#Just posting this here cos I have no place to collect my poetry yet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arrivisting · 3 years

Note

I’d love author commentary on basically the whole scene at Ekkaia in all my war is done (or any individual part of that scene, if your prefer). Taken together, it’s one of the most beautiful and emotionally complex and heartrending things you’ve written, from the description of the sea itself, to the difficulties of Fingon and Alqualondë, to Gil and the ocean and his ‘mother’, to Fingon and Gil beginning to tackle the thorny subect of Maedhros.

I should admit something about all my war is done: it's the most fugue-like my writing has ever been. I jotted down a few notes on my commute into work - I was deeply underwater with my PhD at the time, three months away from submitting - and then the idea of writing a sequel to scion seized me so profoundly that I sat down in the Starbucks where my bus stops, took out my laptop, and wrote instead of just collecting my coffee and walking down to my office. I wrote 15k. In one day. In about five or six hours. I've never achieved anything like that before or since - I do have good days where I can knock 2-4k out easily, but not 15k. (You might note that the posted part of all my war is done is only 12k, but I wrote all the way up into the next bit with Fingon in Tirion that you've read, up until Turgon at the dinner table). I didn't sit down or plan events; I didn't actually know much about what would happen: but I knew they were going to Ekkaia and they'd have some kind of resolution there. These are my phone-notes, from that morning:

You can see, I think, something of the way an idea hits me. I note down a few snatches of plot, not necessarily in any order, some lines I think people should say at some point, although I might not use them, sketch out some things (Formenos's ruins were going to feature more heavily, but they're waiting for a later story).

(It makes me laugh, the words my phone doesn't accept - Gil-galad, for one - and the ones it automatically capitalises from where I've yelled enthusiastically about elf things at people. I never stop long enough to correct spelling etc when I'm trying to get something down).

I clearly knew from inception that I wanted Fingon's place to be called the hill of waiting, and had tried out the name in Sindarin; because my verbs are not good, I came up with Amon Dartha. It was when I was redrafting that I realised Amon Darthir had existed actually in Dor-lomin(!!!) and the name was even more perfect symbolically than I'd meant it to be! Did I know that, unconsciously? I don't know.

You can see, too, that the Sea of Ekkaia was almost the very first point to hit me, and that I knew it and the scene there would be important, and that I knew that the story was about Fingon finding a way to tell Gil-galad that he had been loved, and wanted, and that meant talking about Maedhros; and that at the end I wanted Gil-galad to be gently, impersonally, firmly clear that he would not, could not, be staying to wait with Fingon.

Okay, DVD commentary proper - I'm sorry, I remember awfully little about writing this, given the fugue state and my thesis and everything, so I'm not sure how useful this will be!

“Oh,” said Gil-galad when they broke out of the woods and began to ride down over the dune-lands to the rocky shore. “Oh!”

The Sea of Ekkaia was beautiful, in its own way, but that way that was like no other place in Arda, in either Aman or Middle Earth.

It was a dark-blue that was almost black, even in the late afternoon, and the shore was less sand than gravel, a strange inconsistent rubble of rock and broken sea-shells that had been dashed to pieces by the constant fury of the waves. Staring out to sea, one did not see the far-away horizon the way one did on the gentler coast of Belegaer: there was no gentle faraway blue haze through which one might, perhaps, on a clear day, imagine that Middle Earth could be glimpsed, or at least the Straight Path.

No: instead along the horizon there was a seam of silver light, and then a great blackness, where the Sea of Ekkaia met the Uttermost West that was not quite the Doors of Night, but was certainly the end of Aman itself. If you stood on the shore watching, the seam would ripple with a pulse of light, sometimes green and sometimes white.

It was so far from anywhere the Eldar of Valinor lived. While they clustered around the Belegaer like moths to flame, this shore seemed instead to repel them. Was it the sight of the world’s end itself? It might be; yet Fingon thought there was more to why this wilderness was so little visited, this howling black sea lashing itself against a grey shore. It was beautiful, but not in the way Elves liked things to be beautiful: it was too raw, too unfinished, too savage.

It was too close to where Mandos kept his Halls, which were not only a thing of spirit but also matter, at least in the way that things in Aman were both. Too close to where Nienna’s tower looked out into the Void and where she wept, and wept, and wept. It was too close to death and to rebirth, to judgment and to pity.

There's a little Dawn Treader, I think, in this idea of the uttermost West. I don't know why I thought the seam of the world should pulse with strange light, but it's an uncanny kind of geography, so near Mandos and Nienna, and I like the sense that this is the end of the world, but not the end of the universe.

A lot of this came together serendipitously. I knew some kind of memorialisation of the river that bore Gil-galad needed to be part of his story; that meant going to the sea; and it's clear from the notes that I had already decided that couldn't mean Alqualonde because of kinslaying reasons and memories. (And that that too would need to be confronted). Therefore: roadtrip to Ekkaia. Therefore, the question: what would Ekkaia be like? We don't really know anything about it - only the good qualities of Belegaer. This was really written by a process of inversion, a way of pulling what we know about Belegaer inside-out, and imagining a place at the world's edge, a place that was empty, a place that was uncannily close to difficult things, to Mandos and Nienna; a place that seemed to repel the Eldar as surely as Belegaer drew them like iron filings.

I was thinking visually about New Zealand, too. I spent my childhood summers on the beaches up north, mostly around Tūtūkākā, which are bright and lovely, with golden or white or tawny sand, with gnarled pohutukawa and blue-green water. Like this:

That's what beach and sea meant to me, and it was a shock the first time I went to one of the black sand beaches where the wind howled and the colours weren't blue, green, gold, but iron, grey, navy, black. I loved it, but it felt so other, so passionate, so strange. That shock and that wild beauty and desolation were things I wanted to get at, though Ekkaia would be far more wild and desolate still.

They left the horses in the thin sea-grass, and their shoes, too, and walked down to the water. “I missed it,” Gil-galad said, and closed his eyes, breathing in the brine. “I missed it badly, all the long years besieging Mordor before I died.”

I think Gil-galad would be very marked by his upbringing first in the Falas and then on Balar; you don't lose that, if you grew up by the sea.

The wind took up his long dark hair and made a banner of it as they walked along the rough crescent of rocky ground where the waves met the shore, and around their bare ankles small stones tumbled back and forth in the lace-edge of the water.

When I was young I used to stand in the water and let the waves bury me up to my ankles, watching the water move in, out, spreading skirts of lace overlapping as new waves came in. I could do it for hours. There's something very liminal about the water's edge, between the solid land and the sea, which is why I put this conversation in it, I think. They're in a liminal space and at a liminal moment. It's the scene the whole story has been inexorably building toward, the point where all Fingon's painful scraping-away of his barriers finally reaches his skin.

“Sometimes in Middle Earth it became very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said, his eyes still closed, “in the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.” He opened his eyes and looked towards the Uttermost West where the world ended. “And here it is impossible not to. Look at it!"

This is a little more hopeful than the original version, which I don't have anymore, but went pretty much:

"Sometimes in Middle Earth it was very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said. "In the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.”

It was a comment more about Gil-galad's rueful scepticism than wonder - because he fought the Dagorlad before he died, because he spent the last ten years of his life in mud and blood and filth and horror. I work on the First World War - its literary legacy and traces in the decades after, more than its immediate experience or actuality, because there was a ten-year period after 1918 where it was more latent than overt, a traumatic lacuna of silence, a Nachträglichkeit- and I thought in the blood, and the mud, and the filth was a little too on the nose.

I kept it, though, because Tolkien was drawing on his own memories of the trenches with the Dagorlad and the Dead Marshes, with those blurred lines of solid land and mud/bog, the living mixed up with the remains of with the dead, all the themes you see again and again in the war poetry and the officer war-books. (Santanu Das is very good on this, as is Eric Leed). Paul Fussell is a bit old-hat now, but his argument that WWI altered the sensibility of its survivors because of their close, consanguinous co-existence with the dead is something I still find valuable. I think there's a lot of WWI survivor in the way I think of Gil-galad, actually, I'm just realising - not that he survived the Last Alliance. He's detached in a different way from Fingon. Fingon's built himself a thick layer of repression/denial, a kind of callous to protect himself from confronting or thinking about what Maedhros did, and what that means for him and to him; Gil-galad is entirely present, but somewhat detached in some ways, the way people who came back from war could be. Not that Fingon and Finrod aren't also separated from the Amanyar by their time in Beleriand and experience of war and death, but Gil-galad lived there for millennia, and he fought a longer, harder, more total kind of war than they did.

But he's at the Sea of Ekkaia, as west as you can get. So much of Tolkien is about that endless longing glance west, that movement: why is this very westernmost edge so under-explored?

I wanted Gil-galad to be softened by this encounter with the sea, so I went back and let his wonder be as much at the spectacle itself as the sea, like the greater hand at work he had sometimes doubted being visible was something wonderful rather than something to be bitter about. I wanted to position him to be potentially open to, perhaps, the Valar; perhaps, to Fingon. I hope he doesn't come off as closed-minded: I think of him as having a fair mind, and good judgment, but - despite placing him here between the sea and the shore - very clear personal lines between what he thinks is just, and what is not. Certainly, it helps a lot, never having known the Feanorians when they had not fallen.

The seam of the universe pulsed with light, and beyond it was – what?

Unutterable nothingness, something worse than death.

Perhaps Maedhros.

This is an important line for Fingon. He hasn't though the name of his own accord for much of the story, flinching away from it; it's only come in when Finrod and then Gil-galad speak the name. This is the first time he's thought it clearly of his own free will, and this is I think the first signal that he's brought Gil-galad here to be as honest and earnest with him as he can be, however much it hurts, or however much it might drive him away. Because if he isn't, and doesn't, Gil-galad will be driven away anyway, and Fingon wants to be connected with him, the first time he's wanted that kind of bond with anyone since he returned.

(I think of Finrod as someone who just kept turning up, regularly, and forcing Fingon to associate with him; and then bringing Amarie; and then his children; and not taking no for an answer. It bothers Turgon rather terribly that they seem to be friends now, when they were never that close Before: that Fingon pushes him away, but allows Finrod to keep pushing; that Finrod does push. He doesn't know about Gil-galad, of course).

He's brought Gil-galad here to show him if possible that he was wanted, to conjure up lost Ringwil where she might be felt if not found; and to do the same for Maedhros. This is a signal that this journey to the sea is as much about Gil-galad's missing father as his missing mother.

The almost-forgotten tang of salt in the air always mingled with the smell of blood in Fingon’s worst memories, and he was not the only one who remembered. The waves were gentle around Gil-galad’s feet, but they boiled furiously around Fingon’s, delivering small spiteful slaps at his calves.

Spiteful was probably the wrong word here. I don't necessarily mean a dramatic boiling or bubbling; but the water is harsh where it touches him, the kind of slapping roughness you get when the tide is coming in rough.

It took Gil-galad longer to mark the difference, engrossed in the joy of the sea and spectacle as he was, and when he did, his face changed. There was something terribly sad in his eyes when he lifted them from the water to look at Fingon.

It wasn’t why he had brought Gil-galad here; but Fingon didn’t want to imagine the look he would receive if he brushed aside the silent question. “No,” he said. “I am not forgiven.”

“So I see.”

They could probably leave it there.

But Fingon won't, because he's trying. He's really trying to connect after all the time flinching away from it, and he's remembering what Gil-galad said about talking, and what Finrod said about mistakes and silences in their first life.

He said, “You said you loathed the thought of being the son of – a murderer. But my own hands have not been clean since Alqualondë, and death didn’t unstain them. All the time you thought I might be your father, you must have known I was a Kinslayer, too.”

I tried to signal this in their earlier tower conversation with Finrod, and Gil-galad's changing of the topic, but I feel like it's a little abrupt here.

“Yes,” Gil-galad said, and his expression didn’t change. “And when the knights that had served you came to me, they told me that you killed that day in ignorance, that you came upon a battle already being fought; that you took up your sword to save those you loved and didn’t question whether it was just. I heard that from others, too, those who had less reason to bend facts to a flattering pattern; survivors of Gondolin and of Nargothrond. I did ask."

“Ignorance wasn’t an excuse. I died ashamed of it, and I live again with the shame.”

"Good!” said Gil-galad, and there was no forgiveness in his voice, even when Fingon jerked his head up in shock. Instead there was the stern ring of a king used to weighing the ideals of justice against the world as it was, the king who had walked arm in arm with Eonwë the Maia, led his people through many full-fledged wars, and held court and meted justice to them for an Age. “That gives me a far better opinion of you than any of the stories did! I’m glad.”

I remember talking to you about this in the comments, about what it meant that Gil-galad wasn't forgiving him. I think I really meant condone, but I also don't think it's Gil-galad's place to absolve Fingon - he wasn't the one wronged! - and that it's important to me that, because Fingon does truly regret it, he doesn't wish to be absolved, to slide away from it. I don't mean he ought to wallow in it or flog himself with it daily, but I think it would be important to him to shoulder and own that guilt rather than ever allowing himself to put it behind him or have someone else tell him it’s quite all right.

I think this is a moment where I show that they're quite similar, too, because even if Fingon wasn't aware that a bracing, clear assessment was just what he wanted, it was what he needed, rather than people being kind (which he's had a lot of, since he returned; and which hasn't touched that central guilt he's hidden from them, that he loved Maedhros, who had done such terrible things. It's prevented him from accepting kindness made him block people reaching out to him. Gil-galad is not being kind, but just, and still reaching out).

It felt like Fingon had been struggling to take a full lungful of air for a long time, and now something constricting in his chest had loosened, as it hadn’t even after the Valar themselves had judged him. It was only now that he realised that he hadn’t wanted Gil-galad to forgive or absolve him. He had wanted – needed – Gil-galad to be better than him, to withhold forgiveness when it was unmerited; and Gil-galad had. He had become the shining legacy they had all hoped he would be, the thing they had all somehow done right.

The water slapped at his ankles again, in impatient reminder.

This is too brief a transition. I should have fleshed the join out more.

“I think Ulmo would come to you here, if you called. You were a king by the sea in Middle Earth, and you may not remember it, but it was a river who gave you life.”

Gil-galad looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “What?”

“I brought you here for a reason,” Fingon said. “Where did they go, the drowned and poisoned rivers of Beleriand? I don’t know; but Ulmo might.”

I've really personified the rivers, but I think it's a clear and easy extrapolation from the Withywindle and the River-daughter in The Fellowship of the Ring that I don't need to justify in order to argue that every river might have had its own attendant Maia-spirit. It does make what happened to the Rivers of Beleriand much worse, though, and I wanted to look at the way a character that was a throwaway mechanism in scion ended up being sickened and dying as horribly as Beleriand did; this story was really about following all those lighter bits in scion home, to the end of the line, and looking at the long-term impacts of something that began more lightly. In this verse, Ringwil was a river, but also a person; and I think of her and Finrod as sharing a strange human-river friendship and overlapping enthusiasms.

He clapped Gil-galad on the shoulder, hoping it said all the things he meant it to say. Affection had been so easy for him once, in the life that had been taken from him by the fiery flails of the Balrogs, but now it came hard, and the sea-smell was in his nose, the terrible memories too close to the surface.

He had surely outstayed Ulmo’s tolerance by now. Fingon left Gil-galad there in the water, and didn’t dare glance back until there was thin sandy soil under his feet again.

Only then did he look once more towards the sea.

Gil-galad was standing in the shallows. His broad shoulders were bunched tight, as if he was readying himself for something very difficult, a confrontation with one of the Valar he had long doubted.

Then he spread his arms out, empty-handed, and tipped his head back, and the light on the horizon grew unbearably bright, whiter than white, more silver than silver; and a face began to move upon the water.

I really like this, honestly. Which I can't/don't say often! The temptation to overwrite this was strong, to show this encounter, to describe the Vala: but I think it's often stronger not to show something numinous, to pull away, to let the mind fill it in.

Again, this is Gil-galad as I imagine him: still somewhat distanced from the Valar by the Dagorlad and the things that happened there (and I think perhaps doubly unhappy in that he lived through the end of an Age once before, and that time, at least, the Valar came: they did not come in the Second, nor send so much as a messenger, and such obscenities as the fall of Ost-in-Edhil and the drowning of Numenor had been allowed to happen, and Men and Elves were left alone to come together and break Sauron's grip). Doubting, but not angry; doubting, but still curious. Open to listening.

a face began to move upon the water is of course a deliberate sideways reference to

And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

It took a very long time. Fingon could not watch; his eyes dazzled.

Can you tell I was teaching The Duchess of Malfi at this time? Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young. That sense of a light too bright and white to look upon; that sense of guilt; that faint reference to life lost untimely. This wasn't meant to be a direct intertextual reference, but that net of meaning was there, lightly. Again, I wanted to under-write rather than over-write. I know I have a tendency to over-write.

And of course - there's a sense here that Fingon is refusing the kind of close enoucnter with Ulmo he could/might have. There's water in his eyes. From the wind?

“Thank you,” Gil-galad said when he rejoined him at last. His eyes were glowing, and he whistled Ceredir to him from where he was tearing ropey roots of sea-grass from the dunes with great relish. “Thank you for bringing me here;” and he didn’t say it the way he’d thanked Fingon for the horse, or the armour, or the sword, or even the lance.

Because this is a real gift, something that means something to both of them, something more honest/painful. Fingon's been trying to connect through gifts but not serious conversation or sharing, like some estranged parents do, throwing money at the problem rather than giving of their time or their selves, and however well-meant, it hasn't worked.

“I didn’t truly do anything."

“You brought me to the Sea. I know – I could see – how difficult it was for you."

"Well,” Fingon said lamely. He cleared his throat. “What did Lord Ulmo say about – oh, I can’t call her your dam! – the Maia who bore you? Did she – was she there?”

The dam pun is Finrod's. Don't blame me.

A little of the light dimmed, but it didn’t quite fade away. “No, she’s gone. Back to the Timeless Halls, he says; but one with him again, Ulmo, at the same time.” Gil-galad made a noise. “I don’t pretend to understand any of it, all the metaphysical nonsense of the Ainur! But he was kind to me, and he told me something of her – that she delighted in the making of me.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I left the flowers we gathered earlier in the waves for her and the sea didn’t dash them back onto the shore. I’m sure Ulmo broke a few laws of Arda there.”

I like this image of the flowers suspended in the water. I had it clearly in mind from before I began to write.

"You were wanted.”

“I’m beginning to believe it,” Gil-galad said.

“You should,” Fingon said. He took a breath. Talking is how you sort things out; and a long time ago, Fingon had been known for his valour. Gil-galad deserved to know how much he had been wanted, who had called himself a political compromise given birth. The truth of that had stung.

And it was less than the truth. Fingon could still remember the first time he had opened his mind to Maedhros over the leagues between them and let him see Gil’s small face through his own eyes, holding nothing back. He had shown Maedhros the dark long lashes and the squashed baby nose, the milk-blister on the bow of Gil’s upper lip, the way his whole head turned an alarming red when he wailed; shared with Maedhros Gil’s fondness for being tossed in the air, his splashing joy in his bath.

