When Brennan Lee Mulligan said "It is a cynical and small soul that believes that worship diminishes the soul of the worshipper. All of the people who have had their hearts enlarged and their lives enriched through the act of their devotion. It does not diminish a soul to give worship or adoration" I felt that in my soul. not in a religious sense but as someone who spent most of their life as a fan of something, or someone, and constantly told that it's a waste of time or energy or childish or up for no good. Your time and adoration and what you create and give isn't wasted. Your love is never wasted
nah cause the fact that jane austen wrote a character like emma woodhouse is still insane to me. she threw all the standards out the window and was like hey, here’s this incredibly complex and nuanced character, she’s selfish, privileged, manipulative and arrogant, but she’s also really fucking kind, she would do anything for those she loves (including sacrificing a lot of her liberties), she is able to admit that she’s made a mistake and grow from it, because those things are not mutually exclusive. and i think the reason why everyone is trying to girlbossify their heroines to make them like lizzie bennet (which is an insult to her character but that’s another story) is because they’re scared to write characters like emma. which is understandable, because she’s unlikeable-ish, and they don’t want to take that risk.
honestly the way jane wrote emma is IMPECCABLE and not everyone can pull it off, but i wish female characters with actual flaws were more popular.
Hot take: Actual literary analysis requires at least as much skill as writing itself, with less obvious measures of whether or not you’re shit at it, and nobody is allowed to do any more god damn litcrit until they learn what the terms “show, don’t tell” and “pacing” mean.
As I gaze at the structural column in Copley Station, cracked nearly in two and held together with zip ties that have been carefully painted over to match the column underneath, I feel my soul intertwined with that of a small Italian boy of days gone by, who also stopped to look up at a large, groaning, newly painted tank full of molasses
raise a glass to the posts you love that end up deleted. to the fanart and fanfics you lose track of and can't locate. to the blogs you used to look through that ended up unexpectedly disappearing. to the things you didn't archive because you always assumed they'd be there.
“I would buy a mansion” “I would buy designer” “I’m getting a pool” Don’t give me that lame ass if I won the lottery shit. You’re all pathetic. If I came into a significant amount of money, you know what I’d do? I’d go to the Ren Faire, B-line straight to the cloaks. I’m talking floor length, heavy, wool, felted details, huge hooded cloaks that are like 450 a piece and all handmade and I’d get me one. Maybe even get one of the smaller ones that hangs off the shoulders and lands just above the elbow that are 90 by themselves. And I’d be the baddest bitch around because I’d wear that shit everywhere. It’s 115 degrees? I’m sorry do I look like I give a fuck? I have a cloak bitch I don’t need your fahrenheit bullshit. And you’re a FOOL if you wouldn’t do the same.
Every time I see some moral panic article about how some alarming % of teens admit to vaping or smoking or doing drugs or whatever, I think about that time in 9th grade when school handed us a survey on substance use, told us we had to fill it out, and me and a half dozen friends reported that we’d been habitual users of heroin, cocaine, and acid since the age of 9.
I want to write a book called “your character dies in the woods” that details all the pitfalls and dangers of being out on the road & in the wild for people without outdoors/wilderness experience bc I cannot keep reading narratives brush over life threatening conditions like nothing is happening.
I just read a book by one of my favorite authors whose plots are essentially airtight, but the MC was walking on a country road on a cold winter night and she was knocked down and fell into a drainage ditch covered in ice, broke through and got covered in icy mud and water.
Then she had a “miserable” 3 more miles to walk to the inn.
Dunno how to put it properly into words but lately I find myself thinking more about that particular innocence of fairy tales, for lack of better word. Where a traveller in the middle of a field comes across an old woman with a scythe who is very clearly Death, but he treats her as any other auntie from the village. Or meeting a strange green-skinned man by the lake and sharing your loaf of bread with him when he asks because even though he's clearly not human, your mother's last words before you left home were to be kind to everyone. Where the old man in the forest rewards you for your help with nothing but a dove feather, and when you accept even such a seemingly useless reward with gratitude, on your way home you learn that it's turned to solid gold. Where supernatural beings never harm a person directly and every action against humans is a test of character, and every supernatural punishment is the result of a person bringing on their own demise through their own actions they could have avoided had they changed their ways. Where the hero wins for no other reason than that they were a good person. I don't have the braincells to describe this better right now but I wish modern fairy tales did this more instead of trying to be fantasy action movies.