summary refs log tree commit diff stats
path: root/real-writer.html
diff options
context:
space:
mode:
authorCase Duckworth2015-03-12 13:01:16 -0700
committerCase Duckworth2015-03-12 13:01:16 -0700
commit2764ce38ff89667fc4073fb66cdd634caaffd613 (patch)
tree2b574940d00219cddba222222ee2ae13d49ea644 /real-writer.html
parentRemove lua cruft (diff)
downloadautocento-2764ce38ff89667fc4073fb66cdd634caaffd613.tar.gz
autocento-2764ce38ff89667fc4073fb66cdd634caaffd613.zip
Fix #9 - ekphrastisize some poems
For ekphrastic articles, add `ekphrastic` node to YAML metadata.
This node includes subnodes `image`, `title`, `alt`, `link`, and `class`.
`image` provides a link to the local image--just include the file name
with the extension, not the folder (all images should be in /img/.)
`title` provides the title of the image, and the alt-text, if there
is no `alt` node.
`alt`, if it exists, provides the alt text for the image.
`link`, if present, wraps the image in an `<a>` tag--it should point
to the source web page of the ekphrastic image.
`class`, if present, sets the class(es) for the image, for styling.

In this commit, I've set `ekphrastic` on the four articles that have
them so far: 'The Death Zone,' 'AMBER alert,' 'The moon is gone,' and
'Man.' I've also updated .template.html with the changes, and updated
README.md to reflect the changes in YAML structure.
Diffstat (limited to 'real-writer.html')
-rw-r--r--real-writer.html5
1 files changed, 2 insertions, 3 deletions
diff --git a/real-writer.html b/real-writer.html index 82dc53a..87d8cde 100644 --- a/real-writer.html +++ b/real-writer.html
@@ -37,9 +37,8 @@
37 37
38 </header> 38 </header>
39 39
40 <section class="content verse"> 40
41 <p>Sometimes I feel as though I am not a real writer.<br /><a href="cereal.html">I don’t smoke</a>. I don’t wake up early but I don’t sleep<br />all day either. I find myself increasingly interested<br />in dumb luck. Chance: I’ve found two dimes in as many<br />days. Does this mean I’ve found twenty lucky pennies?<br />I want you to participate. You the reader. You,<br />the probabilistic god of my dreams. I’ve been having<br /><a href="in-bed.html">strange dreams</a> lately. I don’t remember them but<br />they leave impressions. A bare foot. A tunnel<br />of hair from her face to mine. A boat stranded<br />in a living-room. Something warm. Something like the sun<br />through my eyelids. <a href="roughgloves.html">A hand, with all its dead symbology</a>.<br /><a href="no-nothing.html">My teeth have fallen out</a>. No, you pulled them out<br />with your hands, threw them over your left shoulder<br /><a href="i-am.html">like salt</a>, to wish away bad luck. I have something<br />to tell you: bad luck follows like a dog. It lets you<br />get ahead for a few days, a week, a year. You’ll see,<br />it’ll bite your sleeping face when you’re not looking.<br />I’ve been dreaming about the future, I know. In my dream<br />I am not a writer, <a href="riptide_memory.html">I live in a place with rain</a>. You<br />are sunning yourself as you read this, on a beach or<br />maybe a desert. Let me move in with you. I can cook<br /><a href="when-im-sorry-i.html">or clean</a> or take care of your dog while you’re out.<br />I’ll never have to write again. <a href="about-the-author.html">I’ll watch television</a>.<br />Do I want to become a writer? Tell me. Should I smoke?<br />I can sleep all day in your attic if you want, become<br /><a href="love-as-god.html">your god</a>, lose my own, settle to the bottom of the bed<br />like a boat in a river, dream about nothing but <a href="leaf.html">furniture</a>.</p> 41 <section class="content verse"><p>Sometimes I feel as though I am not a real writer.<br /><a href="cereal.html">I don’t smoke</a>. I don’t wake up early but I don’t sleep<br />all day either. I find myself increasingly interested<br />in dumb luck. Chance: I’ve found two dimes in as many<br />days. Does this mean I’ve found twenty lucky pennies?<br />I want you to participate. You the reader. You,<br />the probabilistic god of my dreams. I’ve been having<br /><a href="in-bed.html">strange dreams</a> lately. I don’t remember them but<br />they leave impressions. A bare foot. A tunnel<br />of hair from her face to mine. A boat stranded<br />in a living-room. Something warm. Something like the sun<br />through my eyelids. <a href="roughgloves.html">A hand, with all its dead symbology</a>.<br /><a href="no-nothing.html">My teeth have fallen out</a>. No, you pulled them out<br />with your hands, threw them over your left shoulder<br /><a href="i-am.html">like salt</a>, to wish away bad luck. I have something<br />to tell you: bad luck follows like a dog. It lets you<br />get ahead for a few days, a week, a year. You’ll see,<br />it’ll bite your sleeping face when you’re not looking.<br />I’ve been dreaming about the future, I know. In my dream<br />I am not a writer, <a href="riptide_memory.html">I live in a place with rain</a>. You<br />are sunning yourself as you read this, on a beach or<br />maybe a desert. Let me move in with you. I can cook<br /><a href="when-im-sorry-i.html">or clean</a> or take care of your dog while you’re out.<br />I’ll never have to write again. <a href="about-the-author.html">I’ll watch television</a>.<br />Do I want to become a writer? Tell me. Should I smoke?<br />I can sleep all day in your attic if you want, become<br /><a href="love-as-god.html">your god</a>, lose my own, settle to the bottom of the bed<br />like a boat in a river, dream about nothing but <a href="leaf.html">furniture</a>.</p></section>
42 </section>
43 </article> 42 </article>
44 <nav> 43 <nav>
45 <a href="#" id="lozenge" title="Random page"> &loz; </a> 44 <a href="#" id="lozenge" title="Random page"> &loz; </a>