This is is me trying to describe a baby without being too sentimental about it, because Fingon wasn't all, oh look at the toesie-woesies, or my son, my son: his eye was more detached, and you see him in scion thinking of Gil-galad as it.

I've been thinking about why Fingon in no way allowed himself to consciously dote on the baby, why that streak of denial that's so strong in his second life was there in his first light, and really: it would have been dangerous to let himself love him, to see Gil as his son and Maedhros's. He was born at a time of terrible loss, after the Flame, when they all expected they could die themselves. He was moved around Beleriand like a game-piece. Fingon was always going to lose him: he wasn't going to get to raise him, after all, until and unless Morgoth was defeated. Maedhros wasn't going to meet him, until and unless &c. It was easier not to let oneself get attached than it was to confront those hard facts and let oneself be hurt by them. Easier to think of him as a baby Finwean prince, and that only: a political pawn, not a son.

Conversely, Maedhros maintains a physical distance, but not an emotional one. Here's a bit from Maedhros's perspective:

Finrod had told him that. They had written, back and forth, in the long months as Ringwil’s belly swelled, as the child formed, as it began to move and stretch and turn frog-like inside her. They had corresponded constantly during the first months of the child’s life in Nargothrond, and during the first months of his life, Finrod had sent long scrolls detailing every change in Artanaro’s weight, his length, his hair colour, his eye colour, how much milk he’d consumed each day: screeds winging forth to Himring until the child was old enough to survive the secret trip north.

Fingon’s letters had been infuriatingly spare of useful information while the child was fostered at Barad Eithel. Beloved, ineloquent Fingon: Fingon, who had nevertheless shown him the child as no reams of paper could.

Fingon had given him forever the rounded bloom of his full cheeks, and the pursed mouth, sullen in sleep: the feathery, rather cross-looking eyebrows, and the small hands with their deep dimples and smaller fingernails, curled into the edge of Fingon’s furred mantle.

Maedhros had felt the way Fingon hovered between wonder and confusion at what they’d wrought: the way he couldn’t quite manage to think of the child as his own, this thing spun out of air and calculation and freshwater into heavy, solid life. He could have loved him so desperately, Maedhros knew that. He was halfway there, hovering in terror on the edge, afraid of falling. If the baby had stayed in Barad Eithel longer; if Fingon had watched him begin to creep around on fat little knees, to pull himself up on the furniture and to take his first steps – to hear the baby babble turn into words and speech – his heart would have opened to him like a flower, and the child would have become the centre of his universe, the sun in his sky.

Fingon had never known what to do with Idril as an infant, either, but he’d easily become an adored uncle as she grew up. If they’d had more time – if the child had been permitted to stay with Fingon even a month longer before being sent for safety to Cirdan –

Well, they’d never had enough time.

There had been few walls between them then, so he had felt Maedhros’s bright joy, the painful love, in its moment of birth: swelling and swelling like a cloud with rain, as though his heart was growing and his blood was leaking out of him at the same time, transmuting into pure tenderness and iron purpose.

I like this because I think of the Ekkaia scene as a cloudburst, full of emotion that has been swelling and swelling and now released. This is one bit of the breaking-through.

He had never needed to ask whether Maedhros considered Gil-galad a son.

“I don’t want to talk about – him,” Fingon said with difficulty, and the salt breeze stung his face, his eyes. “I know you loathe him, and rightly; and I do, too. I do hate him; or I hate what he did. I do! But you should know – you deserve to – that he wanted you, badly, although he never met you; he never wanted the shadow on him to touch you or to taint you.

And this. You can see here where I spun off into cliffs of fall, which isn't a scion story, but sprung out of this speech. It was already there in those sketchy notes, too, a lot of what Fingon's saying here: this important line about hating Maedhros, or what he did (that movement from clear certainty to trying to separate the deeds from the loved one; to urgent reptition - I do! I mean it, I really do! - which means he doesn't, can't: this is the heart of Fingon's guilt, because he wants to hate Maedhros utterly, but he can't, and he is profoundly in denial about that).

“He always wanted children; I took that from him even before the Oath did, but I gave it back to him with you. I loved you first of all for that, but he loved you for yourself. Because you existed, against all hope and possibility and fate and chance; and because you were ours.”

Gil-galad said nothing. There was still a wildflower tucked behind his ear, but the brilliance had quite left his eyes.

“Well,” Fingon said at last. “I needed to tell you that. You should know that you were never – not only – you were wanted very much."

Beloved ineloquent Fingon, &c.

They were some miles from the beach when Gil-galad said, “‘Ours’?”

“Yes."

I was trying to let the gaps and breaks talk for me in the text. Under-writing.

The beginning was full of these little breaks, too, because they didn't yet know how to talk to each other; now at the end, that connection, and their conversations, are breaking down again. It's echoing that ride together at the beginning very strongly, but now it's not Gil-galad trying to become acquainted and Fingon giving light, unsatisfying answers. These are the real questions/answers at last, and the whole story has really been about getting to the point of Fingon and Gil-galad in Aman where they actually could have the kind of conversation Gil-galad was trying to have at the start.

Some miles further, Fingon said, “Did you ever meet him in Beleriand? After I died. I always wondered.”

“No,” Gil-galad said.

It didn’t seem like he was going to speak again, and Fingon had begun to assimilate that knowledge, that pain – that Maedhros had never seen him, had only ever known him through Fingon’s own eyes – when he added,

“But I saw what he did. Have you ever seen a whole city ruined, and known the ruiners to be Elves? It wasn’t even a city, poor Sirion! It was a refuge, a place for the desperate, as far to the West as they could get, as close to the safety of the Sea. They had so very little. No great stone palaces, no towers, no spires. Little enough fresh food. They were able to grow so little, and they lived on fish, and sea-weed, and what brave hunting parties would bring back; and hope. They lived on hope, and they thought Elwing wore it around her throat, but the Valar didn’t come for them: Maedhros Fëanorion and his brothers did instead, and they burned and killed and ravaged. I’d say they salted the earth, but it was salt already. To fall on any innocent Elven city would be a horror: on poor Sirion it was the greatest cruelty I ever saw, and entirely pointless."

They said nothing more.

I like this, too, actually. You see a little here of why Gil-galad might be healthily sceptical of the Valar - they didn't come for them: Maedhros Feanorion and his brothers did instead - and that very post-war experience of seeing a descrated, destroyed town. Worse when you had seen it when it was whole, when you knew the dead and fled.

Sirion is, I think, the worst thing the Feanorions did. I find it worse than even Doriath or Alqualonde (though they're all awful!). These were desperate survivors, huddled together at the edge of the sea for protection. So many of their leaders had been killed or lost. Idril and Tuor had disappeared; Earendil was away; Maedhros and the others struck while only Elwing was there, and she was so young, and so alone, and so damaged already by what they'd done in Doriath. And now they’d come again. There's something about the revictimisation that gets me. It's awful.

I wanted it to be weight and counter-weight - that soft, painful, remembered moment of Maedhros seeing baby Gil-galad through Fingon's eyes, something Fingon has clearly not deliberately thought about since he was reborn, but dredges up now for Gil-galad, because he should know: and which is echoed in the beginning by Fingon's question to Finrod. But Maedhros is still the person who did the things he did, and I wanted to set that soft moment of truth against his deeds at Sirion, another truth, to point out clearly why Gil-galad would recoil so hard from this offering, this honesty Fingon wants to be able to give him. This is the dichotomy at the heart of the story: reconciling Maedhros and how one felt for him with what he did, and how one feels about that. It is irresolvable, at least for Fingon, at least at the moment I've ended it at for now.

I don't know if this is quite what you wanted, @warrioreowynofrohan, especially because like I said, I wrote this story in a frantic fog, but I hope this in some way suffices!

#not!fic

47 notes · View notes

tmabigbang · 3 years

Text

Masterpost of TMA Big Bang 2020 Fics

To prevent clogging up anyone’s dash, we have put all of these fics under a read more since there are 28 wonderful fics created for this bang, which makes for a bit of a long post! Below the cut are links and summaries to all the fics created for this bang!

In addition to this post, you can also check out our fic page (which you can find here)! The fic page includes links to all the fics, art, and the team members that helped create them! You can also use some basic filters for rating and oneshot/multichapter to find fics.

Thank you again to all our participants, and we will see you next year!

Your Job’s A Joke (You’re Broke) by @bisexualoftheblade and @desert-lily

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27590578

Summary: Working at the Magnus Institute was stressful by default. With monsters, mayhem, and potential primordial entities, it has very little expectations for being a comfortable job. However, everyone is allowed to have a little fun sometimes - even an archivist, their assistants, and their really creepy boss. Fueled by spite and a rampant lack of heterosexuality, they all try to balance their work life with a bit of fun and a healthy dose of bullying twelve-times divorced Elias Bouchard.

I Know The End by @williammatagot

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27947966

Summary: Except, for all that beautiful poetry, Eliot was wrong, because the world doesn’t end with a bang, sure, but it doesn’t end with a whimper, either. It ends with the distant-yet-deafening voice of the man Martin loves shouting through a ragged, wild throat--I open the door. (The world ends, Jon shatters, and Martin tries to fix it. The house tries, too, in its own way.)

From the Depth of the Spiral by @trickstergod14

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27842941

Summary: Michael had no idea what was going on. He suddenly woke up in the tunnels under the Magnus Institute with no memories of the past seven years after that fateful trip to Sannikov Land. Watch as he slowly spirals into madness, regaining his memories while strengthening his bond with the Distortion along the way. Can he hide all this from the other Archival Assistants? What will happen when Jon wakes up from his coma? And what does the newly crowned Distortion Avatar, Helen, have to do with all this?

Every Word I Say is Kindling (But The Smoke Clears When You’re Around) by @ohnoimdeathing

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27956897

Summary: The unknowing left Jon stirring in the nightmares of others, watching their torment and suffering and making everything worse. He wanted to wake up, to go back to Martin, Tim, Basira, even Daisy. But he didn’t know how to. Until a voice told him to choose Though, to be honest, he doesn’t remember actually making the choice to stay a monster and live rather than be human and die. The only injury the doctors will talk about is his missing eyes, and why are all the doctors Scottish? At least Martin is here.

Spinning ‘Round (like two sides of a coin) by @awayofunderstandingit

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27835756

Summary: Time is a construct. What we know as past, present, and future all exist at the same time, ad infinitum. • Guided not by time but a spoken word poem, follow along the lives of two intertwined souls, Timothy Stoker and Sasha James. The story of their friendship from the time they meet, through growing apart, to when they fall back together, and through their time working at the Magnus Institute. Witness slices of their lives—not memories, memories would suggest the past—as they exist, ad infinitum, even at The End.

retrouvailles by @jet-siquliak

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27818092

Summary: The Magnus Institute burns. The archivist, for all intents and purposes, burned with it. In a dingy hospital room lies what remains - Jonathan sims. weak, powerless, and insignificant. On Jon’s last day in the hospital, Martin awakes from a coma, unscathed. Melanie King kicks the dirt that once housed the institute. Tim stoker wakes up in the middle of nowhere. Elias Bouchard is dead. No one knows where to go from there. Or: the destruction of one home and the making of another.

Still, I’ll Always Keep the Memory by @revolutionnaire-e

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27932125

Summary: [MARTIN turns, stepping out of the shadows towards him. It is blood, not tears. His left eye is not his own. His eyes never shone that blinding green, never shone with such malice or self-satisfied pride.] MARTIN BLACKWOOD Pleasure to see you again, Archivist.

Making Home by @cuddlytogas

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27664805

Summary: After the events in the Panopticon, Jon and Martin rush to leave London. But making their home in an idyllic safe house isn't that easy: between the layer of dust, and Forsaken still clinging to Martin's heels, it could be some time before they reach an understanding.

called your name ‘til the fever broke by @corpsesoldier

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27845161

Summary: Basira made a promise to her partner. At the end of the world, a monster comes and demands she keep it.

assorted family photos by @lesbianbirds

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27903979

Summary: When setting off on a research trip, it is advised that you prepare yourself for certain oddities that may greet you. or; key moments in a world where the entities are weaker and everyone got a bit more therapy

Timothy Stoker’s Guide to Dating by @pezilla

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27841267

Summary: Timothy Stoker has a lot of advice when it comes to matters of the heart, online agony aunt, gossip monger and general love guru. He has a list and he sticks to it. Or he did. That was before he took a job at the Magnus Institute and before he met three of the most fascinating and frustrating people to ever come into his life. Rule #7 under no circumstances fall for a co-worker. Yeah, that rule was starting to become a problem.

Running the Institute by @drowsy-salamander

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27878306

Summary: Caroline Ferguson, the entirety of the Magnus Institute's legal department, is furiously ignoring any weirdness that could be going on in her workplace, from the tech issues to the vanishing colleagues to the everything about Artefact Storage, Caroline will turn a very deliberate blind eye. They're are not her problem. Now if only those murders could also stop.

kindred spirits (not so scarce as I used to think) by @pollylittlehigher-littlelower

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27914821

Summary: An Anne of Green Gables inspired AU, set in modern day England. Jon and Georgie are childhood best friends, but the two stop talking after a falling out. Even doing their best to avoid each other, Georgie struggles to escape him, even while dealing with her own mental health issues and a blossoming romance with her housemate, Melanie. Is Jon truly the kindred spirit she once considered him? Or will the two eventually part ways for good?

Friends of Empty Graves by @artswaps

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27974807

Summary: After the coffin, she cuts her hair. Who is Alice Tonner? People are searching for her in the space she left behind, in the person she was. Daisy looks elsewhere, and tries not to choke.

just let the feeling grow by @ajkal2

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27838447

Summary: Jon is a musician. He plays songs for a living. Except love songs. He doesn't do love songs, and he makes this quite clear with anyone interested in working with him. Except his manager has booked him for a wedding. Without asking. With days before the festivities start, Jon needs help. Desperately. He won't get it from his hosts, the Lukas family. He certainly won't get it from his manager. However, there's a certain amateur poet on the Lukas' staff who has a talent for making love sound genuine.

World Cold and Hard, Moth Boy Warm and Soft by @lcjenkinswriting

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27827491

Summary: Jon, a young moth fairy, leaves the nest in search of a place that feels like home

tapes winding forward by @ghostbustermelanieking

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27858721

Summary: Martin ignores him, stops him mid-sentence to say, "Jon, what have you heard about time travel?" --- Martin and Jon wake up two years in the future. It goes about as well as can be expected.

MAG 26.5: Beach Episode by @ebenrosetaylor

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27882746

Summary: Sasha is aware of the rising tensions in the archives after Martin was stalked by Prentiss and after she had her own encounter with Michael. In an attempt to boost morale and bring them closer together, Tim suggests that they all visit the beach to unwind and get their minds off of all things paranormal. Sasha takes it upon herself to make sure that everyone has fun and relaxes, but she forgets to give herself that luxury.

Rewrite The Rulebook by @radiosandrecordings

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27823774

Summary: "Panic! Bloody panic! I've been out since I was fifteen and never once actually brought someone home. I think I just wanted to seem like I had my life together, y’know? Mainly I just... I think I just wanted someone to be there with me, so I wasn't just alone with her the entire time. A bit of comfort.” There was pause as Martin let out a dramatic sigh, seemingly relieved to ramble out his thoughts. "... I could go with you. If you want."

A Test In Patience by @talking4the1

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27917749

Summary: Elias is going about his day as the new head of the Magnus Institute in 1995. Some spreadsheets to do, meetings to attend mundane and supernatural. Nothing seems out of place until The Eye calls him to Bournemouth.

Of Mothers and Memory by @loverdontleave

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27856585

Summary: There is a story to be told, of two people, a mother and a son. Of their history together, and the sacrifices they made for each other. Perhaps they loved each other once, but that thread of connection has weakened on one end, fraying away. And it is so, so cold.

Would That I Were Golden Dust by @that-one-girl-behind-you

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27734197

Summary: The world is a lot more dangerous with your soul walking by your side, and Entities aren’t shy about feeding on golden Dust.

Till Death, Parted by @bigowlenergy

Ao3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27749680

Summary: Jon gets caught after ripping out Gerry’s page by Trevor & Julia, and through a comedy of errors ends up engaged as an excuse. Somehow, Jon gets out alive, Gerry is freed, and they have the two hunters accompanying them as bodyguards - and as best man and best woman - without a fight. Living alone in Gerry’s London safe house afterwards will be totally fine. Jon is fine. He knows what coping is and everything! Totally fine.

The Spoken Word by @drumkonwords

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802708/chapters/68066326

Summary: Jon wants. Their pinky twitches — stretching and curling to the tune of something musical. The song of wanting, with its motifs of long, low notes. Starting quiet and mumbling up into Jon’s chest until the strings of their heart vibrate like the strings of a double bass and all they can do is wonder who’s tune they’re matching. But they know.

First Aid by @platypik

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27948284

Summary: Jon is certain Martin has been acting strangely all morning. When Martin offhandedly mentions he took a bad tumble off the tube to work, Jon suddenly Knows that the fall had given Martin a nasty fracture. Despite his desperate pleading, Martin stubbornly refuses to let Jon drive him to the hospital. In fact, it seems he would much rather take care of it himself than have Jon worry and fuss over him. Jon would disagree.

Burning Bright, In the Forests of the Night by @triffidsandcuckoos

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27915400

Summary: The safehouse bursts into flames at their backs. You can choose to change the path. Just be ready for what else you might change.

i’ve been static for too long by @furryjefferson

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27887878

Summary: Jonathan Sims ends up with a stranger’s phone on the way home from work. All signs point to the Magnus Institute, and all roads lead to its mysterious archivist: Martin Blackwood.

through the clouds like a moonbeam by @digital-waterfall

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27877402

Summary: After passing through the Vast’s domain, Jon is left with an unexpected surprise-- a pair of wings. Unsurprisingly, Martin finds them beautiful. Also unsurprisingly, Jon does not.

#tma big bang 2020 #fic masterpost #the magnus archives #tma

79 notes · View notes

mfackenthal · 4 years

Text

The MFackenthal Show with Special Guest Star @hopefulmoonobject!

banner by @whenyourheartskipsabeat

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Megs: Hello Hello Hello! And welcome to the first episode of The MFackenthal Show - Covid19 edition. Today we are going to air footage from an interview that was originally recorded back in late 2019. So while you will see Megs and her wonderful special guest interacting and sitting within six feet of each other at the beginning of the footage, after the pre-recorded tape, we’ll check in with our special guest via zoom.

The screen gets all blurry for a second before we see …

Megs: Hello Hello Hello! Please help me welcome to the stage our guest star for today, @hopefulmoonobject.

Nesha: Gently smiles and gives a small wave as she walks on stage.

She and Megs hug before they both sit down.

Megs: Nesha, I am so glad you are here! I have loved your work for so long now. It feels like forever ago that I was binging A Royal Mate/Finding the One.

Nesha: I think you read it all in less than a week. It was impressive.

