their axes and whatever else the smiths had made, and marched to meet them.
‘They are going to take off all of their clothes, and paint themselves blue,’ Aesu, the blacksmith’s son, told me.
‘I know,’ I said.  My mother had told me how our people fought.
A man came to our house to ask my father to go with them.
‘We can drive out the Romans if we all come together,’ he said.
‘I will not leave my wife and daughters,’ my father said, ‘in case I should not return.’
The farmer looked at me.  I was behind my father, with my arms wrapped around his knees.  When my father mentioned us, the farmer looked down at me.  I peeped out at him and looked back.  I did not understand anything that was being talked about.  Perhaps it was my ignorance and innocence that made the farmer think for a moment.

(who did I miss?)

 

So let’s get crackin’ guys.



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doughboycafe

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"You spend all your time talking, not working. You're an expatriate, see? You hang around cafes."
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:icongreenemerald200:
greenemerald200 Featured By Owner Edited Sep 18, 2014  Student General Artist
Happy birthday~! Happy Birthday  Keep up the amazing work; your literature changed our lives and it will inspire us always~! ^_^ :iconhappybirthdaysignplz:
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:icondoughboycafe:
doughboycafe Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2014  Professional Writer
thank you so much! this was an uplifting message to find in my inbox.
Reply
:icongreenemerald200:
greenemerald200 Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2014  Student General Artist
^_^ you deserve it!
Reply
:icondrippingwords:
DrippingWords Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2014  Student Writer
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I miss talking to you. :heart:
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:icondoughboycafe:
doughboycafe Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2014  Professional Writer
thanks! and yeah, I should get on skype more x_x
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:icondrippingwords:
DrippingWords Featured By Owner Oct 1, 2014  Student Writer
:heart: No pressure.
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:iconvfreie:
VFreie Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2014
This Failbook-hating bastard here agrees. Get back on the Skype bandwagon, dammit. :stare:
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:icondoughboycafe:
doughboycafe Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2014  Professional Writer
I cant even use the msg service on failbook anymore on my androidz so... cant we all just be on gchat?
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:iconthespikeandkey:
TheSpikeAndKey Featured By Owner Sep 18, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
happy B-Day revolutionary writer :D (Big Grin) Super Fantastic Golden Platter Cake 3D :D (Big Grin) 
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:icondoughboycafe:
doughboycafe Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2014  Professional Writer
thanks so much!
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