#he truly views her through a rose colored lens

[faeriegirl]

Vision.

#artists on tumblr #victorian gothic #gothic horror #magical girl #angel #victorian fashion #art gallery #ocs #jonathan #kanna #jonathan depicts a version of kanna that sticks in his psyche #she is the girl who lights up his colorless world #his art of her girl self often reflects this #he truly views her through a rose colored lens #where others might see a beast #he sees Her

[wilquinones]

Then, now, next

Museums, with all their faults and shortcomings, have always, in some form or another, been about educating the public. Therefore, they have always engaged with their respectives communities. In the article “Where does the history of museum education begin?” Nathaniel Prottas tries to (as the title suggests) pin down when and where museums started focusing on providing an educational experience for its visitors. Prottas argues that this has always been the case, beginning with what he considers to be the first museum, the Belvedere, in Vienna, founded in 1781. Its first curator, Christian von Mechel, believed that the Belvedere should teach its visitors about the history of art. He also “...chose to write short entries that helped direct visitors to look at the paintings, with the goal of having them look closely and for extended periods… It received praise for helping the uninitiated understand the works on display and the history of art” (Prottas, p. 338). This was then replicated throughout all of Europe, which exemplifies how successful a museum becomes when it actively engages with its participants. I admit this is viewing history through rose colored glasses. If this was community engagement in 18th century European museums, it is safe to say that the engagement “...smacks of the kind of social control that defined Vienna under Empress Maria Theresa and her son, Joseph II” (Prottas, p. 338), and being that the Belvedere was a royal palace, the community mostly consisted of wealthy, white individuals. Or at least, only felt welcoming for those individuals.  

(pictured above: engraving of Christian von Mechel by one of his students, c.1770)

A modern example of successful community engagement, which I love, is the Camilo Egas museum in Quito, Ecuador. Egas is an Ecuadorian artist who portrayed indigenous people frequently in his work, becoming one of the most prominent artists in the Indigenism movement. His work is being viewed under a more critical lens as of late (if you want to read more, click here), however, the museum founded under his name has created a completely different legacy, I believe. The building itself is a colonial house within Quito’s historical center, relatively removed from the rest of the touristic attractions, and surrounded by what Cisneros calls “fuertes problemáticas sociales” or “strong social problems” such as prostitution and delinquency (p. 1). Since the museum could count on little funding from the government, and being that the only staff members were Cisneros herself as the curator, security guards and concierges, they relied on a “bricolage” of methods in order to engage with their community. Cisneros managed programs, guided tours, as well as working with nearby schools and universities; but the method that gave the most results was the simple act of security guards inviting passersby inside. According to visitor surveys, there were certain months where it was the most prominent reason as to why participants stepped inside the museum. 

This is how it works: the guard stands in the doorway of the museum and tells people that the museum is free and that it only takes ten minutes to see the collection. This was proven to be the most effective way to entice people, since by offering to see the museum for free, it meant that anyone was welcome. It also meant that participants didn’t feel like they had to give up more than ten minutes of their time, making it more convenient for their day to day, all of which means that the museum truly turned into a public space for the community. For the most part, after people came in, they stayed longer than the projected ten minutes, admiring the architecture, the art, or simply conversing in the patio (Cisneros, p. 10). My favorite story is Cisneros rushing downstairs to find an elderly woman being guided inside by the security guard on one of the days the museum was closed, offering to plant flowers in the patio as thanks for being invited inside the day before.  

I don’t mean to romanticize this example either. This museum could do and provide so much more for the community if they had more sufficient funds and bigger staff, which it deserves. But the way this institution simply opens its doors, and invites you in, is I feel the core of community engagement; which can be done by the Smithsonian or by an old house placed in a narrow stretch of road in Quito.

(pictured above: Camilo Egas Museum, photo credits to Encircle Photos)

References:

Cisneros, Lorena. "Etnografía de una práctica de mediación en el Museo Camilo Egas." HISTOIRE (S) de l'Amérique latine 10 (2014): 14-14.

Prottas, Nathaniel. “Where Does the History of Museum Education Begin?” Journal of Museum Education, vol. 44, no. 4, Oct. 2019, pp. 337–41, https://doi.org/10.1080/10598650.2019.1677020.

[pastelgrungewrecker]

Home Movies and Haunted Eyes

If I could save time in a bottle The first thing that I'd like to do Is to save every day till eternity passes away Just to spend them with you

“How come you take so many pictures, anyway?”

Mimi’s hands tightened on her little camera- an old, beaten thing; with a chip on the lens’ plastic casing and the color worn away where it screwed onto the body of the device. She swallowed her tears and smiled at her firehaired sister.