Megs: Quickly stands and gives a little bow. I am a fanfic addict. I have a problem but I do not want a cure. Especially now that you’re wowing the world with Atelophobia; teaching us psychological terms and giving us great content. I know that we are all happy to see Liam and Z get married.

Nesha: Don’t worry, there is still fun in store!

Megs: Oh, I’m not worried. BUT I have definitely jumped ahead. Sorry, I just couldn’t wait to shower you with complements. But, let’s back up. Tell us all how you came to tumblr and how you created your tumblr handle.

Nesha: Well, let’s see, I joined the fandom some time at the end of Oct 2017. I was strictly a reader at the time. My tumblr handle was tumblr generated - but it was perfect because I used to collect anything that was sun, moon, or stars related. I didn’t really know how this tumblr thing worked and I didn’t comment on everything I read, but I did like them. It was actually a little intimidating to start talking to people.

Megs: A lot of people feel intimidated talking to people. That’s why this show exists. People will see you and know that they can talk to you! Thanks for coming on the show, by the way!

Nesha: Of course, Megs! I’m honored to be here.

Megs: What brought you to the fandom?

Nesha: I stumbled onto choices and played for about 3 months before I found tumblr. I started reading then interacting with others that were just as obsessed with this game as I was. There is some amazing talent in this fandom.

I even just started binging Supernatural because of some of the fics that have been popping up. I haven’t finished it yet though.

Megs: I love Supernatural! I know there are others out there who love it too! There are a lot of seasons though! Laughs Anyways, what do you love about the fandom?

Nesha: I love that people all over the globe can come together over a game. I have met some wonderful people because of this fandom and Choices. It was some of these people that gave me the courage to write my first fic. I used to write mostly poetry when I was younger, but I hadn’t written in years and then after a Camp NaNoWriMo, I became a writer.

Megs: That is amazing! Tell us about what you have written!

Nesha: Oh gosh … well, I must say that I am very proud of Finding the One AU. It was my first series, and very dear to my heart.

I also loved the series that I was co-writing with Alex, but just with everything and living on two different continents, it is hard to find the time at this juncture. There is still a chapter I wrote with a very talented writer named Meg, that I still need to finish and post.

Megs: You flatter me! But I did have a great time writing with you! And as anyone who has talked to me knows, I will do almost anything to get myself into a fic. So, Camp NaNoWriMo graduate, what advice do you have for other writers? Especially other fanfic writers?

Nesha: Write what you feel, but I would ask that you are mindful of stereotypes. Also, don’t let anyone chase you away. I know what it feels like not getting a lot of comments, that did stress me out, then I had to remember why I was writing in the first place. Yes, it is nice to have people like and comment on your work (I am bad at it, sorry) I can only keep up with a handful of series then I go back and find the others to read them too.

Megs: Oh gosh, it’s impossible to read everything! It’s almost impossible to read everything by just one amazing author, let alone the entire fandom! I used to think crazy things like, “could people just take a day off from writing so I could catch up!!! Please?!” laughs But more seriously, What’s your writing process?

Nesha: Just sit in front of a keyboard and let it flow. I have plots that I have thought of in the beginning, but by the second or third chapters the characters kinda take over. It is like that for my latest story Atelophobia. Some of the chapters had taken on a very different route than I had originally planned. But I am loving it.

Megs: That’s such great advice. I think it’s Stephen King in his book about writing called “On Writing” who says that one should write every day. He mentions having some days where he just throws everything that he writes away. Okay, now tell me, it’s obvious that you love Liam. What about Liam seems to inspire you so much?

Nesha: I mean who doesn’t like a man who is educated, intelligent, doesn’t take you for granted, your happiness is important to them, as well as your thoughts? They want more than just a pretty face. and treats you like a Goddess in and out of the bedroom.

Megs: Nope, can’t argue with that logic!

Now, Nesha … I have a little bit of a surprise for you. Megs reaches behind the couch and pulls out a stuffed animal in the shape of a skunk. She passes it over to Nesha.

Nesha: Hugs the skunk and starts laughing. Megs, I love it. How did you know!? Oh my gosh, I know it’s weird, but I like the smell a skunk makes! No, I don’t want a direct blast, but I don’t mind it. I blame the fact that I moved into a dorm with no air conditioning and lived on the first floor. Some thought it was funny to shoot a skunk with a slingshot, and wildlife had to come out and put it out of its misery, right under my window. Lived with that smell for weeks. I will cherish “Tulip” the skunk forever.

The screen blurs out and we see Megs all by herself again.

Megs: It’s such a good thing we had this older footage, otherwise, I don’t know how we would be able to air this show during social distancing! I thought my producers were crazy when they wanted to film ahead like that. I really have to hand it to them. Now, let’s check in with Nesha!

Megs calls Nesha on her phone and soon we hear Nesha say hi, but it’s Tulip sitting in a chair that we can see on the TV screen that is paired to the phone.

Megs: busts out laughing Well, hello Tulip! How are you? I haven’t seen you in so long. Is Nesha treating you well?

Nesha: using a cute child voice Oh yes, Megs, Nesha is treating me very well. I get all the food I want and I get to help her write more stories of Liam. I am a very lucky skunk.

Megs: That’s great, Tulip! I’m so glad to hear that. Any chance Nesha is around?

Nesha: pops into the screen, moving Tulip to be sitting in her lap as she takes Tulip’s chair Hey Megs! It’s great to see you! How are you liking your own show? How are you holding up with all the craziness going around about COVID-19?

Megs: I am loving the show! Each episode is unique. Some are crazy ridiculous (cough @cordoniansgonewild) others are more innocent and sweet. Sometimes I lack the motivation to write them, but when I take your advice and just let it flow, it always does. COVID-19 has actually been quite a joy for me personally. I’m working from home and loving it! I do feel awful for those who have lost their jobs or are truly terrified to leave their houses. If any of you are feeling down or depressed, please know that I’m always available to talk.

And that’s today’s show! Thank you all for tuning in! I can’t wait to see you all again soon! Byee all!!!

Nesha: waves to everyone Stay safe everyone.

