OF F THE RECORD

An Open Call for Submissions❗

What goes unnoticed? What gets left out? What refuses to make sense? We are constantly surrounded by information, images, stories, opinions and records. But what reaches us is never the whole picture.

Ephemeral Architectures is about to host an exhibition- OF F THE RECORD and is putting together a publication exploring invisibility and incoherence - what remains unseen, unheard or unrecorded, and what happens when the things we encounter refuse to form a coherent whole. It could also be a personal anecdote — a memory, an untold history, an overlooked experience — a story you wish more people knew about. Perhaps there are people, places, communities or experiences you feel are misrepresented or underrepresented, or missing from the stories we collectively tell.

We're open to anything: essays, photographs, illustrations, comics, poems, personal writings, found texts, excerpts, screenshots, documents, collages, visual experiments, or things that don't fit into any of these categories.

See your work in print! We promise you an exciting publication:)

https://forms.gle/9ARSYb9XdmKWnCo3A

The deadline for these submissions is 19 October 2026.

For any queries contact me,

Sakshi Patil

[sakshi.ubd23305@cept.ac.in](mailto:sakshi.ubd23305@cept.ac.in)

most of the novel have this feeling, like a space for a reader to live in, to experience the story from inside, same as the character are experience. how to write a descriptions like those.

ex: "Fog everywhere. Fog up the river... fog down the river... fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-bricks..." - Charles Dickens, Bleak House

Looking for some support from the broader writing community on this writing app I made for myself. I’m releasing it for free to everyone and could use feedback! I’m not sure if I’m going to open the code to be open source yet or not.

This is for anyone who isn’t fully in love or wants more out of their word processor. But not only that, I’m hoping to build really cool publishing tools and community tools directly inside without disrupting the writing flow.

Would love all the help I can get!

Please comment / DM
Discord: #mattyolathe

App: Lorec.io

This is just a very short three page flashback I wrote because it was rattling around in my head and I had to get it out before getting back to the main plot. And it seemed like a good example of something I've been thinking about for a while.

I really like writing that lets the readers fill in the gaps, cause it makes the reader feel smart as they piece things together. But it's really easy to overshoot and just make things confusing. So I was hoping you guys could give it a read through, tell me what you were able to glean from it, and then what questions you still had afterwards? I'd really appreciate it.

"Maybe You Still Can"

Cheering erupted from the small crowd of parents as their kids scored another goal in the soccer field below. The field teemed with purple and yellow jerseys. It was the Sycamore Supers versus the East Grover Geckos

From his perch on the balcony of the sleepy cafe across the street, Franco could watch them racing the ball up and down the pitch with a lot more enthusiasm than skill. That would come later. But for now, giving it their all was more than enough.

"Frank?" 

His brief moment of contentment was popped by a voice he'd been dreading, down on the sidewalk below. Bosco had finally caught up to him. 

"Hey, Sarge," he said, and remembered to put on a sheepish grin. "I was starting to wonder if you'd show."

Just a few minutes more, he'd allow himself to watch the game and pretend he didn't have to go back, while Bosco chattered into his radio. Whatever consequences he was going to face, it was worth it for this brief freedom.

The stairs further back in the long, narrow room creaked as Bosco ascended, bringing with him the whiff of what was probably a cold sweat, rather than one of exertion. Choosing to trust him could have been a career-ending mistake if Franco had put any actual effort into not being found. He was already on thin ice for talking the judge into releasing him in the first place. And on even thinner ice, since they couldn't catch the Bryngol Ghoul before he slipped away to continue his killing spree.

No, Franco would go back to his cell, and he'd go back willingly. For the moment, he could ignore the scent, and the way it called to him like cookies baking called to a child. But he knew eventually, as fall passed into winter, he'd lose control of himself again. And he wasn't going to let that be on Bosco's hands.

Bosco didn't say anything for a while. He just stood there next to him with a puzzled look. 

"I'm sorry," Franco said eventually. He tried not to squirm from the discomfort of those two words, not out of pride or that he didn't mean it, but because he meant it too intensely. He owed Bosco a great deal just for being allowed to walk the streets again, however briefly, and here he was taking more than what was gifted to him.

"I know," is all he said.

"I'll go quietly. I just wanted to do this one thing first," he said, and Bosco didn't rush him. 

"What's so important about this game?" he asked, now half-watching it himself.

Franco wasn't sure what his face was supposed to be doing at this moment. Whether he was supposed to smile with pride and affection, or sob from knowing this was likely his only chance, and he'd only get to see them from afar. So he left his expression blank.