“....Just in case.”

Se asked again, before they got the invitation- why she took so many photos of such... trivial things. Of family lunches on a Monday afternoon. Of Quickdraw laying on his back in the yard to watch clouds, moments before Chrona leapt onto his midsection like a swandive.

“Cause one day, it’s all I’m gonna have left to give you.”, she said quietly- before the door opened and Perceptor dried his eye and croaked her name.

“Th- The memorial, is...”

“The G9 memorial?”

“Y-Yes it’s... Three days.”

Dani and Quickdraw scrambled to their feet, the other siblings seeming to materialize out of the cozy haze of their home as Mimi hugged her father as tight as she could, in arms that life made strong and gentle and warm before she pulled her phone from a pocket.

She spoke in low tones, avoiding Quickdraw’s concern and Chrona’s suspicion until Dani- bright Dani, burning Dani- stomped forward and demanded she answer Quickdraw’s unspoken question.

For the first time, the only time, she snapped at her sister in a voice colder than they’d ever heard.

“It’s a memorial for the fucking DEAD Laudanum, now sit your ass DOWN.”

Percy gently rapped his knuckles against Mimi’s shoulder, trying and failing to scold her with a look as Whirl came in from the backyard and demanded to know what was going on, why Chrona had sprinted onto the deck and hollered for him til she coughed.

Mimi sighed, walking Perceptor to the couch with her voice softened and avoiding the shocked stares of her siblings. She let Perceptor cling to her, let his shoulders shake.

“The memorial for the Garrus 9 mission is in three days.”, she said softly, “And Perceptor is taking it really hard-”

“They-”, he coughed to clear his throat, “They want me to speak. At the service.”

Whirl’s expression softened- stoic and calm; he stepped softly to Perceptor and knelt down, braid swinging in and out of view as his head tilted.

“Are you going to?”

“Y-Yes. I. I owe it to Top Spin, and Twin Twist. And everyone. The crew, I’m-”

“Do you want the family there, Percy?”

“We can’t- We can’t have the children there; I mean, Mimi needs to be, they were...”

“Perceptor; we can’t hide the kids from death forever.”, murmured Whirl, “You and I both know everything’s eventual- one day it’s gonna be us in caskets.”

“But-”

“I want to go.”, blurted Dani, “I mean... I. We don’t.... We don’t really know... anything about the Wreckers that our parents were such good friends with. We don’t know what you went through, and we WANT to, right guys?”

Kickback nodded sharply with arms crossed over her chest, Chrona reappearing and giving a soft “Yeah” into the room as Quickdraw’s eyebrow raised in agreement.

“And, maybe selfishly....”, continued Dani, “...We wanna understand. We know that, like- there’s certain. Alarm tones on our phones we can’t use, cause they make you and Papa Whirl have an attack. Or they make Mimi start crying and we have to get Papa Ratch. We want to understand WHY- the only thing we know of Garrus 9 is what they told us in school.”

“And it wasn’t much.”, Kickback chimed in, to her sister’s relief, “I mean, for God’s sake Papaceptor- My history teacher said you were a reenactment actor when he first met you! This is... kind of our family history, right?”

“In. In a way.”, said Perceptor quietly, “It... certainly had an effect on your family, but you are all so young, I couldn’t-”

“Wreckers take care of their own.”, whispered Quickdraw, with cybernetic eyes narrowed like Whirl’s good eye so often did, “History or not, Papaceptor... You’re hurting. And so is Mimi. And we’re your family, aren’t we? Raised by Wreckers- and Wrecker’s Daughters.”

Perceptor looked at Quickdraw in surprise, Whirl humming in intrigue at his son’s sudden firm stance.

“Mimi taught us all that, remember? Wreckers care for their own. You and Papa Whirl take care of each other and all the dad’s, and they return it. You take care of Mimi and she takes care of you. Mimi... Takes care of all of us. And we’re gonna do the same for her.”

Chrona huffed a laugh, popping up next to Mimi, “Besides, we need to find some sweet blackmail stories on Big Sister over here- not fair she can use my pigtail pics against me!”

Whirl snorted softly, and Perceptor managed a creaky smile, and sighed, “...Alright. I... It would. It would help me keep it together. If my family was with me. All of my family.”

“Then it’s settled.” said Whirl as Drift clattered in through the backdoor, “Make sure to answer with a plus... however many are going. I’m not doin’ math after dealing with a hippy tryin’ to eat the fuckin’ garden AGAIN.”