Oh, and in case you missed some of the references to @hopefulmoonobjects work, check it out here.

~~~~~

And now for the tags. I’m only tagging people who have specifically mentioned an interest in The MFackenthal Show. If you want to be added to the tag list for these or removed, please let me know!

@hopefulmoonobject @queen-among-writers, @hopelessromantic1352, @lilyofchoices, @msjpuddleduck, @theroyalweisme, @loveellamae

#The Mfackenthal Show #Special guest hopefulmoonobject #Tulip the Skunk #Episode 13 #Damn that description of Liam!

10 notes · View notes

gplewis · 4 years

Text

🎨

here’s the mess I created on my easel of raw thoughts today, i post it so to relieve myself of the burden of consciousness; i am also relearning what it is to Be a Person and Post Online; I am tired of thinking and closing the gaps between thoughts and feelings, memories and concepts, and maybe it is crucial that I wring my instruments out completely every day for years ~ why? to be great? to be free? undeniable? i have stopped making sense, and the burden of all this content i’ve made becomes greater; the mess to reflect on and scroll past grows larger and more gruesome, yet something urges me on to keep using every word i know and turn it into material, i have given up every other life, every other goal, i have insisted on my silence and freedom and now i must sing the song that makes it worth it, oh god, would i tell you to click elsewhere?

https://linktr.ee/gplewis

all my other stuff is there; i don’t know how to plate myself yet, i’m insane, but i’m shipping this stuff to you for free, here, world, take it all and eat it, digest me, spit me back out as fowl feathers and rusty bone — oh, an impossible image! yes, makes sense; oh, words running into each other, colliding in patterns that aren’t mathematical; oh, more brain cycles that don’t fit, more dementia, more risks of alienation, more reason to go from imagined to real

stop making sense was the musicians’ advice i heeded

swimming in Pinterest pins before the world ends, drawing for my inner sensor directions to the promised land: surely these two co-imagine my final resting place when nestled together in this digital box birthed today, live, right here, mooing calf ~ oh no, the voice is off its hinges

oh no now it doesn’t make sense who will know how to delete this?

how to live uncontainable?

if someone dares brand my leakage;

poems from today that could use some line breaks

poetry flow 9/24/20; dare I brand? SOME MAN WITH POWER AND STATURE: COME RESCUE ME! but no, all there is is the iron hand of Sylvia Plath with a feminine mystique injected in like air flowing through veins that open up like poppies on an undisturbed hillside that looks at no calendar, measures itself according to no past

it is me who is separated from the people i love perception is the distance; not acting is the only holdup; my own choked throat locked up with not-speaking; doesn’t current want to flow? who is the wanter? need i know? knowledge is the chokepoint of course, that impossible possession

who could sort this poetry? everyone is online remembering or filming a video trying to get close to an essence

tracking the meaning, doing the acts I’ve become an expert seafarer of the void in which nothing counts and nothing lasts nothing is real except chemistry and fear and love and love and LOVE the real children we love; love’s insistence on reality an invention the camera freezes for us: we look and we believe

as the spiritual athlete’s quick but abstract ability to let go I can take a clipping from anything and continue it, continue any other human’s thought as if it were mine, intuit their situation (having consumed too many slices, glimpsed too many cracks of light emanating from broken hearts, hungry lives, fervors for success, aspiration machines seated at laptops bleating their desire, sheep hoping for rescue, to be clicked and paid enough, a slippery mountain of meaningless consequence — the powerful play goes on without us; we cling to life and our standing but it is nothing, it is water flowing down a cliff, and even being one of greats is no salvation; knowing is no escape from living. Chop wood, carry water, survive your family, interpret your connections to others, keep the act going,

if only i could share what i see and the glory of seeing, and have you understand how i’ve arrived at it; i’ve made myself a plane hard to land, impossible to land; i drive down and there’s no surface, only void — above us, only sky; no hard surface to etch into that wouldn’t suffer and lose the competition for sight against the other surfaces and screwed-up eyeballs; can a poet love anything but his silence?

seeking what’s beyond the human compass for years now a decade plus proof is there, wanna see? the picasso quotes from 2010, proof of my longing for justice and peace with the cosmos digital money permission safety won’t be hard or given, it can’t but poetry can fall from my hunger and it won’t be good enough i could die writing and refresh the pile of all below making poets great again pushing the cement block forward making it maybe possible once more to be the kind of person who observes, thinks, notices, knows how to look speaks sings paints dances do we want it? who will finance it? how could it be? how could it not be? we’re writing a cautionary tale collectively

noticing a squirrel climbing the steps with limbs like mine we both share using our bodies to rescue us to pull us up naked on the planet

doing unpaid symphonies giving music away for free for free for free for free maybe doing it is the way to make it real, make it the norm, yes don’t you wish to be rescued by normalcy?

these could be poems if someone broke down the door and defined you, brought you out or maybe they only make sense if you’re dead

what happens when you’re out of gas? thought thought endless rabbit void wandering in again nothing there, no food water shelter nothing to hold you yet you go through the door to eternity to nothingness obliteration and can’t resist? why? life is here, a woman her arms surely you can’t just sketch your way to staying away from life, resisting buying a house, housing yourself, fulfilling the proper I guess mine is a liquid war with propriety

keep going in the dark might be the only advice keep doing the mystical keep making what has to be made keep making what there is to make from your awareness, your inner voice it would be strange at first, no? this conversation with no one featuring a new person if only the whole mess could be uploaded and understood tweeting is a writing aid, writing is a tweeting aid it’s all practice, performance, conversation, metrics, measurement, discussion: but who pays the rent? is there a man working a boring job somewhere? why is that the solution? but of course the man (me) asking why the world isn’t different is alone; aloneness is the virtue; i’m at the center of my decay

waiting to be bought

posting everywhere hoping someone sees it at least i die in league with other people posting too floating heads active now, making stuff, going live putting themselves out there radiating their essence into the universe i am rebuilding my world in a way someone could read and make sense of maybe these lines endlessly tabbed down this flow, this inner music only i heard is readable, will be read, recognized, made real in the world i look at onscreen and call ‘the world’; i wonder if we’re all trying to merge our versions of the world

write as if there is no world the silence of everyone being elsewhere it’s like I woke up to a Twitter and was the last man alive, empty planet

leaking manifold fuselage falling into the sea an explosion waiting to happen and devastate the audience who's already reeling, can't bear another video of bad news bad news bad news worse news no, save them, give them something happy a clown dressed in white & red would that do?

there will be no rescue but perception and inaction, followed by actions you wish someone would understand like you do

we’re just looking for someone whose inner voice is ours; we’re looking for ourself but it’s not enough and so we find a competitor draw them close like an escaped prisoner would be drawn and quartered in Medieval times, limbs pulled apart by horses running outward from a center I join the artists who paint darkly

1 note · View note

tothedarkdarkseas · 4 years

Note

For fanfic writer ask meme: E, J, K, M, P(for any fic or all your fics), R, T, X, and Y. (If that's too many questions, then you can split the answer into multiple posts. Also, no need to answer if you already answered these questions before.)

Thank you so much! I’ll put these below a cut just to account for the length, and I pray Tumblr works like it’s supposed to this evening! I appreciate you having an interest!

E: What character do you identify with most? Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

I really do not identify with Gorillaz characters and thank god for it, or most characters I tend to prefer! Haha, I know that might sound a bit strange, but I can think of very few characters I’d call “my favorite” that I also felt were a reflection of myself in a major way. Of course that isn��t implying that representation isn’t important, but just speaking for my own personal relationship to media– I live with myself all the time, I like people who live very different lives! Having said that, of the characters I write (all two, possibly three of ‘em) I’d say I identify with some of Stu’s worst qualities over anything else: being unambitious but craving reward, self-centered yet lacking in a concrete sense of self, dumb about mostly everything, overcompensating (to be fair, this is Murdoc as well) and so on. Despite picking fun at him I definitely have an affection for an unlikable guy like Stu, I do have sympathy for being sorta pathetic because I feel like I can access that.

J: What’s your favorite fanfic trope? Have you written it?

Hmm! That’s hard to say! At the risk of being an absolute knob, I don’t tend to be a fan of tropes, or at least what I think is meant here by “fanfic tropes” like uhh… the heat goes out and we have to share a bed, or that kind of thing? Is that what this means, the sort of repeated setups for fics? There’s of course a place for everything so I’ve got no real beef with more innocuous stuff, but I wouldn’t say I ever pick to read something because it’s got a “classic” trope. I’m definitely rife with tropes in the broader sense though, I’m rife with things I like and clearly just repeat, haha. I do not smoke pot, but I have a real affinity for characters who do, and this is evidenced by having like… half my stories feature that, haha. If a scene where two characters creep up to being intimate via sharing a joint/bowl/bong counts, that’s definitely a trope I’ve done and would probably do again.

K: Do you have a guilty pleasures in fic (reading or writing)?

Does the above count? I’d certainly call myself self-indulgent, haha, I like what I like and I don’t stray very far from it. I think unsatisfying or incompatible intimacy is really interesting and I honestly never get tired of reading or writing that. (Er, as much as I “don’t get tired” of writing anything, which is not saying much as I’m very bad and undisciplined.)

M: What’s the weirdest AU scenario you’ve ever come up with? Did it turn into a story?

The only AU I’ve written is Coffin Dancer, which is a story set in the early 1900s about Murdoc being a reanimated corpse and Stu being a gravedigger who buries/exhumes him. Sexy, I know, nothing hotter than… long paragraphs about digging. I think the occult element makes that one a bit weirder than anything else I’ve come up with. I’ve kind of entertained other AU ideas but they tend to be a lot more mundane, to be frank I just really like the characters as they are and I don’t want to change their dynamic too much. As a joke I once suggested something about a riverboat casino (Stu working there, Murdoc trying to pull a money laundering scam via currency exchange, potentially convincing Stu to go in on the scam with him) and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still think about it sometimes and question how to make it work, haha. I think it might be fun to do an AU again, but I think there’s just too much of a gap between what I’d want to do or be capable of doing, and what people actually want to read.

P: Where did you find the most inspiration for your story ?

Oh gosh, this makes it sound so important and I feel like the biggest jag going to pretend I’ve made anything that great or with particularly impressive roots, haha. A couple came from prompts, so that’s a fairly straightforward answer.

I first began planning Coffin Dancer because I was playing Graveyard Keeper on Steam at the time, haha. If you load up this game, you’ll quickly see there is next to no plot and it is simply a crafting sim. I just sorta… liked the setting, I guess? It is the 1900s and it does follow a graveyard keeper! Following that, I decided it would be a story about Murdoc’s skin turning from tan to green as it does in canon, but giving it a bit of a morbid tint, as opposed to the vague canon handwaves of Murdoc being “immortal” with no clear explanation of what that means.

Ampersands was mostly inspired by me being a big Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan and thinking it’d be fun to show a dynamic similar to Angelus/Drusilla/Spike, but heavily reworked to fit our characters. The first scene I imagined was the shoelace-tying one which has some resemblance to a shot of Angelus knelt at Spike’s feet while still mocking him, and that ended up being the very last scene I wrote (and probably one of the weaker ones.)

On Oysters and Black Water was actually the story that required the least research from me, as I already had an interest in oyster filtration and oyster reef restoration. By no means am I an expert nor is this story a genuinely educated look at this process (I am Genuinely Educated on zero things) but I definitely knew when planning a PB story that I wanted oysters to be used for a filtration system on the island, just as a little nod to something I find neat!

R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?

This really puts me at risk of sounding knobbish, so to start with: I’m not really a writer. Fanfiction writer is already not the most impressive title, but even that I feel is a little generous for me. I’ve written things, but I struggle far too much and have too little dedication to pretend it’s something I feel “cut from the same cloth” as these folks to do. The writers I admire have “influenced” me in the sense that I’ve wished I could write that way, and I’ve probably/definitely ripped them off.

Some will find this laughable, but I’m a fan of Joey Comeau’s writing style. I’ve enjoyed every book he’s published, in particular the short novels Malagash and Lockpick Pornography, and especially his… err, non-novel collection of cover letters Overqualified. (I think I’ve read Overqualified more than anything else on my bookshelf, but this is saying very very little as you can sit down and read it in about 30 minutes.) The darkly comedic way he presents these ideas, how he’ll expand on these very offbeat details and veer so far from the topic, then take sudden sharp turns into something uncomfortable is just enjoyable to me.

Also somewhat cliched now, but Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn is a beautiful book to me. Beagle’s writing style is ideal for the fantasy setting, the poetry in his prose does not tip over the “purple” line for me (but I’ve always been unclear where the line is, obviously) and I’d really… feel like I’d accomplished something if I could say anything half as powerful as this book.

Shirley Jackson, (famously) the author of The Lottery and (less famously) We Have Always Lived in the Castle springs to mind as well. The latter in particular has a gothic tone, an at times strange sentence structure and an unreliable POV, which probably influenced Coffin Dancer stylistically and everything else I’ve done in perspective/structure.

But as far as influences, nothing more directly influenced me than @elapsed-spiral‘s writing and characterization. Old drum I’ve beat before, but it’s simply the truth. I would not have tried to write fanfiction again (after… many, many years) if I hadn’t found Danni’s stories and felt that excitement of reading something truly special. Now, it’s important to note that Danni is British so they’ll come out in hives if I praise them too much, but sincerely nothing in recent years has made me feel a “passion” for reading or writing like Yearz did. The oneshots Fairy Vale and Beside the Sea also deserve special mention for just being goddamn phenomenally good character studies. “Influence on your writing” could be misleading, in the sense that Danni’s biggest strengths (namely Being Funny, Being Realistic and Knowing What You Are Talking About) are among my biggest weaknesses, and I don’t feel that stylistically we’re all that similar; on the flipside though, I think so much of my “improvement” is really owed to Danni, aaaand I don’t think you’d ever look at something I’ve written and miss the fact that it’s ripping off Yearz in one way or another.

T: Any fanfic tropes you can’t stand?

Ahaha, alright, this jogs my memory and I do remember stepping on eggshells to answer this before! I mentioned above that I’m just not a big fan of tropes in general, but that means nothing as I don’t… have good taste. I never have. Famously bad taste over here. I don’t have any interest in raining on anyone’s fun or policing fan content, but I think we’re all perfectly fine just co-existing without feeling obligated to anything. More than anything else, in Gorillaz specifically I’d say there are some portrayals of their relationship that I find a little dodgy and I tend to avoid, but I recognize full well that many people may feel the same way about me! I also just like the characters to be compelling and to be themselves, whatever your version of them is. Of course my characterization is bonkers and mostly made-up and I have no expectation that someone else’s should resemble mine, but even if we have different ideas, I don’t like to feel you can slot them out and anyone else in? Which is why standard tropes like “coffeeshop” or “fake dating” don’t tend to be my favorite. Oh, I’m also a fuddy-duddy and I don’t love the nicknames, haha.

X: How would you categorize your fanfic reading? Are you a voracious reader? Do you carefully pick and choose? Something in between?

I’m not a very big reader these days! I’d like to offer you a good excuse here, but I’m just picky, truth be told.

Y: What are your thoughts on your personal satisfaction with something you’ve written vs. the popularity of your stories? Do you tend to be most satisfied with your most popular stories?

In total honesty, it takes all of about a month to become completely unsatisfied with anything I’ve written. That’s not like, a plea for sympathy, it’s just being objective. I write comparatively little and comparatively slow, so whatever growth that may happen is still pretty limited and it’s a little disheartening, even if it’s also my own fault for having poor discipline. I would not call any of my stories “good,” at best “good for what they are.” There are definitely some I wished did better, I wished with a stupid amount of sincerity would hit some magical validating number that would Suddenly Mean It Was Good… but after a little distance, I can always understand why they wouldn’t.

Hoooowever, some are undeniably worse than others. Based on both hits and kudos, my most popular story is my first one (I Couldn’t Feel, So I Would Touch) and this is truly baffling as it’s garbage. I mean, with no exaggeration I just think this is bad writing through and through, it’s truly just the worst thing I’ve written over the age of 20. I hoped I’d get this question purely because of this, haha, I feel such shame every time I see this story at the top of my statistics page. If we consider that to be the “most popular,” no, I do not tend to be most satisfied with the most popular story. We could define that differently though; for example, I think the story that got the most notes here and I received spectacular fanart on (a thing I just… can’t believe can happen, how nice is that?) was Oysters, and at a time I did consider that my favorite, I was incredibly proud of it when I posted, and even if I’ve grown exhausted by my overwriting too much to read it again I do still rate it pretty favorably compared to the others. So it depends on what constitutes popular! But if we’re just talking hits and kudos, sadly my stats page puts some of the worst stuff at the top.

#i've got to head to bed so i apologize if there are any glaring errors in this answer!#Anonymous #thank you very much for the letters! that's a kindness!

2 notes · View notes

jennyslcte · 4 years

Text

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand we’re back with a second character....

YOU

NAME/ALIAS: Bucky or Mel! Either is fine w me, fellas.

TIMEZONE: EST

RANDOM FACT: i gotta think of another random fact...i don’t have the brain cells for this omg.....ok one time i told this kid in my elementary school that my dad was in the mafia so he would stop bothering me LMAO

CHARACTER

jenny slate, 37, female, she/her // in COCONUT GROVE, you’ll find MAYA WOLLMAN who’s lived there for THIRTY YEARS and they spend their days working as A RECEPTIONIST AT THE BILTMORE GOLF CLUB. They’ve been described as COLLECTIONS OF MAKEUP, INTENSE EMOTIONS, AND DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILIES by the people that know them. Which makes sense when you consider that they can be PASSIONATE + INDEPENDENT but also CRUEL + FICKLE. // bucky, 20, she/her, est. @miamiintros

NAME: Maya Wollman.

FACECLAIM: Jenny Slate.

PINTEREST: Here!

BACKGROUND: TRIGGER WARNINGS: abuse, child abuse, neglect, and depression.

Maya grew up in a really, really dysfunctional family. There was always fighting in her house. Whether it be about money or something really small, there was always fighting no matter what. Her parents often took out their troubles on their three children, Maya being the oldest. Maya was kinda the protector to her younger siblings for most of her life.

She was born in New York but moved to Miami when she was seven, so she’s been here almost her entire life. Her and her family moved ALLLLLLL THE TIME. They were never in one place for more than one or two years because they always got evicted one way or another.

Maya dropped out of high school at 16 because of all the moving and the depression she found herself in. She was really unmotivated and even when she did feel inspired she always had to come home to her exhausting family. So to her, going to school wasn’t worth it anymore.

Maya’s parents aren’t exactly terrible humans, just very messed up. She does have many amazing memories of them, but the dysfunction and abuse were enough for Maya to resent them forever, even within good moments. This often made her feel very beastly and guilty, as she’d snap at them often in good moments even when they did nothing wrong.

Around the time she turned 20, she finally started to gain her own independence and her family stopped moving so often. The fights dialed down, though they occurred here and there, dropping like large bombs out of nowhere. But random fights here and there was better than having to deal with them constantly.

Maya finally got her GED at 23 and started looking for work. From being home so much, she developed intense social anxiety and became pretty socially awkward altogether. It took her some time to get employed because of this but eventually started working in retail which helped break her out of her shell a little.

During this time, she was still annoyingly dependent on her parents, mainly because she couldn’t drive and has always had a fear of driving ever since she was a kid. So they still had to drive her places and to work, even while Maya was navigating her newfound independence.

Once Maya learned to drive, that’s when she finally started to get her own life. She saved up enough money and moved out, away from her parents and old life. She remains close, still in Miami, but doesn’t contact them very often anymore. It’s better for her mental health. She only really talks to her siblings now.

Now Maya works as a receptionist at the Biltmore Golf Club and has stayed at this job for almost 10 years. It’s a good job, helps her pay the bills, and she doesn’t hate it. That’s enough for Maya on most days.

For now, Maya is kinda just coasting through life. She’s a bit stagnant, neither unhappy or sad either. There’s a large part of her that craves something more, something thrilling and amazing. But she’s not exactly sure what that thing is.

HEADCANONS.

Maya loves makeup and is basically always wearing a full face!!! Her go-to is a no-makeup makeup look with a red lip.

Despite being a Sagittarius, she’s not very adventurous. Mainly because she’s never gotten the opportunity to be adventurous at all. She kinda thinks it’s a little too late for her to do so, though she craves adventure and new things SO MUCH.

LOVES COOKING!!!!!!! Ask her to cook for you and she’ll do it happily.

She goes to therapy every other week and has been since she was 20.

Maya hates really hot weather which is ironic because she lives in Miami, she’s so chaotic lmao.

Loves fashion and clothes.

Writes poetry.

HAS HELLA COMMITMENT ISSUES

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Literally anything at all. I don’t have anything for her yet so anything is on the table! Exes, one night stands, people who help her live a little, best friends, some school friends from when she was a kid would be AWESOME, ex-friends, ride or dies, found family, co-workers, LOVE INTERESTS!!!!!!!!!!!! Anything at all, just hmu. Like I said in my other intro post, you can message me here or on discord! My username is #bucky1149.