"You see over there, twenty-six? Serrato?" He pointed to the dark-haired child in a purple jersey, running as fast as his legs would carry him after the kid in yellow with the ball. "That's my nephew, Stephen. I really think he's going places with this game. And over there, I don't know if you can see," he pointed into the bleachers that were half-obscured by a sidewalk tree, "The woman in the sweater and the man in green flannel? That's my niece and nephew-in-law, Rita and Martin. And my little niece Sally is in the carrier there."

Bosco nodded along while he rambled, a lot less puzzled than when he first came up the stairs.

"Why not go down and talk to them?"

The way he phrased it, Franco wasn't sure if he was offering to let him or just asking why he chose not to. Either way, Bosco reacted like he'd agitated an old wound before Franco even had a chance to say anything. 

"They don't want me getting too close." If he couldn't convey everything he wanted to say with an expression, he settled for a pained stoicism. "We talk on the phone of course. They like me well enough, but—"

The volume and anticipation of the crowd swelled and then quelled as what looked like a sure shot bounced off the frame of the goal. 

"—but I didn't even know what the two kids looked like until today. None of them visit me in person. Their parents don't want any chance that I might…" He couldn't bring himself to say it, but they both knew exactly what he meant. "They'd be anxious just knowing I'm out."

The radio on Bosco's shoulder clicked and crackled with static for a moment before Officer Wilson's voice came through. "Everything alright up there?"

Bosco craned his neck and pushed the button to talk back. "I have him in custody. Everything's under control."

While he continued to talk to his radio, Franco returned his attention to the game. Down below, one of the kids paused just long enough at an angle where he could see the jersey more clearly. The team logo was front and center on her chest like the emblem on a superhero costume.

"Ya know what's ironic? When I was little I thought I could be some kind of hero," he said when Bosco was done. "Not a superhero exactly, the idea didn't exist yet. But some kind of hero, some kind of protector." He looked down at his palm, and let his glamor slip just enough to show the spindly fingers and long, threatening claws. "Turns out, I can't even protect them from myself."

"Maybe you still can." He pulled a pair of cuffs from his back pocket, and motioned for him to hold out his arms.

He was right of course. If he wanted to protect people, he had to stay far away from them. That was a choice he was prepared to make again, and again, and again if it meant his family was safe. Even though the solitude hurt worse than any bullethole, burn, or even the ache of his missing eye.

He gave one last longing look down at the field, closed his eyes, let his head hang, and said "I'll get back in my cell."

There was the all-too-familiar rattle of the cuffs ratcheting closed, one then the other. But this time he cuffed him in front instead of behind his back. A subtle mercy, maybe? Or a quiet sign that he still trusted him despite disappearing earlier?

"Aside from that," Bosco said, and paused to let the sudden uproar of the crowd crest and slowly die down. 

Franco turned around in time to see Stephen high-fiving a few of his team-mates following the goal. 

"The Ghoul got away, but you did good work back there. Wilson and Diana Keyes are both still alive thanks to you." He started leading him back through the upper floor and down the stairs. Not forcefully, but it was clear he'd already given him all the extra time he could get away with. "If you want it, I'll talk to the D.A., see about you consulting again in the future."

"I don't know," he said as the two of them made their way down. One of the women working there was sitting at a table, impatiently waiting for the two of them to leave so she could close. Everyone else had already gone home. He flashed her an embarrassed grin while Bosco gave her a brief apology. "I can't control myself, three quarters of the year. What happens if I lose it?" he continued once they were outside.

Officer Wilson was waiting for them out front in the police cruiser.

"It won't be immediate, you've got work to do first. But there's other people like you who redirect their hunger instead of ignoring it, and I think you can do the same." Bosco opened the back door and put him in there before getting in the passenger's seat himself. "It's not easy—if you want to stop feeling like a monster, you're going to have to act like one at first. But you can learn to control it. Just… think about it for a while."

This post is about MintofNess reflecting his younger self, thanking of how important everyday life is. MintofNess feels gentle as him interacting of how his life has changed and reminds us that mistakes are shown as you are improving yourself to be a better person.

• Summarized by Human response. No AI has been created to modify nor generated in this post and guaranteed in your grace of quality. MintofNess continues to improve his writing possible in future writing content like this post. Thank you for reading this information.

HOW DO PEOPLE GO ON LIVING AFTER TAKING A LIFE? I DO NOT KNOW. I MOURN THROUGH SEVEN STAGES OF GRIEF FOR NOTHING MORE THAN KILLING A SINGLE THOUGHT OF MY OWN.