“I didn’t!”, yelped Drift, trying to pull his dirty shoes off.

“YOU’RE GROWIN’ FUCKIN’ WEED IN THE TOMATOES AGAIN, WHILE EATIN’ ALL MY TOMATOES!”

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Three days came, and went. The family filed out, loading into two vehicles as dawn started to rise over the horizon- showing Perceptor and Whirl and Mimi and Drift in her half-dead four door. Smoke trailed from Perceptor’s cracked window, and Mimi simply pretended not to see him toss half a pack of menthol cygarettes into her glovebox next to a steel lighter.

Whirl made a disapproving noise. Mimi shot him a look. The car went silent.

The drive seemed to take too long, Mimi white-knuckled and Perceptor dead eyed as Drift fidgeted almost uncontrollably. Mimi sighed.

“A couple hits off of ONE, Dri-dri.”, she said sternly, “And try not to ash my upholstery?”

The hiss of a match.

Silence.Mimi glanced in the rearview, seeing Cyclonus smiling in melancholy as he no doubt fielded questions from the siblings in the van as Ratchet drove with his face pensive and dull.

The gates of a graveyard rose high in front of them, and she breathed deep as the wheel creaked from her grip.

“Pull over.”, said Perceptor softly, ice riming the words like they had so very long before this family had been built.

She nodded, waving a hand out her window as she did to signal to the van carrying the rest of them. Perceptor waited until the parking break creaked it’s exhaustion before taking a heavy drag and exhale- before passing it to the side. 

Whirl and Drift looked alarmed as Mimi accepted with hands shaking hard enough to blur.

“Mimosa what in the name of-”

“It’s just something we did.”, was the answer in unison.

Smoke curled around Mimi’s words, she let her eyes drift shut for a moment, and then handed the last drag back to Perceptor. 

“Are we ready, then?”, she asked, rubbing her lips together like she had just applied lip balm to get rid of the nagging tingle.

“As ready as I can be.”

They unbuckled seatbelts and shoved open car doors, stretching in the sunlight as Perceptor and Mimi walked around to the trunk. It clicked with a turn of her key and a tap of a code to show relics of days long forgotten. She helped Perceptor buckle on the old, thin armor- bulletproof and matte dark. She tightened the holsters around his thighs in ritualistic silence as her siblings watched and slowly began to understand.

She stood, and nodded, and turned to let him attack her hair in the same grieving quiet.

Her prosthetics groaned slightly as her weight shifted, her hair slicked back to match her father’s and glasses she rarely wore perched on her nosebridge in a match his scuffed reticule.

“Why are they....”, whispered Drift as Whirl coughed quietly.

“Sign of respect.”, said Whirl, gesturing at his own appearance- his braid and old patch, still emblazoned with the sigil that dominated his past with blood and bullets.

“We’re Wreckers. And you only leave one of three ways. Dishonorable discharge, dementia...”

“Or death.”, said Mimi quietly.

“But... weren’t you vetoed, Whirl?”

“Yep, from a few missions.”, he said, “I was still active on the roster. Still called in a few times between my.... Other activities. But never relieved, never truly removed. Never gone, just put on standby.”

Quickdraw looked at the somber faces, something seeming to click in his head, “.... Are you still on standby now?”

Whirl looked down. Perceptor looked away. Mimi breathed deep.

“Yeah, they are. The Wreckers were never formally dissolved, kiddo.”, she said, “And, by technicality, they could call me in too.”

“But you-”, began Quickdraw.

“It’s the same way Rodimus is a Wrecker.”, she said gently, “He ran with them for a decent while, against the Swarm mostly. But he’s still... Wrecker adjacent, so to speak. They could tap him to replace missing faces on the roster. I was raised on the Trion- Springer’s ship.”

“You knew SPRINGER?!”, squeaked Kickback.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”, she grimaced, “He’s a huge jerk, by the way. Don’t talk to him- he’s never liked Si-si, or Dri-dri, or Papa Birdy.”

“Feelin’s mutual.”

“Whirl, no.”, sighed Drift.

“Anyway... Come on.”, said Mimi, “We’d better get walking.”

“Walking?”

“Bad luck to drive in a graveyard, even if there’s roads.”, said Drift.

“It’s disrespectful too- unless it’s a hearse. Only exception.”, said Perceptor as gravel crunched under their feet, “Mostly because the hearse, or the coffin’s transport in general, is necessary. Bodies are heavy, and caskets are solid.”

“Why isn’t there any hearses around here, then?”, asked Chrona, before feeling the air crack like sugar glass. 