#miamiintro #i'm so excited to play her fr #we out here

5 notes · View notes

gnosticgnoob · 5 years

Text

Variations on a Theme: "The Weird vs The Quantifiable" -- Aggregated Commentary from within the Gutenberg Galaxy

The pursuit of examining the world through philosophy, mathematics, and science tends to be seen as expanding the borders of what is known and quantified, conquering the territory of what is not yet known. In this pursuit, the investigator encounters wonder or the "weird", and what ideologically separates some philosophers and scientists from others is whether the investigator sets aside the weird as a misunderstood quirk of what is not yet known but still knowable, or the investigator takes into account the weird as a fundamental, permanent attribute of the landscape of inquiry that may perhaps always represent factors which intrinsically and inescapably evade knowledge and literary explanation, not as a bug of our understanding but as a feature of the true ontological state of affairs. The former mindset supposes that with more time and rigor, our inquiry will finally arrive at a sort of epistemological/ontological "bedrock" that dispels any sense of the bizarre, the latter treats scientific inquiry itself as necessitating the injection of a sort of subjective poetry or play to adequately do justice to the full reality of what is observed and described for our purposes, without ever expecting that we will hit such bedrock. Materialism/scientism perhaps would posit that any inclusion of the mystical or poetic in the language we use to describe the world is inappropriate, pseudo-scientific, pseudo-intellectual, or maladaptive; the mystic posits conversely that to exclude the poetic and not make room for the weird is maladaptive.

I have here a collection of excerpts from other thinkers that I think work together to allude to the mystical as a permanent fixture of our endeavors for clarification through experimentation and language, or at least suggest that a more "mystical" mindset will always be more useful than one that is conversely more in the vein of materialism/scientism trying to arrive at a "final technical vocabulary":

-------------------------------------

“We say the map is different from the territory. But what is the territory? Operationally, somebody went out with a retina or a measuring stick and made representations which were then put on paper. What is on the paper map is a representation of what was in the retinal representation of the man who made the map; and as you push the question back, what you find is an infinite regress, an infinite series of maps. The territory never gets in at all. […] Always, the process of representation will filter it out so that the mental world is only maps of maps, ad infinitum.” --Gregory Bateson, English anthropologist, social scientist, linguist, visual anthropologist, semiotician, and cyberneticist whose work intersected that of many other fields. His writings include Steps to an Ecology of Mind (1972) and Mind and Nature (1979). In Palo Alto, California, Bateson and colleagues developed the double-bind theory of schizophrenia. Bateson's interest in systems theory forms a thread running through his work. He was one of the original members of the core group of the Macy conferences in Cybernetics (1941- 1960), and the later set on Group Processes (1954 - 1960), where he represented the social and behavioral sciences; he was interested in the relationship of these fields to epistemology.

-------------------------------------

“The mind is somehow a co-creator in the process of reality through acts of language. Language is very, very mysterious. It is true magic. People run all over the place looking for paranormal abilities, but notice that when I speak if your internal dictionary matches my internal dictionary, that my thoughts cross through the air as an acoustical pressure wave and are reconstructed inside your cerebral cortex as your thought. Your understanding of my words. Telepathy exists; it is just that the carrier wave is small mouth noises.” --Terence McKenna, "Eros And The Eschaton". McKenna was called the "Timothy Leary of the '90s", an American ethnobotanist, mystic, psychonaut, lecturer, author, and an advocate for the responsible use of naturally occurring psychedelic plants. He spoke and wrote about a variety of subjects, including psychedelic drugs, plant-based entheogens, shamanism, metaphysics, alchemy, language, philosophy, culture, technology, environmentalism, and the theoretical origins of human consciousness. -------------------------------------

“If quantum mechanics hasn’t profoundly shocked you, you haven’t understood it yet. Everything we call real is made of things that cannot be regarded as real.” --Niels Bohr, Danish physicist who made foundational contributions to understanding atomic structure and quantum theory, for which he received the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1922. Bohr developed the Bohr model of the atom, in which he proposed that energy levels of electrons are discrete and that the electrons revolve in stable orbits around the atomic nucleus but can jump from one energy level (or orbit) to another. Although the Bohr model has been supplanted by other models, its underlying principles remain valid. He conceived the principle of complementarity: that items could be separately analysed in terms of contradictory properties, like behaving as a wave or a stream of particles. -------------------------------------

“We have to remember that what we observe is not nature herself, but nature exposed to our method of questioning.” --Werner Heisenberg, German theoretical physicist known for the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, which he published in 1927. Heisenberg was awarded the 1932 Nobel Prize in Physics for the creation of quantum mechanics. He also made important contributions to the theories of the hydrodynamics of turbulent flows, the atomic nucleus, ferromagnetism, cosmic rays, and subatomic particles, and he was instrumental in planning the first West German nuclear reactor at Karlsruhe. -------------------------------------

“We have no right to assume that any physical laws exist, or if they have existed up to now, that they will continue to exist in a similar manner in the future.” --Max Planck, German theoretical physicist whose discovery of energy quanta won him the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1918. Planck made many contributions to theoretical physics, but his fame as a physicist rests primarily on his role as the originator of quantum theory; the discovery of Planck's constant enabled him to define a new universal set of physical units (such as the Planck length and the Planck mass), all based on fundamental physical constants upon which much of quantum theory is based. -------------------------------------

“There is no such thing as philosophy-free science; there is only science whose philosophical baggage is taken on board without examination.” --Daniel Dennett, American philosopher, writer, and cognitive scientist whose research centers on the philosophy of mind, philosophy of science, and philosophy of biology, particularly as those fields relate to evolutionary biology and cognitive science. A member of the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry, he is referred to as one of the "Four Horsemen of New Atheism", along with Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and the late Christopher Hitchens. -------------------------------------

“Things themselves become so burdened with attributes, signs, allusions that they finally lose their own form. Meaning is no longer read in an immediate perception, the figure no longer speaks for itself; between the knowledge which animates it and the form into which it is transposed, a gap widens. It is free for the dream.” --Michel Foucault, French philosopher, historian of ideas, social theorist, and literary critic. Foucault's theories primarily address the relationship between power and knowledge, and how they are used as a form of social control through societal institutions. His thought has influenced academics, especially those working in communication studies, anthropology, sociology, cultural studies, literary theory, feminism, and critical theory. Though often cited as a post-structuralist and postmodernist, Foucault rejected these labels. -------------------------------------

“When the mind projects names and concepts on what is seen through direct perception, confusion and delusion result.” --Patanjali, sage in Hinduism, thought to be the author of a number of Sanskrit works. The greatest of these are the Yoga Sutras, a classical yoga text. -------------------------------------

“The man who says that he has no illusions has at least that one.” --Joseph Conrad, Under Western Eyes (1911). Polish-British writer regarded as one of the greatest novelists to write in the English language. Conrad wrote stories and novels, many with a nautical setting, that depict trials of the human spirit in the midst of what he saw as an impassive, inscrutable universe. Heart of Darkness is among is most famous works. Conrad is considered an early modernist, though his works contain elements of 19th-century realism. His narrative style and anti-heroic characters have influenced numerous authors, and many films have been adapted from, or inspired by, his works. Numerous writers and critics have commented that Conrad's fictional works, written largely in the first two decades of the 20th century, seem to have anticipated later world events. -------------------------------------

“I learned very early the difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something.” --Richard P. Feynman, American theoretical physicist, known for his work in the path integral formulation of quantum mechanics, the theory of quantum electrodynamics, and the physics of the superfluidity of supercooled liquid helium, as well as in particle physics for which he proposed the parton model. For contributions to the development of quantum electrodynamics, Feynman received the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1965. He assisted in the development of the atomic bomb during World War II and became known to a wide public as a member of the commission that investigated the Challenger shuttle disaster. Along with his work in theoretical physics, Feynman has been credited with pioneering the field of quantum computing and introducing the concept of nanotechnology. -------------------------------------

“The critical ontology of ourselves has to be considered not, certainly, as a theory, a doctrine, nor even as a permanent body of knowledge that is accumulating; it has to be conceived as an attitude, an ethos, a philosophical life in which the critique of what we are is at one and the same time the historical analysis of the limits that are imposed on us and an experiment with the possibility of going beyond them.” --Michel Foucault -------------------------------------

“In mystical literature such self-contradictory phrases as ‘dazzling obscurity,’ 'whispering silence,’ 'teeming desert,’ are continually met with. They prove that not conceptual speech, but music rather, is the element through which we are best spoken to by mystical truth. Many mystical scriptures are indeed little more than musical compositions. “He who would hear the voice of Nada, 'the Soundless Sound,’ and comprehend it, he has to learn the nature of Dharana…. When to himself his form appears unreal, as do on waking all the forms he sees in dreams, when he has ceased to hear the many, he may discern the ONE—the inner sound which kills the outer…. For then the soul will hear, and will remember. And then to the inner ear will speak THE VOICE OF THE SILENCE…. And now thy SELF is lost in SELF, THYSELF unto THYSELF, merged in that SELF from which thou first didst radiate.… Behold! thou hast become the Light, thou hast become the Sound, thou art thy Master and thy God. Thou art THYSELF the object of thy search: the VOICE unbroken, that resounds throughout eternities, exempt from change, from sin exempt, the seven sounds in one, the VOICE OF THE SILENCE. Om tat Sat.” (H.P. Blavatsky, The Voice of the Silence). These words, if they do not awaken laughter as you receive them, probably stir chords within you which music and language touch in common. Music gives us ontological messages which non-musical criticism is unable to contradict, though it may laugh at our foolishness in minding them. There is a verge of the mind which these things haunt; and whispers therefrom mingle with the operations of our understanding, even as the waters of the infinite ocean send their waves to break among the pebbles that lie upon our shores.” --William James, Varieties of Religious Experience. American philosopher and psychologist, and the first educator to offer a psychology course in the United States. James was a leading thinker of the late nineteenth century, one of the most influential U.S. philosophers, and has been labeled the "Father of American psychology". Along with Charles Sanders Peirce, James established the philosophical school known as pragmatism. James also developed the philosophical perspective known as radical empiricism. James' work has influenced intellectuals such as Émile Durkheim, W. E. B. Du Bois, Edmund Husserl, Bertrand Russell, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Hilary Putnam, and Richard Rorty, as well as former US President Jimmy Carter. -------------------------------------

“Metaphysical assertions, however, are statements of the psyche, and are therefore psychological. … Whenever the Westerner hears the word ‘psychological’, it always sounds to him like ‘only psychological.’” --Carl Jung, “Psyche and Symbol”. Swiss psychiatrist and psychoanalyst who founded analytical psychology. Jung's work was influential in the fields of psychiatry, anthropology, archaeology, literature, philosophy, and religious studies. Jung worked as a research scientist at the famous Burghölzli hospital, during which time he came to the attention of Sigmund Freud, the founder of psychoanalysis. The two men conducted a lengthy correspondence and collaborated, for a while, on a joint vision of human psychology. Among the central concepts of analytical psychology is individuation—the lifelong psychological process of differentiation of the self out of each individual's conscious and unconscious elements, a process which Jung considered to be the main task of human development. He created some of the best known psychological concepts, including synchronicity, archetypal phenomena, the collective unconscious, the psychological complex, and extraversion and introversion. -------------------------------------

“God is a psychic fact of immediate experience, otherwise there would never have been any talk of God. The fact is valid in itself, requiring no non-psychological proof and inaccessible to any form of non-psychological criticism. It can be the most immediate and hence the most real of experiences, which can be neither ridiculed nor disproved.” --Carl Jung -------------------------------------

“Daniel C. Dennett defines religions at the beginning of his Breaking the Spell as ‘social systems whose participants avow belief in a supernatural agent or agents whose approval is to be sought,’ which as far as Christianity goes is rather like beginning a history of the potato by defining it as a rare species of rattlesnake…. He also commits the blunder of believing that religion is a botched attempt to explain the world, which is like seeing ballet as a botched attempt to run for a bus.” --Terry Eagleton, Reason, Faith, and Revolution. British literary theorist, critic, and public intellectual, Eagleton has published over forty books, but remains best known for Literary Theory: An Introduction (1983). The work elucidated the emerging literary theory of the period, as well as arguing that all literary theory is necessarily political.

#occult #scientism #mysticism #esoterica #philosophy

11 notes · View notes

gotatext · 5 years

Text

whats up ! its ur local feral goblin nora ( 23, she/her, gmt ) bringing u yet another baby i dug out of the trash and vomited onto the dashboard. a fake psychic slash rodeo bull sensation studying at hendrix but born in marfa, texas. luvs wearing gingham print dresses and cowboy boots n always in loads of rings and necklaces w flowers in her hair. very into art and pornography, and particularly the combination of the two. wants to do a PHD on gender studies and female autonomy in porn (yeehaw!). this is a pinterest board. without further ado, here’s frida !

hendrix template.

( cis-female ) haven’t seen FRIDA CALHOUN around in a while. the ELIZA SCANLEN lookalike has been known to be (+) SCHOLASTIC & (+) PLUCKY, but SHE can also be (-) DOGMATIC & (-) SINGLE-MINDED. The 18 year old is a FRESHMAN majoring in GENDER STUDIES & VISUAL ART. I believe they’re living in AUDAX, but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nora. 22. cowboy time. she/her. )

aesthetics.

a red gingham print dress from your childhood that tugs at the seams and hitches at your thighs. brown cowboy boots still thick with the dirt of a marfa desert. stripper heels decorated with hello kitty stickers. a crystal ball you bought for a dollar from a one-eyed woman at a thrift store. dead flowers clinging to the braids of your hair. a rucksack permanently packed for the move. a streak of red across your lips. roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens. smiling with a mouthful of blood. the female orgasm cut and pasted from pornhub and superimposed onto renaissance art. sweet wrappers scattered over the vinyl seats of an older man’s car. also this pic here is a big frida mood

connection to eva & did they choose her name during the watershed?

study abroad mentor. when frida moved to the netherlands to study, she was assigned a mentor to help her settle into campus life, since she was not of dutch heritage. eva was her mentor for her first few weeks of study, though they weren’t really friends. occasionally they hung out if they saw each other out at night, but they weren’t like... super close.

ok,.... so first up ! despite going to uni in amsterdam, this gal was born and raised in the ole’ U.S of A. she’s from marfa, texas. it’s a very arty place. she was surrounded by art wankers as a child and it kind of educated her to a lot of shit, but also meant she grew up p fast?? like she learned about sex and death and violence from all these art people who thot they were Freeing her Superego n makin a genius child bt rlly.... they shd hav just let her play with dirt rather than showin her artistic representations of the inside of a dead bird.

BACKSTORY TIME.. her mother was from the wrong side of the tracks, wanted 2 go to art school and started working as an erotic dancer to pay for college but then jst.... ended up staying there. one of those girls u see in the documentaries who had Big Plans but ultimately never got to pursue them n jst got.... sucked in by the money

frida was raised in dressing rooms surrounded by sparkly costumes and nipple pasties and leotards and the like. as a kid she’d try to trot about in her moms heels n yearned for the day she’d be able to be on stage.

if you’ve seen pretty baby its a bit similar to tht..... her mom works in a brothel n has her quite young n the expectation is her daughter will probs end up working at the brothel too when she's old enough. no1 really expected frida to get into a good uni or anythin

frida was p much raised by the town, to be honest. most of her youth was spent scurrying about half naked in cowboy boots and glasses too big for her face. a smol feral child

as a kid used to lie about being able to see dead people bcos she thought it’d make her seem cool and interesting to other kids n it got the attention of the girls her mom worked with. but when her mom realised people were willing to actually believe a 7 year old had seen their dead scorned lover, she saw it as an opportunity to swindle some extra cash and registered her as a child psychic n started putting adds out in local papers for palm readings and tarot predictions.

when her mom hit 30s she couldn't hack being a sex worker any more, so she set up her own fortune telling business and hired a load of the girls from the club to be fake psychics. it was sort of a fortune telling parlour slash brothel, bt they kept tht very under wraps. palm reading upstairs, handjobs downstairs. the reason why some of the women from the strip club agreed to work there was because it was a business actually run by a woman who got what was going on, n not jst someone trying to make quick cash out of old men wanking

as a child, frida was on a few tv shows in the netherlands making psychic predictions in front of live tv audiences and attempting to reach out to the spirits of their loved ones. this con continued into her teenage years, she even did youtube videos n had minor success, though she was accused of being a cheap horoscope predicter and packed it in shortly after a twitter backlash.

if pressed, frida still claims to have a gift, but that it's not as simple as switching a light on and off, it comes when it comes, you can't summon it, and that's how she gets out of being labelled a fraud if anyone who recognises her demands a reading.

ws street smart, but also did super well at school? quite charming as a kid and good at winning adults over because of a life growing up basically conning rich white women out of their money just by telling them stuff they wanted to hear. was moved up a grade in junior high and graduated early. attended a summer school, before choosing to study in amsterdam because of the appeal of the red light district. very interested in the lives of sex workers and the way they express themselves. is only a freshman but, is like, 50% through her degree already jst cos she’s..... super passionate about her subject getting recognised as a legitimate brand of academia

she wanted to study gender performativity in the lives of sex workers and plans to do her thesis on the porn industry. it might be because of her childhood, growing up surrounded by sex workers, but she's obsessed with it, looks at mathematical structures and symbols in porn through a lens of politics and art history. very interested in visual art.

some ?mildly amusing? facts

owns 4 tarot decks and a crystal ball she bought frm an old lady with one eye

favourite drink is cherry coke

part of a burlesque collective at hendrix university who run speakeasy nights. is trying to set up her own small-scale grassroots burlesque group in one of the more mainstream clubs along the strip bcos there’s so much money and female tourists go wild 4 it

sells nudes on twitter. whenever she gets low on cash she contacts one of the seedy old men who used to visit her mom's club to venmo her $500 in return for pictures

that girl who’s always harping on about body positivity on instagram while wearing cute underwear and looking absolutely bomb

really good at rodeo bull riding. the club in marfa had one so as a youth she got really good at it bcos she was constantly tryin to outdo her friends on who could stay on for the longest. a video of her staying on one for like 4 minutes after downing several jager bombs went viral once.

smol baby. 5′4. wears a lot of cute summer dresses n big boots. gingham is her usual dress style, or like red plaid, n then she’ll either have big white cowboy boots with spokes on the back or the really long doc martens. also owns a lot of abba-esque gogo boots and 90s creepers. flats?? who are they. has her hair in braids a lot, and usually has flowers or feathers threaded through it to add to her whole “mystic” vibe

micro-doses acid for mild depression bcos she didn’t believe in “that CBT bullshit”, thought that therapists, like her, were jst con artists so always a bit spaced out

her flirting technique is absolutely offering to read your palm. she used to do it all the time at school its how she met most of her eighth grade boyfriends.

volunteers at one of the local galleries but mostly just rants to old white dutch men about how cis white men have dominated art for years :/ is one of those SJW-types but only?? when it comes to art??

has a pet rat called popeye

takes photographs of dead animals to use in her art and often posts them side-by-side with stills of women in porn to show the shelf-life of female sex workers in a patriarchal-dominated industry or some bullshit idk

big into spoken word poetry, even if its shit. likes savage depictions of femininity

wrote a thesis on art as an act of masturbation that got published

big into capitalism and commodity culture. loves it.

wanted plots, fucker

ppl who are also studying @ hendrix but speak english !! bcos frida finished her exams a year early at like 17 n just up and left to amsterdam cos she knew if she got in-state tuition she’d never leave texas, she came to the netherlands with like, 40 dollars and a phrase book. eva was kind of her study-abroad mentor to help her settle into amsterdam campus life

ppl she met at an inter-school maths championship competition or something really fuckin nerdy like that. she probably got entered in a spelling bee or two, she was her high school’s pride and joy until people started calling her a slut in toilet door grafiti

hook-ups !! frida does not do relationships, she had several girlfriends as a kid but she enjoyed the thrill of the chase more than being with one person. pan, but not about befriending straight men. very much fuck-em-and-chuck-em wham-bam-thankyou-ma’am when it comes to guys. that said, if u think ur character cld get under her skin n try n change that by all means be my guest