Mimi squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then spoke, “...Because it’s a memorial. For a mission that didn’t let anyone bring any remains home, Chrona.”

Chrona stuttered, and fell quiet. Dani and Kickback reached out in unison, catching Mimi’s hands.

“...Did you and Papaceptor. Know anyone on the mission?”

Mimi felt the air in her lungs chill over, and she nodded, “Yeah, li’l gremlins.”, she said with a weak half smile as her eyes began to leak, “I knew Top Spin, and Twin Twist. And Mister Magnus too. And I knew Rotorstorm, for a little while, and even Pyro and Guzzle and Auntie Verity. You remember Auntie Verity?”

“Yeah.”

“And... Uncle Ironfist. Uncle Fisi, I knew him too. And I... I knew Papaceptor.”

Quickdraw gasped.

“Papaceptor had to go on that mission, you see.”, she said, chest already jumping, “And... And very awful, terrible things happened. And so many people died, for... for nothing, really. For something the government needed.”

The family walked in silence, led by Mimi and Perceptor and the shine of tears.

“And only a few came back. Grandpap Kup. Pap Impactor, who you’ll meet today. Aunt Verity. Uncle Fisi. Springer. And Papa. And Mister Max. You might see him today too.”

The family noticed the crowd, the somber crowd, with Ultra Magnus of the Line Ambus the most somber of all as he stood upon the dais.

“Top Spin and Twin Twist were the first people I called Papa.”, whispered Mimi softly, “Before me and Papaceptor had anybody else.”

She smiled at her siblings, letting go of Dani and Kickback’s hands before hooking her arm with Perceptor.

They walked forward- ignoring salutes and red eyes as they walked up the stairs- weaponry heavy around and under their clothes. Magnus shook each of their hands, and nodded for them to go stand with the rest of the survivors of that ill-fated mission.

Kup patted Perceptor’s shoulder, eyes clouded slightly yet still sharp, and grinned at Mimi around his cigar.

Verity patted the seats next to her, her face lined past its years.

As Magnus’s voice sounded, Mimi let her eyes hover half-closed, letting her head lean against Perceptor’s shoulder as he patted her cold hand.

||She was a child again, patting the console and sobbing- tears were streaming, she had heard Papa’s voice, she HEARD it and why isn’t he home yet. Mister Magnus WHY he was supposed to be home in time for MOVIE TIME, don’t you understand that he PROMISED; you need to go save him! That’s what enforcers do, don’t they?

Her little prayers being met with fear and anxious hushing, the rumble of the engines as they circled the pickup zone frantically searching for a signal- for anything. Any signs of life.

She remembered the carnage come home. She remembered Fisitron and his odd eyes- they shook in place like he was always reading the world- his odd eyes closed and his face sickly pale.

She remembered Verity, blankly wiping smears of blood and tears and saliva from her face and armor and staying so silent no matter how many times Mimi’s tiny voice called her name.

And then Si-si - silent and cold and gone too far away for her to touch. Walking past her with weakening steps as she toddled behind him, calling for her Papa to wait- not so fast, her legs is only little.

“Si-si, why are you crying? Si-si- Don’t cry, I can help!”||

Perceptor patted her hand, seeing tears rolling down her face and she blinked herself back. Mimi looked at him, smiled weakly, and looked away- releasing him to take weakening steps to the podium- to let his voice sound out clarion and cold and edged in ice and blood.

Like it had so long ago.

Her prosthetic legs shifted, and she looked just in front of the popup stage they sat up to see headstones that guarded no bodies. Graves she knew held empty caskets.

She felt her stomach freeze over, felt her eyes dim down like permafrost.

And in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but be surprised her name wasn’t on a gravemarker; to memorialize the childhood that died the day the Wreckers came home.

#pastelwrites #humanformers #fankids #wreckers #crim you arent allowed to break my toes for this

[toughfaun]

Hi, I don't really post what I'm writing here. I've never really had the confidence and I am in a constant battle with my agoraphobia.

I only showed this story that I'm working on to one person. He never got the chance to tell me what he thought about it.

I don't like the silence so I was hoping that in posting this here, even if no one sees it, even if no one cares, that it will bring some type of peace.

Word Count: 1.5k

Title: Lucy Lovingstein

Status: Work in Progress

View on Google Docs

She rushed into the room bringing a gust of wind with her, her shoulders tense, her hair tousled as if fingers were ran through it repeatedly with ambition, and her face a scowl held hostage, cheeks puffed out as if her mouth was full though I knew it wasn’t. “I left him, Patty.” She threw her body down onto the chase in front of me, the place I would have normally sat while I was reading, but decided not to today. “I left him.”

Him, being the man she left us for, left me for. His name was. . .well, is that important? No, it is not. It was an ugly name anyway. 

She fell in love suddenly and left just as so. Sudden was her nature, after all, slow was too much for her. It always had been and always would be, which is why she fell out of love with me far quicker than I could have or wanted to. She left for a dazzling city with him. The city being New York, where life was so fast that you had to run even in your sleep. She’d sent a postcard, barely any handwritten words. I could count them on one, maybe one and a half hands. ‘Life is great.’ She started, ‘Miss you much.' and there at the bottom she signed her first name as I knew it, ‘Lucy’ but with a new last name, his last name ‘Lovingstein’ it was likely made up by one of his ancestors but it was real for him. As stupid as it were, was, is.

He took her to places that she had never seen, lived life faster than a winning racehorse. While I sat here at home, working as I usually did and then coming home to an empty home as I usually did and made dinner and read all alone as I usually did. Nothing ever changed for me, not even that, not even the pain in my chest when I got the picture she sent me, the return address was in Vegas. The Vegas. And when I opened it, sure enough, there was a photo of them there, lips locked, hands in places nearing the obscene but the ring was still visible, gleaming even in the photo. Even now where we sit, my heart beats to her rhythm as if she and I were lying side by side again.

I’d made my peace with our lost love many years ago now, she was gone all of twelve, it took me ten and my late cat, Valentine, to feel less lonely. But now she walks in out of the blue, the first I have ever laid eyes on her in years and she barges in undeterred as if she’d left only yesterday, without a single call or even a letter or hell, another postcard. Her confidence has never shocked me more.

“Lucy,” I started placing a bookmark between the pages. “There are so many problems that you have risen that I don’t even know where to start.”

“Do you really still talk like that?” Her eyes were blue still, duller now than in my memory. Perhaps they were the same hue and my memory just applies a filter of sorts, one that makes things brighter and heightens the emotions.

Should I allow her to distract me? “Talk like what, Lucy?” I guess so.

She looked away as she removed her scarf, “As if your life is a book. As if everyone’s life is from pages of text instead of a world of color.”

I placed my book down on the table next to my mug of tea, still steaming but likely not for long. “Why do you talk as if you know me still? As if this is not the first time we have seen each other in twelve years?”

“I wrote you, sent postcards, pictures.” She laid her scarf down on the arm rest and looked back at me, I once again noticed her eyes. Such dull, sad eyes. “You never sent anything back. That is not my fault.”

"Ah yes, because you didn't constantly move and travel. Because I always knew where you were. It's certainly all fault of mine." She would forever be infuriating. I wonder, even now, how I ever loved her.

She waved her hand in the air, "It's no longer important, really. But I must tell you everything now, about him, about why I'm here, about all of it." Her voice cracked toward the end, perhaps it was emotion, or perhaps she needed a glass of water - either way I had little patience for it.

Most of me wanted to yell at her. Tell her how wrong she was to barge into my home, though it was probably on me for that. I'd never moved the spare key in twelve years, she must have guessed so, perhaps it was clear to her too that nothing had changed for me. Though that was no excuse for her to not even express the slightest glimpse of courtesy. Not a hello, or a how are you. But that was Lucy, she often skipped over greetings but not often did she skip over a goodbye. Maybe she liked muddied beginnings and clear endings. 

She wanted you to know when she was done with you. 

Over the years of both knowing and knowing of Lucy, I have received many a clear ending and muddied beginning. From friends to lovers suddenly when she kissed me. From lovers to nothing when she left me. From nothing to. . .distanced acquaintance when she sent the first post card and many start and stops whenever she felt like.

Though remembering it now, I'm unsure if our ending was ever truly clear. Perhaps our relationship was more of the metamorphosis type, not that I'd ever decided that or cared that it was. She left me.

I knew it was probably my weak willpower that allowed the thoughts of simply conceding and allowing her room to talk to enter my mind. Though perhaps, I was on to something, that if I allow her to speak her mind that maybe, just maybe I will finally be done with her. That the dull ache I feel now will finally subside and I can move on. Heaven knows I've already given my wounds much time. "Fine." I said finally, after a long stare down with her. The air in the room had gathered intensity, but not the uncomfortable kind, or the heated kind. It was the air of an anxiousness that had urgency, excitement, and a tad bit of familiarity. "Go ahead and tell me everything." As I gave her my full attention, I realized that even I, after all these years, missed her and the sound of her voice. I suppose that too had not changed. 