other ppl who wld be in burlesque with her. also she goes to strip clubs n peep shows like every day, thats basically research for her, so if ur characters would be into strip clubs they might see her there

she volunteers at a few galleries, tht is also a possible place where they cld kno each other from

i feel like she’d be on student council if they had one of those. shes that kind of bitch, turning up like elle woods with a big feather pen or a light-up heart marker, slamming down some truths before upping and leaving to go for her 11am chai latte break

mayb someone she’s trying to coach into being more body confident through self-expression in burlesque.

som1 who attended the art institute in marfa for a summer n maybe knew her when she was a bit younger ??? idk

drama. angst/ horror. someone accuse her of being a fake psychic and she’ll predict your horrific untimely death

nice bike rides in amsterdam please

yea like this if u a) want to plot or b) think the self is as undefinable social construct and i will slide in ur dms to further discus ruckus x x

#water:intro #dropkicks this onto the dashboard x #lick it up like an oasis in the middle of a desert u thots x #depression tw #sex work tw #is tht a trigger??

16 notes · View notes

khadij-al-kubra · 6 years

Text

A Round of One-Shot-Shot-Shot-Shot-Shot-Shots

(Part of the Bar & Grill AU)

Pairing: Roman/Patton

Characters: Roman, Patton, Logan, Virgil, Thomas, Joan, Talyn, Terrence, Valerie, Calypso, (and a bunch of O.C’s.)

Summary: A collection of scenes from the view of Sanders’ Bar & Grill regulars and employees. a.k.a. Place your bets on your favorite clueless love struck bartenders. a.k.a. JUST KISS ALREADY!

Author’s Note:

Hey friends! I promise that a new chapter is on its way, but for now, here’s a little one shot intermission for you. If you’d like to be in the tag list for future chapters in the Bar & Grill AU or other works by me, let me know. And as always feel free to leave a comment in the messages or reply if you have any notes or constructive critiques. I’m always open to writing advice. Enjoy!

<--PREVIOUS

(POV- Sean & Nellie)

“Here are your drinks you two,” said Roman, handing the two regular customers their usual orders.

“Thanks man,” said Nellie, taking a sip from their whisky on the rocks.

“Thanks Roman,” said Sean, taking his mojito. “My throat is seriously so dry from the slam tonight.”

Every Thursday night the vegan café around the block held a bi-weekly open mic/poetry slam. And every Thursday night the two spoken word poets went out for drinks afterwards at Sanders’ Bar & Grill. It was a chill and affordable place that suited their poor as penny behinds perfectly. Plus, they loooved watching the slow burn drama between the two bartenders.

“You two spit some good poems tonight?” Roman asked. “I’m sure you both blew the audience away.”

“Let me put it this way,” Sean paused to take a sip of his drink then smacked his lips. “There were bars for days.”

“Oh my god,” Nellie groaned at their teammate, dreadlocks jangling as they shook their head.

“Good one kiddo!” Patton said passing them by from behind the bar.

“Well, let me know if you young wordsmiths need anything else.” Roman winked and left them to get back to work.

“Oh you know I will,” Sean said in a low voice.

Nellie lightly smacked his shoulder. “Down boy, I know you’re a thirsty bitch but settle for your drink.”

“Bitch, you have no right to talk!” Sean gave a grin that reached his too sharp cheekbones.

It was no secret that the Pilipino boy found the bartender attractive as all hell. Not that Nellie could blame him; the man was all kinds of fine! Yet neither of them made a move because of his obvious feelings for Patton and vice versa.

“So what’s the bet tonight Sean?” Nellie took a drink and chewed on an ice cube. Sean hated that.

“I’ll bet yoouuu,” Sean twirled the ends of the two thin braids at the base of his shaven head, “It’ll be 25 minutes before Patton starts giggling at something that comes out of Romans mouth.”

“Please, this is Patton we’re talking about. It’ll take 15 minutes max.”

“Loser pays for tonight’s drinks?”

“You know it.”

About three more rounds of drinks, some notes exchanged on each other’s newer poems and 20 minutes into the night, they heard a small laugh coming from Patton. They saw the adorably goofy grin he gave to Roman, who was also blushing. They were too drunk to catch what he had said, but his hands were in that fancy dramatic pose he likes to do.

“Ha!” said Sean, his voice slightly high pitched from being tipsy. “I win!”

“Like hell you did!” Nellie said loudly. “That was a chuckle, not a giggle.”

“Bitch, where? That wasn’t a damn chuckle. Chuckles are all like, hmmmhhmm. A giggle is like, giheeheehee. Patton giggled. I win.”

“A’ight, a’ight. Damn you’re a lousy winner.”

Roman must’ve noticed the poets getting a bit wily and came over.

“Uhh everything gucci over here?” he asked.

“Yep,” said Sean, popping the p.

“Need anything else?”

“Nah, just the check. Nellie here is paying tonight.”

Nellie handed over their card to Roman, shooting playful daggers towards Sean’s cheeky face. However, Sean was at least good enough to take care of the tip for them both, dropping the last $2 cash he had on him. They were still broke poets after all.

“Thanks! Be right back with your card.” Said Roman. “You know, it’s really quite nice how the two of you always seem to take turns paying for drinks.”

The two gave each other a knowing look. “Riiight.”

* * *

(POV- Valerie, Jasmine, and Calypso)

It was a tradition for the three friends to go for happy hour drinks after work every Friday. They’d been doing it since they were young post college graduates suffering through the same two-year internship, always opting to go to the same local bar and grill. For them, drinks at Sanders’ was a tradition that kept them together and maintained the little bit of a social life they could squeeze into their busy schedules. Each women looked forward to seeing their friends, venting about their co-workers, and having a good laugh over drinks. Most importantly, they loved watching the slow burn romance between the cute bartenders that worked there.

“Here you go ladies!”

Patton beamed, handing the three friends their second round of drinks; a martini for Valerie, a scotch on the rocks for Calypso, and a merlot for Jasmine.

“Thank you my dear,” said Valerie.

“Thanks Patton,” said Jasmine.

“You’re the best Pat,” said Calypso.

“Aww you too kiddo! Now if you need anything else I’ll be over beer.”

For the sake of their favorite bartender Valerie and Jasmine fake laughed. Calypso was the only one that actually found his puns funny. As Patton got back to work, the three of them went back to slyly spying on him and the other more handsome bartender as they interacted behind the counter.

“Ugh, they are seriously too adorable,” said Jasmine.

“I know this is gonna sound really high school of me,” said Calypso, “but those two are seriously my OTP.”

“That was a super high school-y statement, but honestly, same,” said Valerie, sipping her drink.

She sighed fondly as she watched Roman’s turned back, his muscles flexing beneath the black work shirt. Patton was adorably cute with his sun-shiny smile, smattering of freckles and dad-bod. However, Roman was straight up (the only thing straight about him) gorgeous!

“Oh Roman, if I’d been born male and homosexual…”

“Don’t you dare Val, not even in a fantasy,” said Calypso, lightly poking her arm.

“Obviously I would never!”

“Just saying.”

“Hey, I’m way too invested in this thing to get between it, even in a fantasy.”

“Good, because those two clearly belong together. I mean have you ever seen two people with more chemis—

“Shush, shush, girls! Look,” said Jasmine, frantically waving to her friends.

“What? What are we looking at?” asked Calypso.

“Look-but don’t look-to the left.”

Valerie and Caplypso discreetly glanced at where their friend was nodding towards and had to stifle the squeals in their throats. Both Roman and Patton had been reaching for the same bottle of whisky and their hands had touched. Neither bartender was pulling away. It was like something straight out of a rom-com that could rival even Patton’s level of cheesiness. All three girls leaned closer at the bar quite literally on the edge of their seats as they saw the two look at their hands, then at each other, saw their faces slowly draw closer to each other and…pull away again.

All three let out a collective groan.

“Uuggh, so close!” said Calypso, taking a big gulp from her glass.

“Seriously,” said Valery, nursing her glass, “this is worse than The Office.”

“Just wish they’d kiss already…” Jasmine mumbled.

They watched Patton hand the bottle to Roman and then promptly go to his end of the bar with a wet rag over his shoulder. The girls quickly proceeded to act casually as he came their way.

“Still good here ladies?” he asked.

“We’re okay Patton, thank you,” said Valerie.

“Alrighty! You know, it is always so nice to see you three. It makes my hour all the more happy.”

He smiled at all three of them then went back to work. Patton really was such a sweetheart. He deserved someone strong and charming like Roman to sweep him off his feet. Why do boys have to be so clueless?

“Well ladies, looks like we’ll have to come back again next Friday,” said Jasmine. “Those two are bound to get together eventually, and we’ll be here when they do.”

Valerie and Calypso agreed, then the three ladies clinked their drinks.

* * *

(POV- Terrence, Imani, and Dakota)

“I’m telling you, Roman blushed first!” Terrence said to Dakota over his place of Buffalo wings, taking a drink from his rum and coke.

“And I’m telling you Patton blushed first!” said Dakota, spilling a bit of his whisky as he gestured vehemently.

His service dog Braveheart barked in agreement. Dakota reached down and fed the black Chihuahua an artichoke dipped chip.

“Guys, you’re both wrong,” said Imani, twirling the last cherry in her Shirley Temple. “Neither one of them has actually blushed at something the other said or did yet.”

The three regulars were an odd group to see, being so vastly different from one another. Terrence was a short black police officer; Dakota was a pepper-haired biker/pianist; and Imani was a hijabi optometrist. They never saw or spoke to each other outside of Sanders’; heck they never even sat at the same table. Still they’d all been coming to the bar & grill long enough to know each other by name. As well as make regular bets with each other on the two bartenders whom the three agreed clearly had a thing for each other. Seriously, it was so obvious Stevie Wonder with a frigging blindfold could see it!

“But you saw how red Roman’s face was when he came in for his shift. He saw Patton at the bar and it clearly made him blush. So I win,” said Terrence. “That’ll be five bucks please.”

“That wasn’t a blush, his face was just red from running over here from rehearsals,” said Imani. “He started that play or something, remember?”

“How could we forget? He practically stood on top of the bar and shouted it to everyone in here,” said Dakota. “Talk about dramatic.

“Well this is Roman we’re talking about,” Terrence smirked.

“True. Ahh if I were 30 years younger,” sighed Dakota.

“Hell, if I weren’t straight I’d hit that,” said Terrence.

“Ugh. You guys are making me happy that I can’t date,” said Imani.

“Aren’t you ace anyways?” asked Terrence.

“I never said the rules didn’t work in my favor.” She downed the last of her non-alcoholic drink and fixed a loose pin in her head scarf.

“Okay well what about Patton? I know I saw a reddish tint on his freckle covered cheeks,” said Dakota.

“That was clearly from the ambulance that passed by outside,” she said.

“Ha! Told ya. So we’re still at an impasse,” said Terrence, crossing his arms over his uniform. The biker responded with a grumble.

“Buuut I’m still holding out my bet against both of you that Roman is going to kiss Patton’s had sometime tonight,” said Imani. “He’s been extra princely to him since Patton’s boyfriend called and cancelled their date tonight.”

The three groaned almost simultaneously, and even Braveheart growled. They had eavesdropped seen Patton talking on the phone earlier that night. Right afterwards the poor guy’s shoulders slumped and he was munching on one of the ‘cheer-up’ cookies he often gave to customers if they were sad. Only one person could do that to their friendly fatherly figure. The one thing they all could agree on was that Patton’s tattooed boyfriend who came in occasionally was a raging douchbag.

“Man I hate that guy!” said Terrence.

“Same,” said Imani.

“Patton deserves so much better,” said Dakota. “He deserved Roman, and Roman deserves him!”

“Speak of the wannabe Disney prince…”

Imani pointed to Roman coming around from the bar. He walked briskly towards Patton, who was struggling with what seemed to be a complicated and large order of drinks from a loud group of young hipsters. None of them recognized the new faces and Patton was so off his game it was visible from across the room. Terrence, Dakota and Imani leaned in to get a better look.

“Greetings young travelers!” Roman said, coming to Patton’s aid. “I’ll be happy to take the rest of your drink orders. My partner here is needed at the bar.”

Patton smiled, following the others lead. “Don’t worry, my friend here will take good care of you. I’ll be right out with this half of all your orders. You just hang tight kiddos.”

The two tag-teamed mixing and bringing over the drinks to the rambunctious group. Soon they were all satisfied, and the three regulars could only gape in amazement. They really were a power couple team.

“Thanks for the help Ro,” said Patton, whipping his brow with the sleeve of his black cardigan around his neck. “That was a tall order. Heck, I almost lost my glasses ‘cause they were stacked against me!”

Terrence rolled his eyes, but Roman merely chuckled. “All in a nights work Patton. Besides you did look a bit overwhelmed.”

“Lucky I can always count on my partner Mr. Prince to come to my rescue.”

At this Roman very clearly blushed. “Naturally, I am in-Clined to assist.”

Roman grinned at the laugh he managed to coax from the other’s lips. Then he took Patton’s hand in his and lightly placed a kiss on the back of it. Then the two went back to work, although Patton was much more smiley and red-faced than before.

“Ha! Roman blushed first! Pay up,” said Terrence. Dakota grumbled as he slapped a $5 bill into the cop’s outreached hand.

“Ah-ah. Don’t forget about my little wager,” said Imani. “Pay up boys!”

Both men groaned audibly as they handed her $5 each. She pocketed the cash into her purse.

“I thought you Muslims weren’t supposed to gamble,” said the biker, scratching his dogs ears.

“Betting on the inevitable isn’t a gamble. It’s an investment. Now, $20 says Patton will confess to Roman first.”

The two men said, “You’re on.”

* * *

(POV- Joan & Talyn)

The dinner rush at Sanders’ was keeping Joan and Talyn plenty busy. All night they’ve been taking orders, clearing plates, bringing checks, and dealing with the rare bitchy customer. Talyn was clutching their lapis lazuli necklace, hoping that the stone really would help to keep their headache from turning full-blown migraine (they’d also taken two Alieve earlier to be safe). Meanwhile Joan was simply fighting the urge not to snap back salty yet well deserved insults at the pickier customers. Logan was out of his office tonight and while the boss was a nice guy, he didn’t take kindly to customers being insulted (even if they deserve it; undercooked my ass, you entitled pricks).

Even as the two waiters crisscrossed each other while working, they found a way to make the rush more bearable: The puppy love longing count! They both had made the game a while back after they realized how totally gaga their co-workers Roman and Patton were for each other. Aaaand they both may or may not have gotten the idea for the game after re-watching Lord of the Rings together for the fifth time.

“14,” said a passing Talyn balancing a tray on their arm.

“17,” said Joan in passing, carrying a checkbook to one of his tables.

Four minutes later…

“21,” said Talyn grinning.

“18,” said Joan, pouting.

Ten minutes later…

“24,” said Talyn.

“26,” said Joan.

“No way! You had to have fudged some of those numbers.”

“I counted every one, no fudge pudge face.” Joan booped Talyn’s nose.

Their significant other’s jaw dropped and Talyn glowered at them. Joan couldn’t help but grin like a Cheshire cat. Even when they were mad Talyn was still undeniably adorable.

“Oh fine!” Tayln said. “But I’m definitely going to win again.”

“Not a chance. By the end of tonight, Patton will have sighed longingly at Roman more times than Roman does with Patton.”

“Tonight’s loser is on dish duty. Team Pun Papa will win!”

“You’re on babe. Team Drama King all the way!”

Although both waiters shipped their friends hard, each of them had their favorite. It kept things entertaining and fun at least. They were so busy talking that they didn’t realize Logan had come over. That is, until he cleared his throat. He pushed up his glasses and adjusted his tie, going into full-blown Mr. Shapiro boss mode. Not fun.

“Joan. Talyn. While I do not mind idle chatter when there is a lull I will remind you to stay attentive with your duties. This is still a business after all,” he said.

The two gulped audibly. “Yes boss.”

Just then they both saw Logan suddenly stand up straighter, his face tense, almost fearful. Talyn was about to ask what was the matter when suddenly they heard a faint siren in the distance; a telltale sign that an ambulance or police car or something of the sort was about to drive by Sanders’. The two waiters looked at each other then at their boss worriedly. Logan did not do well with sudden loud noises and sirens could send him straight into a sensory overload. His hands were already twitching at his side, prepared to plug his own ears.

Joan was about to offer Logan the ear buds in their apron pocket, but someone beat them to the punch. Patton reached Logan and covered the bar & grill owner’s ears with his own hands right as an ambulance blared by loudly. He even gently turned Logan’s head away from the windows so that the flashing blue and red lights wouldn’t hurt his eyes. Once the sirens could no longer be heard, Patton carefully removed his hands from his head. Logan’s shoulders immediately relaxed and he let out a shuddered breath.

“Thank you Patton. I truly appreciate your assistance,” he said, his voice gentle.

“No problem kiddo-I mean Logan,” Patton smiled sheepishly. “I know how badly sirens get to you.”

“Yes, well, think I’ll just go sit in the quiet of my office for a bit.” He placed a hand on Patton’s shoulder for a moment then left. “Joan, Talyn, as you were.”

The waiters let out a sigh of relief. Over Patton’s shoulder they saw Roman also sighing, except his was clearly directed at Patton. Roman was leaning his elbow on the bar top, head in his hand and metaphorical hearts in his eyes. However the second Patton looked back at him Roman was standing straight, looking off to the side and whistling. Joan rolled their eyes at the dramatic co-worker.

“Well kiddos, back to work!” said Patton, re-joining Roman behind the bar.

Joan felt Talyn grab their hand and give it a quick squeeze. When they looked down at them their tongue was sticking out playfully.

“25 bitch!” said Talyn.

Joan grinned. “Oh this isn’t over yet!” Not by a long shot.

* * *

(POV- Virgil, Alex, & Thomas)

“So I was thinking of doing something like this,” said Alex, showing Virgil the latest sketch in their notebook. “What do you think Virge? Is there too much going on? Not enough? Give it to me straight.”

“That’s gonna be hard since neither of us is,” said Virgil, looking over the drawing with the critical eye of a fellow artist.

Virgil had come into Sanders’ again on one of his parkour/mozzarella runs and Alex had just happened to be at the bar in their usual spot. Neither Virgil nor Alex was much for excessive socializing, unlike Virgil’s stepbrother Patton, but somehow the two immediately clicked. Probably because they were both artist and anxiety-ridden introverts, so there was an unspoken lack of pressure. At least that’s how Alex felt. Virgil was the only person Alex felt comfortable showing their sketches to, and he had even shown Alex some of his own pre-mural sketches. While Alex’s style was more on the Escher side, Virgil’s was like the lovechild of Picasso and Tim Burton. So they bounced off ideas pretty well.

“Okay, so, this part looks a big too crowded so it’s hard to see all the little details,” said Virgil, pointing to the picture, “and this part feels a bit empty in comparison. But aside from that, I think it’s one of your best ones.”

Virgil gave them one of his rare smiles and handed Alex back their sketchbook. Alex thanked him for the advice, but then they both flinch-turned at the thunder-like sound of knocking on the aluminum kitchen windowsill.

“Order up Virgil!” said Thomas, cheerful as ever. “Here you go bud.”

Virgil took the to-go bag of mozzarella sticks. “Thanks Thomas.”

“How’s you’re mural going?” Thomas asked.

“Pretty good actually. Alex gave me some good tips for the light and shadowing snag I’d hit, so hopefully I’ll be finished with it soon.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” said Alex.

“You’re one of the very few exclusive people invited dude,” said Virgil. “Hope I’ll get to see yours when it’s done too. Only if your comfortable with it though!”

Alex smiled. “Definitely, if I ever finish it. Though I’ll be honest, it’s more likely the Rapture will happens sooner than that.”

“Or Patton and Roman admitting their feelings for each other,” said Thomas. Both Virgil and Alex busted out laughing.

“Oh man, yes! Geez those two dorks, I swear. At the rate they’ve been going lately though, I give it two months.”

“You underestimate my brother dude. I give it the end of the month tops. Hopefully he’ll wise up and dump that douche Dio by then. Unless Roman confesses first. Then I give it a week.”

“Wanna bet? Loser has to buy the winner new art supplies.” Alex said.

“You’re on. Hey Thomas, you want to get in on this?” Virgil asked.

“Oh heck yeah! $20 bucks says Roman either confesses or kisses the other in eehhh two weeks. He looks like he’s about to crack any day now.”

“Deal,” said the two artists.

“Hey fellas!” Thomas shouted back into the kitchen. “We’re placing new bets on the Roman and Patton romance. Anyone want to join in?”

“Oh hell yeah,” shouted Enrique, followed by the other cooks.

* * *

(POV- Joan and Logan)

Joan had been about to tell Logan that they were going on break when they both heard the shattering of glass from by the bar. They caught the flash of worry in Logan’s eyes as he rushed over to find the source of the noise, Joan following behind. What they saw was a broken bottle of Jack Daniels spilled on the floor, glass shards everywhere. Standing over the mess was Patton and Roman. The latter was pressing a rag into Patton’s right hand and, ah geez, was that blood!?

“Everybody stay in your seats please,” Logan said to the surrounding customers. Luckily there weren’t many in the bar tonight and they’d all been smart enough to not get up.

“I’ll go get the mop and broom,” said Joan, heading to the supply closet, careful of the glass shards.

“Patton what happened?” asked Logan, his voice stern yet still held tones of concern.

“I-I was getting a new bottle of Jack Daniels since we were running low. Did you know those things are heavier than they look?”

Logan could tell from his shoulders that poor Patton was trembling. Alternatively, Roman’s face was scrunched up in what appeared to be worry. Or possibly constipation, but that seemed less likely.

“I would’ve gotten it myself but I was busy with drink orders and Patton insisted,” said Roman.

“And I had just finished washing some glasses,” Patton said. “So I guess my hands were still a little wet and, well, it slipped…”

“Logan please don’t blame Patton. I’m the one at fault here,” said Roman, straightening his back and wrapping a protective arm around Patton.

“No Roman, you are not at fault here. This was Patton’s doing, however unintentional it was.”

“I’m sorry Logan,” said Patton.

Joan returned with a mop in one hand and the broom/dustpan in the other. They looked up at Logan waiting for the owner’s response to the damage.

“Well, this is certainly a gross inconvenience on my part and an unprofessional slip up on yours—“

“Dad joke?” asked Patton timidly.

“Uh, not a good time Pat,” Roman said gently.

“But, given that this is the first such incident that you’ve had...I shall let it slide this time. However, the cost of the alcohol is going to be coming out of your next few paychecks.”

Joan winced. That was definitely going to take a dent out of his Vet school funs.

Patton sighed, “That’s fair. Ow.”

Patton winced at his hurt hand. Heck, you could see the tears threatening to spill from behind his glasses. Seeing this, Logan softened back up a bit, like how he did when Talyn wasn’t feeling well. He stepped over the glass to place a gentle hand on Patton’s shoulder, giving him a small genuine smile.

“Now go take care of that cut on your hand. Attending to your injury is far more important than fixing an accident. You can use the first aid kit that I keep in my office. Joan and I shall clean up out here.”

Patton smiled up at him. “Thanks Logan. I appreciate that.”

“Please Patton, allow me to assist in taking care of your wound,” said Roman.

Before Patton could say otherwise, Roman was literally sweeping him off his feet. Patton’s face went completely red as the overdramatic actor carried him bridal style towards the back of Sanders’ where Logan’s office was, closing the door behind them. Joan, Talyn, Thomas and all of the regulars either snickered or looked worriedly at Logan. Some even seemed to be exchanging money. They waited for a reaction from the robotic boss, but none of them expected to see him shaking his head at the scene with a smile on his face.