"There are so many stories to tell, there are so many paths and timelines that overarch into what he and I had and what it became. But I'll spare you those different tidbits-"

"How kind." I added. 

"Please save it until the end, Patty. I really would like to just say what I have to say and be done with it."

I nodded and continued my silence, a feat I had mastered over the years. Perfect silence.

"As you know, we married in Vegas eleven years ago now. And it was a happy marriage for awhile, for a long time." Her voice became somewhat solemn for a moment before it picked up. "But I was having the time of my life, seeing new things every day. Meeting new people every second. It was hectic and I wish I could describe how fast my heart was racing throughout all of it. The joy I felt, the amazement, the fulfillment. It was exhilarating." 

She had a smile on her lips and her eyes were faraway, likely reminiscing. Images from her mind's memory banks pulled to the forefront, she probably didn't even see me sitting there anymore. A memory was projected over me, maybe it was of the busy crowds of Vegas, the ancient beauty of Greece or Rome, perhaps even the Amazon jungle. Whatever it was she was seeing, it brought joy to her lips and a slight spark to her eyes. 

In a blink it changed.

"Eventually things changed between us. His love didn't feel the same anymore, he only wanted me to see the world through his rose colored glass. I wanted to see so much, but he wouldn't allow it. So I began to sneak off. I saw so much, the poverty, the history, the real people these places created. And I learned so much from them, for years I would just take a week and say I was going shopping or something and just disappeared learning all I could then coming back with random items to disguise my whereabouts." She chuckled. "It was when he finally caught me, that I began to see that I was simply a woman behind a lens for him. That everything about me, in his mind was rugged at first and so he was going to sand me down over the years. Transform me into his version of Lucy Lovingstein, the real me didn't matter to him, it never did." 

She stood then, walking towards the window slowly. Passing my tea that was definitely no longer steaming, and looking forlornly at the street through the glass as she pressed her body against the wall.

#work in process #original writing #first person narrative

[nostalgicbones]

evan is not actually an asshole

to preface: this is not a pro-infantilizing anxiety post. i don’t agree with making anxiety evan’s sole personality trait, or giving him a stutter he doesn’t possess, or just generally making him seem babyish and naive. as someone with anxiety myself, i appreciate the fact that deh doesn’t water down the negative consequences that can come from a bad anxiety spiral. he is not an angel, he cannot do no wrong, he is a whole person.

however, in response to that, what i’ll dub ‘uwu evan’ from now on, is a version i'd like to call ‘asshole evan’. asshole evan is typically approached as a counter to uwu evan, and is framed as the ‘realistic’ interpretation of him, as opposed to the watered down, infantilized trope. it’s the belief that deep down, evan’s not a good person, actually, or even a nice one: that he’s hardened, bitter, and edgy, and the fact that he typically presents himself politely is only a side effect of his anxiety making him afraid to speak his mind.

sharing my takes isn’t usually my thing, but i haven’t seen any content countering this concept so... here i am. this is how that response makes me feel. buckle up kids, it’s a long one.

i’m not going to fault you if this was your response to uwu evan. it really does make sense: soft baby evan bad and unrealistic… hard edgy evan good and realistic. the problem with both of these takes is that in the end they’re equally watered down and there is no room for the in between. if you’re at all familiar with the show you know it lives in a morally grey space, so why should we boil down the characters to black and white ideas of them?

often, the argument for evan’s secret assholeish internal life would be thus: he’s anxious, he’s depressed, he’s fed up with the world. he hates himself, he hates everyone else, he doesn’t even wanna live, so why would he genuinely be kind inside? he’s made awful mistakes, so regardless of intent, he’s a selfish bitter asshole. some may say he’s redeemable, others may not, this aspect varies person to person. there are a lot of people who dislike the show who say the same things, and tout them as excusing negative behavior. the novel has also often been cited, but i am vehemently against holding the novel to any more weight than a fanfic, and i believe val’s characterization of evan is equally misguided.

the problem with this approach towards evan is it’s an overly clinical, surface idea of his character, and what teenagers are like in general. he’s anxious and depressed, and very much fed up, but he still humors his mom when she rambles to him about how college will be better. he hates himself, but he doesn’t hate everyone else, rather the self hatred manifests in placing others on an unrealistically positive pedestal, like how he views zoe. even if every other thought going through his head was one of hatred and vitriol, intrusive thoughts are a symptom of anxiety and what you think does not dictate who you are.

he is not a baby, he is not an edgelord, he is just a boy. he swears, but to a lesser degree than those around him, and more so when he’s stressed or upset. he doesn’t stutter, but he stumbles over words and often repeats them if he’s under pressure. his initial intent with the murphy’s is simply to let them have some peace before the lies get out of hand and he makes selfish decisions. after it’s all over he truly feels remorse, and would take it all back if he could. he doesn’t see the world in a negative lens, he sees himself in a negative lens, and by comparison everyone else actually seems better than him. you can have rose colored glasses and be depressed simultaneously.

good intentions are fundamentally laced into his character. the whole reason the Big Lie is ever told is because, after he begins to deny connor ever wrote the letter, cynthia violently breaks down—and in an impulsive moment of empathy, instead of telling the truth he hands her back the letter she’s pinned so much of her heart to. this act alone is not that of an opportunistic asshole, this is the act of a fearful, empathetic boy that wanted to ease someone's pain.

this is not to say there are not assholes in the show, or that assholeish traits make a character automatically irredeemable. jared is proudly an asshole, he does not have any filter and he says more than a few harsh things towards evan and others. he outright bullies connor, exploits the tragedy by making memorabilia for his own gain, and never apologizes for anything whatsoever. that’s not all he is, as he’s also a complex character who cares much more deeply then he’d let on, and seems to genuinely want a closer relationship with evan; but he does have some bitter walls put up to protect himself from getting hurt.

i think it’s pretty clear evan is decidedly not an asshole when compared to jared. in most scenes with him, evan is visibly uncomfortable and makes no effort to defend himself or even playfully jab back at him. he internalizes the fact that jared projects that they’re not ‘real’ friends, and his teasing about his ‘sex letter’ escalates his fears about anyone finding out that he actually wrote it, not connor. despite all of this, he still seems to try to be friendly with jared and until he’s caught up in the mess of lies is genuinely nice to him without the same courtesy in return.

evan shouldn’t be boiled down to one aspect of himself. not his anxiety, not his depression, not any of it. he hates himself. he wants to be a better person. he doesn’t stand up for himself. he lies, a lot. he notices small things other people don’t. he snaps at his mom. he hates public speaking. he forges emails between himself and a dead boy. he struggles with thoughts of suicide. he doesn’t want to be forgotten. he doesn’t want anyone else to be forgotten, either. these are complex traits of a complex character, who is not a baby, and not an asshole.

the hyper-focus on asshole evan being the more realistic, or correct conclusion to come to, specifically, is quite a damaging stance to take in my eyes. it implies that you can’t make mistakes without them defining you. it implies that, realistically, you can’t be like evan (anxious, depressed, suicidal, socially awkward) without a bitterness towards the world. realistically, you can’t be a teenager without swearing gratuitously, or dealing out sarcasm, or fuming internally about those around you—and that’s just not the case. you don’t have to make evan an asshole to come to a realistic interpretation of his innermost feelings. choosing to be kind, first and foremost, is not ingenuine or a weakness caused by his anxiety.

i know people in this fandom really, genuinely enjoy food for thought, so i wanted to share how i’ve felt about this issue for a while now. i am, personally, someone who thinks and acts a whole lot like evan does in the show, so when people snap back from uwu evan to say he’s actually just an asshole without the balls to speak his mind? it bothers me. bad decisions do not define who you are. intentions do, however, weigh in on whether you’re an asshole or not. evan’s intent is always, always to do good. the outcome of this can be, as we all know, more than disastrous. but he never set out to cause hurt and destruction, he set out to ease someone’s pain. that is not the mark of an asshole, that is the mark of a complex person doing their best.

as a final note i’m really not here to police people’s interpretations of characters. i think a huge part of the magic of this show is what an individual makes of it, and that there are no fundamentally Wrong interpretations to be had (except maybe that it was boring or tasteless, or that evan’s dead at the end.) i’ve just seen this idea gaining traction and it’s upsetting to me that it’s framed as the only Rational and Realistic conclusion to come to after watching the show, when to me so much of DEH displays evan’s self-destructively empathetic and hopeful disposition, and that’s a huge part of why i personally find him real and relatable.

if you disagree you’re welcome to disregard everything i said and keep scrolling. if you agree let me know because i’ve felt pretty alone in these feelings!! ;0; and either way if you got this far THANK YOU for enduring my rambling and considering my ideas, i really appreciate it <33

#trying this again bc it didn’t show up in tags? #deh #dear evan hansen #don’t come for me if you disagree i’m already afraid of backlash kfjfnfh #analysis #lexposts

[aion-rsa]

A Legacy of Slavery in Queen of the Conquered & The Deep

https://ift.tt/36NqDje

We compare two stunning works of recent speculative fiction: Queen of the Conquered by Kacen Callender & The Deep by Rivers Solomon.