“I do wish those two would just copulate already,” he said.

Everyone’s jaws dropped. Joan looked at their boss, not even bothering to hide the grin that split across their face.

Logan adjusted his glasses. “What? I’m on the spectrum, not blind.”

He took the broom and dustpan from Joan’s hand and began sweeping up the broken glass. Once it was cleaned up, Joan got to work mopping the spill.

Yep, Joan thought. The only blind ones around here are those two.

NEXT-->

Tag List: @altruistic-skittles @thekeytohappiness-is-you @canadian-crofters @icecoldparadise @bluebloodstains @purpleshipper @patchworkofstars @axyzel @hissesssss @beautifully-terribly @pink-and-purple-flowers @jynxlovesluck @thatsanswitch @6tick6tock6 @hanramz-the-fander @azlinne @helplesscreator @thestoryofme13 @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @accidental-sanders @moonstonefox12 @hissesssss @smokeyrutilequartz @phlying-squirrel

#My writing #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #royality #Roman Sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #thomas sanders #joan and talyn #fanders #sanders sides fandom #bar & grill au #KDsWriting

171 notes · View notes

smallpressdistribution · 6 years

Text

8 SPD Books to leave you HAUNTED...

IN THIS MONTH’S SPDCLICKHOLE by Trisha Low

Some days I get a really bad headache, and even if I try everything from extra strength tylenol, to ice pack to laying in bed with the lights off and the curtains closed, nothing will work. For most people, this is just annoying, they go to sleep and pray that the pain will go away in the morning.

But not me. Because I‘ve watched so many horror movies, I usually become extremely paranoid that I have become possessed by some kind of spirit that has penetrated my skull and will soon consume the inside of my body so quickly that blood will immediately start spraying out of my eye sockets.

In other words, I’m afraid I’ve somehow become HAUNTED - which just so happens to be this month’s SPDhandpicked theme!

It’s difficult to think of being HAUNTED as something positive rather than negative, but just imagine if you had the ability to spray your worst enemies with blood coming directly out of your eyeballs. Doesn’t that sound great?

Instead of simply being HAUNTED, these 8 SPD books use their supernatural powers for the purposes or revenge - and they’re so good that they’ll probably lodge themselves in your brain forever.

1. Poetry Comes out of My Mouth by Mario Santiago, translated by Papasquiaro Arturo Mantecon (Dialogos / Lavender Ink)

"The poetry of legendary Mexican poet Mario Santiago Papasquiaro is little known in the USA. Closest friend of Roberto Bolaño (he is Ulises Lima in his Los Detectives Salvajes), Mario Santiago’s poetry flies in the most hallucinatory manner out of the tangled mass of Mexico’s heritage. Fusing the supernal and infernal energies of César Vallejo and Allen Ginsberg, this non-stop automatic-rifle poetry has few peers in contemporary poetry anywhere, and the meticulous translations of Arturo Mantecón superbly render this often difficult stylist into an English equally explosive and eloquent. With this potpourri of past and present, imagined and unimaginable visions, Santiago puts himself over the edge, racing as it were to his own destruction."—Ivan Argüelles

2. Mount Carmel & The Blood Of Parnassus by Anais Duplan (Monster House Press)

"Reading Anaïs Duplan's chapbook, you realize you are more than an assemblage of ideologies, a cellular plan, or even an estranged, familial relation possessing the accoutrements of a melancholic nation, but also, too, the glorious product of dense, self-referential layered texts that call to the surface your loneliness and feelings of kinship. Here are poems that revel in post-hybridity and borderless threnodies, and go straight to the stillness of the heart, to performances of language that are fierce and juicier than a papaya, and frankly, that one would only expect from a brilliant, young mind as theirs."—Major Jackson

3. Fledge: A Phenomenology of Spirit by Stacy Doris (Nightboat Books)

This book stands for: a) a close translation of Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit b) a mainly at arm's length appropriation of some poems by Paul Celan these being two extremes in language of c) a log of disasters d) a register of miracle e) also this is a bunch of love poems of undying love "Poetry and the world of imagination meant everything, were everything for Stacy. Her innovative writing was different from anyone else's, and different from herself. In other words, every book was a different experiment in poetry. And yet these experiments are all chapters from the book of Stacy Doris."—Norma Cole

4. Ghost Opera by Mercedes Roffe, translated by Judith Filc (co-im-press)

"There are no poems I crave more than Mercedes Roffé's. In the original Spanish and Judith Filc's exquisite English translation, GHOST OPERA is song, fugue, dream, drama, prayer, oracle, and memory. Doing what ancient poetry used to do—what poetry still ought to do—Roffé's poems 'open the gates of Sleep' and waken the dying soul. Roffé's work is widely read in her native Argentina and throughout the Spanish-speaking world. North Americans need her voice, too, perhaps more than we know. We're incredibly fortunate to have this brilliant bilingual collection."—Janet Kaplan

5. THERE: a novel of manners by Lonely Christopher ( Writers' Collective of Kristiania, Inc.)

THERE is an intertextual horror story about a disastrous marriage. Jack and Wendy live in a haunted house with their son. Their situation happens to echo a popular genre novel that was later adapted into a film. And yet anything familiar to the reader is bizarrely distorted. There is constant forward motion but no linearity, heart-stopping terror but no ghost. Jack and Wendy exist where time and place are broken and there may be no escape. Lonely Christopher's first novel is an intellectually rigorous and emotionally riveting perversion of classic horror tropes that explores how people destroy each other. Behind every word is a nightmarish secret. Read it if you dare.

6. Unearthings by Wendy Chen (Tavern Books)

UNEARTHINGS unfolds by way of an elegant, steadfast voice that is unafraid to confront the complexities of cultural, ancestral, and familial inheritance. Exploring her identity as an Asian American female, Chen deftly negotiates the body and its archives, summoning and exorcising the ghosts therein. In this unforgettable debut work, Chen deciphers and breaks the many silences that are expected and enforced.

7. The Leftovers by Shaelyn Smith ( Cleveland State University Poetry Center)

"Shaelyn Smith's THE LEFTOVERS extends the table of Judy Chicago's The Dinner Party: it pronounces more of the names that should be pronounced; it draws in a wider range of practicing artists; it expands and complicates the context through which we read Chicago's feminist and recuperative gesture. But, most exciting of all, the book writes itself and the subject of its study into an ecological system, where many different voices rise out history, rise out of the contemporary moment, and put time and thought into a sustained rhythm. Through its unfolding THE LEFTOVERS learns how to care for each level in this living environment and leaves the reader with a feeling that she's learned something and planted something simultaneously."—Renee Gladman

8. R E D by Chase Berggrun (Birds, LLC)

R E D is an erasure of Bram Stoker's Dracula. A long poem in 27 chapters, R E D excavates from Stoker's text an original narrative of violence, sexual abuse, power dynamics, vengeance, and feminist rage while wrestling with the complexities of gender, transition, and monsterhood.

SPDhandpicked titles are 20% off all month w/ code HANDPICKED

#spdhandpicked #SPD Clickhole

5 notes · View notes

booksbakingandblogging · 4 years

Text

It’s time to step up and do the work to eradicate racism. That’s an abrupt start to a blog post, but it’s also the truth and one that we shouldn’t ignore any longer. Over the past week, protests have erupted all over the world in response to the murder of George Floyd, and it doesn’t look like they’re stopping any time soon – and with good reason. Black people have been faced with racism every day for centuries and they are tired of it. Of course they are. It’s a gross injustice and it’s taking human lives. This isn’t a political issue – it’s a human rights issue, and we need to stop looking away and face it. We live in a world with systemic racism, where Black people (and people of colour in general) face microaggressions every single day. Racism is a system created by white people, so it will need to be dismantled by white people as well. Let’s stand up, and get to work (follow this link to find out how you can help).

That was my little speech. Now, let’s get down to specifics of this post: we need to educate ourselves. A lot of people (myself included) have been too ignorant about racism for a long time, and in order to be able to help, we need to learn. Part of that is reading books by Black authors, both fiction and non-fiction. Fiction can teach us empathy and it can create understanding, which is extremely important. On the other hand, non-fiction faces us with our history and everything that’s going on in the world in concrete terms. Let’s educate ourselves and read books by Black authors. Not just the ones that tell us about pain and trauma, but also the ones about joy and happiness. We need to learn, and this is a good way to do it. Plus, by reading more Black authors, we’re giving off a sign to the publishing industry that books by Black authors are wanted and cherished.

10 books by Black authors to read right now

While putting together this list, I realised that I can do much better myself as well: I need to read more books by Black authors too. Luckily, there are tons of other people out there making lists of books by Black authors, so I’ve found many books to add to my TBR already. I recommend checking out these two lists by Chapters of May and Electric Lit, too. If you’re looking for more non-fiction resources, including articles, films and podcasts, you can check out this list!

#gallery-0-7 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-7 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 20%; } #gallery-0-7 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-7 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

1. The Hate U Give – Angie Thomas (2017)

Let’s start with the most obvious one first given the current situation. If you’re a fan of YA and haven’t read this yet: what are you doing? This novel tells the story of Starr, a Black girl who sees her best friend be murdered by the police right in front of her eyes. It deals with the aftermath of this traumatic and terrible event, as Starr struggles with what happened while having to see her friend be talked about all over the media. At the same time, it’s also a story about Starr as a teenage girl, and her loving family. This book was inspired by the Black Lives Matter movement and it’s extremely important. I’m happy to say that it’s a bestseller and has sold millions of copies.

2. Such a Fun Age – Kiley Reid (2019)

In Such a Fun Age, our 25-year-old Black protagonist Emira works as a babysitter for a white family, caring for three-year-old Briar. The story kicks off when Emira is apprehended by a security guard in a grocery store because he thinks she has kidnapped Briar. The book deals with racism and white privilege and it’s a very eye-opening read. I learned a lot from it in terms of unintentional racism (remember: impact is more important than intent). Plus, the writing is phenomenal. I can’t wait to read more by this debut author.

3. A Different Drummer – William Melvin Kelley (1962)

I read this book last month, and it’s the best book I’ve read in a long time (read my full review here). It is a literary masterpiece: stylistically brilliant and a story that takes on epic proportions. On a random day in 1957, in a fictional state in the deep south of the USA, the entire Black population decides to leave. They pack their things and leave the state, fed up with its racist history and the way they are being treated by the white population. The story is told through the perspective of this white population that is left behind and it is so incredibly powerful. William Melvin Kelley was described as ‘the lost giant of American literature’. Why was he forgotten? Let’s just say it: it was most likely because of racism. Go read this book!

4. Let’s Talk About Love – Claire Kann (2018)

June is also pride month, so I want to add at least one LGBTQIA+ book to this list. Alice is a Black, biromantic, asexual girl in college and she is done with dating after her girlfriend breaks up with her for being asexual. But then Takumi becomes her new co-worker at the library she works at, and she can’t stop thinking about him. This novel explores asexuality in such a wonderful way and I thoroughly enjoyed it and learned a lot from it. I’d highly recommend picking it up!

5. There Are More Beautiful Things Than Beyoncé – Morgan Parker (2017)

Let’s throw some poetry in the mix! In this collection, Morgan Parker explores what it’s like to be a Black American woman in the 21st century. She uses pop-culture and political references as her framework and doesn’t shy away from important and difficult topics such a depression, isolation, and exoticism. Thought-provoking and confronting, this is an essential collection for anyone who is into modern poetry.

#gallery-0-8 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-8 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 20%; } #gallery-0-8 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-8 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

6. Dear Martin – Nic Stone (2017)

In Dear Martin, main character Justyce tries to do everything ‘right’: get good grades, dress appropriately, and be an all-around upstanding citizen. Nevertheless, when he tries to help out his drunk ex-girlfriend, he is arrested by a (racist) white cop, and he realises he cannot escape racial profiling from the institution that is meant to protect him. He feels a lot of frustration and anger at this realisation and decides to try and apply the teachings of Martin Luther King Jr. He begins to write letters to MLK as he tries to find his place in the world, dealing with white privileged, racist assholes (let’s just say it as it is) and police brutality. Another book that taught me so, so much.

7. Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race – Reni Eddo-Lodge (2017)

This is the only book on this list that I haven’t read in its entirety – but I’m in the middle of it and I am learning an awful lot about racism and white privilege in Britain. For those of you who think that racism is only a big problem in the USA: think again, and read this. Reni Eddo-Lodge didn’t plan on writing this book; she wrote a blog post with the same title, explaining that whenever she talked to white people about racism, she encountered skeptical stares and people unwilling to learn. Wanting to protect herself from that in the future, she vowed to stop talking about racism to white people. The response to the blog post was so enormous, however, that she ended up writing this book. It’s been on my radar for a few years now, but I’m ashamed to admit that it apparently took an uprising for me to get up off my lazy ass and actually read this, and educate myself. I urge you to do the same!

8. Children of Blood and Bone – Tomi Adeyemi (2018)

More of a fantasy reader? No problem, I’ve got a recommendation for that as well, even though fantasy is a notoriously white genre. Children of Blood and Bone is a YA fantasy novel based on West African mythology. It tells the story of a land in which magic has disappeared. When that happened, the king ordered all maji to be murdered. The children of these maji remain alive, though, but they become outcasts. They have darker skin than the rest of the population and are judged and discriminated against because of it (sound familiar?). The novel tells the story of Zélie, who finds herself with a chance to bring magic back, but has to race against the clock to do so. This is a YA fantasy story that has an all-black cast of character and explores and condemns racism: such an important addition to the genre.

9. With the Fire on High – Elizabeth Acevedo (2019)

This book tells the story of Emoni, who lives with her grandmother and is still in high school – but also has a young daughter to take care of. Emoni loves to cook, and the novel is filled with delicious descriptions of food and some of the recipes Emoni creates from scratch, which I always love in a book. It also deals with all the prejudice Emoni encounters as a Black teenage mother, however, and how it differs from how her daughter’s white teenage father is treated. Sexism and racism are both explored, but this novel is also a wonderful coming of age story as Emoni tries to figure out what she wants to do with her life.

10. The Sun Is Also a Star – Nicola Yoon (2016)

Spanning one single day in New York, this YA novel deals with racism and immigration, but it’s also a story of two people falling in love. Natasha has one day before her family will be deported to Jamaica, and she is desperate to find a way to stay in the USA. In the meantime, Korean-American Daniel is on his way to his college admission interview. They meet by chance and they spend one day together, Daniel wanting to fall in love and Natasha feeling the absolute opposite. I learned a lot about both of these two characters’ cultures and about what it is like to be an immigrant in the USA. As far as learning about other perspectives goes, this is a very good book to pick up.

With everything that's going on in the world, I wanted to do my part to raise some awareness and hopefully help educate some people. Here are 10 great books by Black authors to pick up and read today! It's time to step up and do the work to eradicate racism. That's an abrupt start to a blog post, but it's also the truth and one that we shouldn't ignore any longer.

#Black Lives Matter #Books #List #Novels #Reading #Recommendations

0 notes

javistg · 7 years

Note

ok, so the writer as memes. I want all the answers. ALL. OF. THEM.

Here you go, @everlarkingjoshifer! Thanks for the ask, I loved doing this!

I answered some of the questions in previous asks so, to simplify, I added the links here.

1. Favorite place to write.

 2. Favorite part of writing. Plotting and outlining. I just let my mind wander, coming up with scenarios and possibilities.

 3. Least favorite part of writing. Second guessing the choices I make, followed by all those pesky questions that sometimes creep into my mind.

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

 5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most. THG trilogy, obviously, that’s the universe that got me into fan fiction in the first place. But Graham Greene has also had a great impact on my writing.

 6. Favorite character you ever created.  I haven’t really created many original characters, but there’s this girl from D1 who will make an appearance in WIWTTW. I like her a lot. I might even write an outtake from her POV.

7. Favorite author.  

8. Favorite trope to write.  

9. Least favorite trope to write.

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about. I’d love to write something with Mary Hoffman. I love her “Stravaganza” books. It would be awesome to work on something like that. In the fan fiction world, I’d love to do something with @notanislander. Yes, Carrie, you! I think we’d have a great time figuring out a story. Probably something about Everlark not getting together right away ;)

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

A. Have an idea (usually these come when I’m watching/reading something that inspires me, or while I’m in the shower.

B. Write down the basics.

C. Fill in the gaps in the plot (sometimes I even include bits of dialogue into this step)

D. Divide de plot into segments (chapters). E. Write, aka develop each one of the points in the outline.  

12. How do you deal with self-doubts? Depends on how much of the story I have. Sometimes I ask someone to read my stuff and comment. But mostly I just clench my jaw and hit the “post” button.  

13. How do you deal with writers block? Sometimes I go back to reread stuff I’ve written, or I go over the plots I have stored to see if something catches my eye. I also ask for prompts from other blogs or participate in writing challenges. @promptsinpanem, @everlarkficexchange, and @everlarkbirthdaydrabbles have all been great for me, having an idea and a due date pushes me to get my act together.  

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book? I haven’t done a lot of research yet. But I always try to check small facts here and there.  

15. Where does your inspiration come from? Most of my inspiration comes from THG trilogy. Everything I’ve posted so far is fan fiction and most of it is either canon compliant or in Panem. So that entire universe has proven to be a great source of inspiration for me.  

16. Where do you take your motivation from? Have you ever reread something you wrote and wondered where those words or ideas came from? I’m constantly surprised by some of the passages I’ve written and I’m curious to see what else I can come up with. That curiosity is what drives me to keep on writing. And, on the days when that isn’t enough, the comments and reviews from my readers also stop me from giving up.

 17. On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?  

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like? Slow. Basically I read and reread what I have. This is where most of my insecurities creep up on me. Sometimes I’ll change a single sentence many times, only to discover that the best version was the first one.  

19. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

Gale Hawthorne couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her blond hair, loosely tied in a messy bun at her nape, shone like spun gold under the relentless summer sun.” (Strawberry Swing my submission to this year’s @mores2sl collection)

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on. 

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s. 

“It looks great. The ground floor looks like one of the houses from the old merchant quarter.” Looking out into the street, Haymitch added, “I hope you’re prepared for a big shock, a lot has changed since you left.” (Why I Went to the Woods)

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?  Depends. Usually, my first draft is little more than a simple outline. Sometimes my second draft fells complete but, most times, it takes three drafts to add all the details and points that I want into a story.

23. Single or multi POV, and why? I like multi POVs because they give you allow a deeper understanding of what’s happening in the story. I like exploring the different sides of every story.

 24. Poetry or prose, and why? Prose. My brain simply doesn’t compute poetry.  

25. Linear or non-linear, and why?

26. Standalone or series, and why?

27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished? Sometimes I share rough drafts but I try to polish as much as possible before showing my drafts to anyone.

28. And who do you share them with? I have a handful of betas I rely on from time to time.  @burkygirl, @xerxia31, @thegirlfromoverthepond, @everlarkingjoshifer, @titaniasfics, @pinksnailsaver, and @randomnoteforfuturereference have all come to my aid at one point or another.

29. Who do you write for? Me!

 30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.  Wow, that’s a difficult question! This is the first one that came to mind:

Anyone watching would have noticed how they mirrored each other, flustered and humming with nervous energy. But no one was watching, and they were so consumed with each other’s presence they failed to notice the reciprocity in each other’s gaze. (One Victor CH9)

31. Hardest character to write. Gale Hawthorne.  Maybe it’s because I’m nothing like him, or because Gale’s Window was my very fist fic. But I’ve always had a hard time channeling him.

32. Easiest character to write.  It depends on the day and the story. For the most part, I enjoy writing Peeta. He’s usually easier than Katniss. And I absolutely loved writing Haymitch! Can’t wait to do it again.

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing? Not if I’m alone. Sometimes I write during my commute, or while the hubs is watching TV, so I use music to block out the noise.

 34. Handwritten notes or typed notes? Typed. Always.  

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story Capitol Life. Both Katniss and Peeta are recruited by Haymitch to become spies for the rebels.  Peeta has to fake his death in order to escape District 12.

36. A spoiler for story Why I Went Back to the Woods. Peeta and Katniss will run into each other in the woods. 

37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you. Here are two:

Procrastination is the thief of time. Charles Dickens. It’s simple, but it reminds me of what I’m losing when I just let time slip by.

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. Oscar Wilde. A beautiful reminder that we have to look beyond what’s there and strive for something better.

 38. Have you shared your outline of your story One Victor with someone? If so, what did they think of it? Yes, I have. They thought it was good but suggested a few changes for the ending. I haven’t reached that part yet, but I’ll probably follow the advise they gave me.

 39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.  I always try to keep my characters as close to canon as possible, but my version of Peeta in Weekend Getaway is heavily inspired by someone I met when I was a teenager.

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why? As a reader I love both. As a writer… Fanfiction, at least for now. Who knows what the future holds.  

41. How many stories do you work on at one time? Honestly, I can’t really focus on more than one story at a time. That’s why my WIPs progress so slowly. If I get distracted by a new project I put everything else on hold while I finish the new thing.  

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc. The characters I’ve created so far exist within THG universe, so I’ve based my descriptions on information from the books.  

43. Are you an avid reader? YES! 

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten. “Describe what the character is feeling as if you want the reader to feel the same thing.“ 

45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten. An anonymous comment from someone who clearly didn’t even finish reading the chapter and who had issues with the relationship portrayed in the fic in question. The truth is that I shared the reviewer’s POV. If they had finished reading, they would have seen that the characters were discussing those exact issues.  The way it was the review was angry and useless.

46. What would your story One Victor look like as a tv show or movie? Here and Here are two inspiration boards for it.

47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story? Since I always use the same characters… plot.  

48. Favorite genre to write in. Romance, humor, suspense.

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end? The middle. The beginning is always exciting and the end feels like you’ve accomplished something. But the middle is no man’s land.  

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had. Honestly…. I’m drawing a blank…

 51. Describe the aesthetic of your story Capitol Life in 5 sentences or words.  Let’s see… cold, dreary, desolate, opulent, soft. I know it sounds a bit contradictory, but the story is divided into two sections. It’s probably easier to check out my inspiration board for it.

52. How did writing change you? It’s made me happier. It’s allowed me to get in touch with myself. I get to explore my thoughts and my imagination in a way I didn’t before. It’s liberating.

 53. What does writing mean to you? It’s a challenge. The challenge of finding the right words to tell a good story. I don’t always succeed, but I really enjoy trying.  

54. Any writing advice you want to share? Write to find peace, to find freedom, to fill your life with fantasy and adventure, with romance. Write to make yourself smile.

#javis answers #answering meme #questions for writers meme #thanks for the ask #getting to know each other #writing stuff

4 notes · View notes

toldnews-blog · 5 years

Photo

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/travel/landmark-strip-club-meets-boutique-hotel/

Landmark strip club meets boutique hotel

Atlanta (CNN) — A seedy strip club and a boutique hotel. They may seem like strange bedfellows, but in rapidly transforming Atlanta, this unusual relationship seems to be working.

The Clermont Lounge is not just any strip club. Established in 1965, this next-level dive bar is a beloved institution, where DJs, bands and Tuesday-night karaoke singers do their thing alongside dancers ranging in age from about 22 to 72.

And as Atlanta welcomes Super Bowl LIII fans, the lounge is basking in its status as one of the city’s most colorful destinations.

“It’s a different club than other clubs. And like, actually allows women older than 25 or 30 to work there. I’m 62 next month. Thank you, Jesus. I made it,” says Blondie, who has shimmied and drop-kicked atop its bar since 1978.

Blondie, born Anita Rae Strange, is the most famous stripper in Atlanta — a city known for adult entertainment. Crushing Budweiser and PBR cans with her breasts is a trademark. She also writes poetry.

“I would say everyone in Atlanta knows Blondie. Like my 90-year-old grandmom knows Blondie,” says native Atlantan William Bubier, 26, who works as a server upstairs at Tiny Lou’s, a French-American brasserie in the newly opened Hotel Clermont.

Blondie and the brasserie is the kind of juxtaposition that’s increasingly common in Atlanta, and some locals worry that Champagne tastes will stamp out intown Atlanta’s character.

“This girl don’t like no Champagne. Don’t like wine either. I like beer and shots,” says Blondie.

Yet despite mixed feelings, the trendy boutique hotel has undoubtedly made a splash and brought new energy to a building that was shuttered for nearly a decade, save for the strip club in the basement.

Dancers at Atlanta’s Clermont Lounge range in age from 22 to 72.

CNN

Downstairs

The building started as the Bonaventure Arms Apartments in 1924 and became the extended-stay Clermont Hotel in 1939.

Several nightclubs occupied the basement space before the Clermont Lounge was born in 1965. By the ’70s and ’80s, the building and the corridor along Ponce de Leon Avenue was frequented by drug addicts and prostitutes.

In 2009, the hotel was shuttered by the health department. But the lounge carried on, drawing all ages and walks of life.

Jimmy Mahaffey, who’s in his 50s, hit the new hotel’s rooftop bar and the basement on a recent Saturday evening with his girlfriend, who visited the strip club in the ’90s, before she moved to suburban Atlanta.

Mahaffey, who had never been to the lounge before, warmed up to the place immediately.

“It looked like I’d repaired the bar. It was duct-taped all the way around. Duct tape, my favorite repair tool,” Mahaffey said.

“When I saw that duct-taped bar, I was like, damn, there are some survivors in here.”

Blondie has been a dancer at the lounge for 40 years.

CNN

True. Blondie is not the oldest Clermont dancer. Porsha is in her 70s. Another dancer, Cassy, 54, who specializes in lighting her boobs on fire, has ties to the lounge dating back to the ’80s.

The dancers choose their own songs on the jukebox. Smoke permeates everything, seeping into hair and clothes. All but the bald chain-smoker will probably want a shower at the end of the evening.

The most remarkable development of the past two decades, decorwise, is the recent remodel of the restrooms, previously a challenge for the public-facilities sensitive.

People love this place.

Its atmosphere, plus a strict no-cameras policy, draws a range of celebrities. Anthony Bourdain was a fan. Robert De Niro, Woody Harrelson, Jennifer Lawrence and Jon Hamm have all been in.

Upstairs

The Clermont Lounge has a new friend in the Hotel Clermont.

The hotel, which opened in June 2018 after a $30 million overhaul, has a rooftop bar with sweeping skyline views, a coffee shop and a sultry cocktail bar in the lobby and the French-American brasserie, Tiny Lou’s, one flight down.

Tiny Lou’s is named after a dancer who performed at a basement club predating the Clermont Lounge.

The hotel’s design, handled by New York-based Reunion Goods & Services, is “kind of rock ‘n’ roll in your grandmother’s living room,” says Alan Rae, Hotel Clermont’s general manager.

Think velvet, rattan, wicker and florals with lots of bold wallpaper. There are 94 rooms, including several suites and a collection of four-bed bunk rooms geared toward friends traveling together.

The developer, Oliver Hospitality, bought the building in 2013, and there was never any question of closing the lounge.

“We like hotels that have personality, and this really had what I always called the street cred, the street credibility, of being authentic Atlanta and having the lounge in it,” said Philip Welker, a principal at Oliver Hospitality.

Kathi Martin, who co-owns the lounge, is happy with the change. She wasn’t sure who would buy the shuttered hotel or whether the buyers would keep the club.

“They like us, we love them,” says Martin, who started out as a bartender at the lounge 40 years ago.

“They bought it and fought to keep us ’cause nobody wanted to finance it with an adult entertainment club in the basement,” says Martin.

Keeping the lounge in place cost more than $1 million, Welker estimates. But it’s something that can’t be replicated anywhere else, and that’s a bonus.

The lounge continues to lease space in the building, and the businesses are owned and operated independently.

The hotel is closed to the public through Super Bowl weekend for a slate of ticketed events including rooftop DJ sets hosted by Jermaine Dupri and DJ Mars and a celebrity game night presented by rapper T.I.

However, the lounge will be open later than usual and for the first time on a Sunday.

Changing landscape

Atlanta’s redevelopment inspires mixed feelings.

Chris Sinon and Arielle Valdez, a 20-something couple, were having drinks on Hotel Clermont’s rooftop on a Saturday evening. They’re fans of the Clermont Lounge and feel a little torn about the building’s transformation.

It’s nice to see it revitalized, Valdez said, but it’s also a prime example of what’s happening in the hotel’s Poncey-Highland neighborhood — and across the city — where upscale development is driving up housing prices.

The rooftop — an Instagrammer’s delight with neon signs and skyline views — is a little “bougie,” Valdez said, compared with the no-frills, no-photos lounge. Still, it was the pair’s second rooftop visit.

“It’s certainly changed,” says hotel manager Alan Rae about the neighborhood. “But I think that the change has been at a level where there’s a good balance, a good mix of keeping the character of the neighborhood with all of the smaller businesses.”

Atlanta native Sean Vinson, 45, works security part-time at the Clermont Lounge. In the early 2000s, he worked there full time and lived upstairs in the hotel.

“I don’t like it,” Vinson says of the new hotel. “I mean it’s of course better than what it used to be up there, but in some ways not too, you know?”

“You’re gaining some things, but you’re losing certain elements of the neighborhood. How it used to be. Yeah, there were people that were dangerous back then, but it wasn’t as uptight either,” says Vinson.

Down the street from the Clermont, Ponce City Market is a rehabbed warehouse filled with upscale businesses.

ACVB Marketing/Melissa McAlpine

Or as expensive. “It used to be $200 a week, and now it’s $200 a night.”

Down the street, Ponce City Market is another urban metamorphosis. The converted 1920s Sears, Roebuck & Co. warehouse houses a food hall lined with casual chef-driven eateries, upscale retail, residences and offices.

It sits on the Atlanta BeltLine, a 22-mile trail that, when finished, will connect 45 neighborhoods.

“I mean the neighborhood has changed,” says Blondie. “All the condos across the street, the neighborhood changing up and down.”

Yet the Clermont remains.

“This place doesn’t change,” says Blondie. “And I don’t change. After 40 years, I’m very humble. God made sure of that.”

If you go

Hotel Clermont, 789 Ponce de Leon Ave NE, Atlanta, GA, (470) 485-0485. Rates for standard rooms start in the mid-$200s for winter 2019. Closed through the Super Bowl for private events.

Clermont Lounge, 789 Ponce de Leon Ave NE, Atlanta, GA, (404) 874-4783. The lounge will be open on Super Bowl Sunday, its first Sunday ever, thanks to a City Council waiver for the event that will also extend last call to 4 a.m. through February 4 at bars citywide.

#Clermont Lounge: Strip club meets boutique hotel in Atlanta - CNN #latest travel news #travel #travel deals #travel magazine #travel map #travel money #travel news

0 notes

arbitrarystrawberry · 7 years

Text

Rules: answer the questions in a new post and then tag ten blogs you would like to get to know better. Or don’t, it’s up to you.

Thanks for tagging me, @hobbitsetal!

Nickname: Mostly variations on strawberry. One of my friends calls me maryberry and it makes me happy.

Sign: *flashes peace sign*

Favourite music artist: Ooh, tricky. Adam Young (Owl City, Sky Sailing, etc.) was the first music artist whose work I really fell in love with, and his work has inspired me a ton in my own writing, so he’ll always have a special place in my heart. But right now I really adore Radical Face so *shrugs*

Last tv show watched: Um... I think the Miraculous Ladybug. xD (it’s so silly bUT IT’S WEIRDLY ADDICTING ONCE YOU START)

Last movie you watched in theatre: I think Doctor Strange

What are you wearing right now: Jeans, socks with hedgehogs and hearts on them, and a cozy, bright-pink sweater

What do you post: Whatever interests me, basically. xD Funny stories, fandom related things, Christian things, stuff that I just think is interesting, etc.

Do you have any other blogs: Well, I have a blogspot thing for my poetry that I started a while before I got tumblr, but I’m super bad at updating it http://arbitrarystrawberry.blogspot.com/

Why did you choose your URL: ...okay this is a long story BASICALLY I’ve been part of this other online community for a long time and when I first joined I quickly figured out that I should put up a picture of some sort so I wouldn’t look like such a newbie so I slapped on some strawberries and figured I would change them up later but I’m super lazy so I never did? and then strawberries just became my identity (especially since my username, writergirl14, was super unmemorable) and so yeah I’ve just kind of embraced it

Do you get asks regularly: This is actually my second ever ask.

Hogwarts house: I’ve only just started working my way through the books (sheltered homeschooler here, finally moving into my rebellious stage xD), but I’m like 99% sure I’m Hufflepuff.

Patronus: I have no idea. Maybe a squirrel?

Pokemon team: I have a tiny flip phone with rubbery buttons for me to text my friends I have not yet experienced the wonders of pokemon go

Favourite colour: I think it’s still blue right now, but purple is making a comeback. Yellow is pretty too. As is green.

Favourite characters: ...Oh dear. Okay. Um. It’s kind of hard because for the things I like I usually end up liking pretty much ALL the characters so I don’t like to pick just one D8 um um okay George Cubbins from Lockwood and Co. (but also EVERYONE), Dipper Pines from Gravity Falls (BUT ALSO LITERALLY ALL THE CHARACTERS okay you get the idea), Hector from Criss Cross, Cinder and Carswell Thorne from The Lunar Chronicles, Doreen Green/Squirrel Girl from The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl, Gavroche from Les Miserables (i didn’t think that much of him in the musical but in the book he is //such a precious child// protect him at all costs), Bartimaeus from the Bartimaeus trilogy, Zuko from Avatar: the Last Airbender, Quincy Endicott from Over the Garden Wall (I JUST LOVE HIM OKAY)...and yeah okay let’s stop things here

Hobbies/crafts: Writing, playing piano, playing ukulele, etc.

Collect anything? ...Stories? Can I say that? Is that too corny?

Current challenges you face: I really need to read my bible more.

Things you’re looking forward to? Reading in my bedroom, writing new things, talking to friends, SPRING, getting another bagel from that bagel shop near the college, continued existence, new experiences, etc.

Anything you want to promote? READ BOOKS BOOKS ARE GREAT THAT’S A THING YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY DO. Check out your local library. Be friendly. Drink water. Show kindness to everyone.

okay sorry I ramble a lot so if you read all that then good for you xD imma tag @cheezits-official and @entomologistologist

#mine #I got tagged you guys #is this what being cool on the internet feels like

9 notes · View notes

swipestream · 5 years

Text

Sensor Sweep: John Carter Miniatures, The Metal Monster, Carcosacon, Call of the Wild Art, Robot Man

RPG (Modiphius): The John Carter Swords of Mars miniatures line is made up of 32mm scale high quality multi-part resin miniatures which come complete with resin scenic bases. The Swords of Mars campaign book includes a set of rules to play out battles involving squads and heroes, fighting across moving airships, desolate ruins or the beautiful palaces of Barsoom.

Writing (One Last Sketch): A long while back, I wrote a short essay called “Writing the city” that I never published, yet the misgivings that went into that essay keep stirring my brain. The main question is this:

In literary criticism of fantasy, why are long descriptions of the natural world and farmland or villages often labeled as boring, but when China Miéville fills page upon page with adjective-laden descriptions of architecture, this passes without comment, or even gets praise?

Art (DMR Books): Fifty-five years ago today, Wayne Francis Woodard, better known as “Hannes Bok,” died in poverty. He was friends with, and had his work admired by, the likes of Ray Bradbury, A. Merritt, August Derleth, Farnsworth Wright and others.

I must confess that I’ve always been ambivalent about Bok’s art. While I find some of his work truly excellent, I consider much of it average or even poor.

Fiction (DMR Books): It’s fascinating how the paths we take in life shape who we’ll become and what we’ll leave behind, when–on that fateful day–we’re blasted by the emerald lightnings of The Emperor’s Guard at the Pit of the Metal Monster.

For me, the dregs of life will be a room full of books. For A. Merritt, luckily for us, it was his wonderful novels, few tho’ they may be, and the short stories and poetry he crafted during a relatively short lifetime.

But, whereas the ashes of our mortal clay will be scattered before the feet of the Metal Things

Fiction (Gardner F. Fox): This is book #011 on the list of 160 books that Gardner Francis Fox wrote from 1953 to 1986. I will not be working on

Blank bookcover with clipping path

books in the order as Mr. Fox wrote them. I am doing the book cover designs based on when the transcribers who are assisting me, finish one. As they complete a book, it will be the newest release, so it will get a new book cover design. I also have to go back and replace the photo-bashed covers I made when I first started The Gardner Francis Fox Libraryin 2017.

Conventions (William King): So that was Carcosacon and it was a lot of fun. A bunch of us drove up from Prague to Czocha Castle for a weekend of games, panels and live action roleplaying all dedicated to the Cthulhu mythos. We got there on Friday morning, checked in and were gaming by one o’ clock that afternoon in a library that looked like something from Dennis Wheatley complete with a secret doorway hidden in a bookcase that swung out to reveal a spiral staircase up to yet another gaming room. I thought there never was a better setting for a Call of Cthulhu session but I was wrong, and I’ll get to that later.

RPG (Sorcerers Skull): Gygaxian Esoteric Planes: Places that often bear the names and some of the characteristics of various historical conceptual realms but are more defined in their characteristics. They are inhabited by supernatural beings that tend to behave like mundane beings, the only difference being “power.” Geography tends to be more important than in conceptual realms; planes can be mapped to a degree, and travel along associated terrain may be necessary.

Reviews (Don Herron): Our resident expert in everything Arkham returns to review a new (if repurposed) book on the fabled press. John D. Haefele certainly burst fully-formed on the scene with his A Look Behind the Derleth Mythos, but he’s done a ton of stuff on the subject, most recently a run of articles appearing in Crypt of Cthulhu. See his Amazon page for a thorough list of books, chapbooks, monographs, web and print surveys. He knows the turf.

Cinema (Superversive SF): Can the story take a place on a bus rather than on a space ship without being fundamentally different?

Outland, an obscure movie starring Sean Connery at the low point of his career, cannot be set on a bus, but it most definitely did not need to be placed in space. It is, no pun intended, fully grounded in the traditional western genre in the theme, plot and pacing. There are even shotguns. Lots of shotguns. In a pressurized environment. All that’s missing is the tumbleweeds. We do get treated to the sight of some gyrating balls of… something, but the less said of those the better.

Gaming (Rampant Games): In case you haven’t figured it out, I am a Virtual Reality enthusiast. I’ve been looking forward to the coming of consumer-level Virtual Reality since the early 90s. I expected it a lot sooner than it got here, to be honest, but I’m glad it’s here now. I love that I get to work with it as part of my day job. Anyway, I have been willing to sink a bit of cash into it this hobby… to the extent that I pre-ordered a Pimax 5K+. Offering about the highest resolution out there and 170+ degrees of field-of-view, it seemed like a game-changer for PC-based VR.

Cinema (Men of the West): First, the good: As you would expect from any sort of Peter Jackson flick, it has gorgeous F/X. The visuals and modeling for the various vehicles and aircraft are marvelous. The colorizing to help set the tone, the costuming, etc., are all spot on. The acting was decent. The set design was pretty cool. The basic premise for the story was decent if absurd (mobile cities on treads?), with an interesting twist on the post-apocalypse genre. They had a fun dig at the near illiteracy of today’s people in the “screen age” (showing iPhones, etc), saying “they didn’t write much down.”

Author Interview (Superversive SF): What does superversive mean to you? Superversive is the building of things never seen before to heights unreached. It builds where others have torn down, and gathers together all good things to be made into something greater and more wonderful than they were before. Where before one might find a blasted heath, one finds a garden growing by the Grace of God.

Review (Fantasy Literature): As I mentioned in my review of Gray Lensman, Book 4 of E.E. “Doc” Smith’s famed six-part LENSMAN series, that installment, although it followed its predecessor, Galactic Patrol, by mere seconds storywise, was actually released over 1½ years later; 20 months later, to be exact. Book 5 of the series, Second Stage Lensman, would follow the same scheme. Although the events therein transpire just moments after the culmination of Book 4, readers would in actuality have to wait a solid 22 months to find out where author Smith would take them next.

Art (Northwest Adventures): Jack London’s The Call of the Wild was serialized in The Saturday Evening Post from June 20 to July 18, 1903, only five years after the Stampede of 1898. It was an instant classic and the quintessential novel of the Klondike. The five-parter was accompanied by illustration from two artists, Charles Livingston Bull (1874-1932) and Philip R. Goodwin (1881-1935). Bull was hitting his stride, illustrating books for Charles G. D. Roberts as well as magazine covers but Goodwin was only 22 and just starting out on his career that would include illustrating Teddy Roosevelt’s book on hunting. The two artists together is a nice blend of Bull’s stylized poster art (which remind of Kay Nielsen’s fairy tale art) and Goodwin’s realistic dog forms.

Art (One Last Sketch): No other imagined world has generated as much illustration as The Lord of the Rings. Considering the sheer amount of artistic material to draw from, however, even before the live action adaptations came out in 2001, we already had a consensus “look” for Middle Earth in John Howe and Alan Lee’s paintings. Why the collective consensus for what Middle Earth should look like coalesced around these two has a host of factors, one being how prolific they were, how often they appeared on book covers and ancillary material, and the last being their obvious skill.

Fiction (Pages Unbound): You may have some familiarity with The Silmarillion and seen these newer works being published that are part of it. But maybe you are not sure where they came from, or how they fit in to the larger work. Here is the scoop: you can pick up any one of the three separate works from The Silmarillion that have been released as standalone volumes and enjoy it on its own. They are The Children of Hurin, Beren and Luthien, and The Fall of Gondolin. Some say the reading order should be publication order, but you would not be wrong to read Beren and Luthien first.

Obituary (Washington Post): George Stade, a Columbia University literary scholar who became an early champion of “popular” fiction within the academy and worked as a critic, editor and novelist, most notably with the grisly satire “Confessions of a Lady-Killer,” died Feb. 26 at a hospital in Silver Spring, Md. He was 85.

Tolkien (Alas Not Me): The Mouth of Sauron’s encounter with the Captains of the West in The Lord of the Rings has been reminding me of the Green Knight’s visit to King Arthur’s court in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

The initial set-up is quite different, naturally. The Green Knight comes in uninvited without any introduction or explanation — the reader is thus in the same boat as members of Arthur’s court — whereas Tolkien gives us some backstory on the Lieutenant of the Tower of Barad-dûr when he comes out in response to the heralds’ challenge. The Green Knight arrives alone on a color-coordinated steed that seems an ordinary animal except for its hue, but the poet hints the knight himself might possibly be supernatural (“Half etayn in erde I hope þat he were”). Intriguingly, the similarly color-coordinated fellow who approaches Aragorn & Co. is almost exactly the inverse, i.e., a living man on a possibly supernatural mountm

Sensor Sweep: John Carter Miniatures, The Metal Monster, Carcosacon, Call of the Wild Art, Robot Man published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

0 notes