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The trans-Atlantic slave trade has formed so many facets of modern cultural relationships, it’s hard to understate the impact of that in human industry. In Queen of the Conquered, Kacen Callendar reimagines the Caribbean in the era of slavery, setting it far closer to its European neighbors and infusing it with magic. In The Deep, Rivers Solomon—basing their novella off of the Hugo-nominated song of the same title from experimental hip hop group clipping (which in turn drew inspiration from the music of Drexciya)—an entire marine species was birthed from pregnant mothers thrown off of slave ships. In their anger, they can cause the seas to rage against the surface dwellers who would continue to oppress them.

While both delve heavily into the consequences of the slave trade, both also investigate the nature of memory, and how memory shapes the self. Callendar narratives from the perspective of Sigourney Rose, a free-born islander who is the only surviving member of her family, who has risen to power in the islands so that she can take revenge on the rulers. Her kraft—her magical ability—allows her to skim the thoughts of others, or delve more deeply into them to gain the secrets she needs.

Solomon works primarily from the perspective of Yetu, a historian of the wajinru, who holds the memories of all her people throughout their history, so that the rest of the wajinru can live free of the pain of those memories. The way both central characters wander through the memories of others offers a second commonality that allows the two narratives to reflect and contrast each other in compelling ways.

Sigourney’s narrative begins feeling much like The Count of Monte Cristo (written by Alexandre Dumas, who was himself the grandson of a black Caribbean slave). The Fjern ruling families of Hans Lollik Helle, the islands that make up Sigourney’s home nation, are responsible for the deaths of Sigourney’s family, murdering them out of spite because Sigourney’s dark-skinned mother, who was born a slave, was invited to the capital by the king, whom, it was rumored, might have considered her as a potential heir. The pale-skinned Fjern cannot bear the idea of being ruled by someone as dark as their slaves, so they slaughter Sigourney’s entire family, not realizing that she has escaped.

After fleeing, Sigourney turns to her cousin, who is among the ruling families but was not aware of the plot; he pays for her to travel in the north, where she is respected as a free woman, and eventually—with the help of Sigourney’s kraft—makes her his heir. She uses his last name to ingratiate herself with another of the ruling families until she can marry into that name, securing herself the same invitation to the capital that her mother once had. There, she believes, she will be able to enact her revenge on the families who murdered hers.

read more: Are You Afraid of the Darkness? A Hopepunk Explainer

But once on the island, things start to fall apart. Refreshingly, her true identity is revealed early on. It changes little in how the other nobles look at her—they hated her for her skin color, and they believe she has as little right to sit at their tables as her mother. Sigourney had planned to use her kraft to convince the king she should become the next ruler, but when she reaches for the king’s mind and soul, she finds nothing, only blankness. When the nobles start being murdered, picked off one by one, in plots she has no hand in, she realizes that the game is larger than she realized, and believes that someone among the nobles is manipulating the king—and the nobles—until no one is left to rule but them.

The twists and turns are unpredictable, and the world of the story is deep and vibrant. Sigourney herself is a problematic narrator. Blessed from birth with her freedom, she fears skimming the memories and thoughts of the islanders, because she knows they revile her. She can live with the hatred of the Fjern, but from those she views as her own people, she can’t stomach it.

But despite this—or perhaps because of if—Sigourney also never truly views the islanders, who she also holds as slaves, as people. She believes that she loves the woman who rescued her, who raised her, and whom she freed, and refuses to see that the woman—who has grown to love her—also has no choice in her own destiny but stay with Sigourney. That lack of acknowledgment makes Sigourney, whose rage and revenge run deeper than any empathy, a difficult narrator to root for, except that the Fjern nobles around her are so much worse. As the novel comes to a close, and the truth of the plot is revealed, the entire story falls into place. The truth may not surprise readers as much as it surprises Sigourney, but even if the twist isn’t a shock, the rightness of the result is so satisfying, readers may well decide to read the novel again immediately after reaching the last page, to see where they missed clues along the way.

Yetu, on the other hand, is a more likeable, hopeful protagonist. Burdened with not only the memories of her people, but also a sensitivity to the presence of others that makes her prefer solitude, Yetu isn’t sure she’ll be able to survive the next Remembering. During the ritual, she passes all the memories back to the other wajinru, so that they can all take part in their history, so that they know who they are. Without the Remembering, the wajinru begin to forget themselves; in their day to day lives, they easily dismiss past transgressions, forgetting them almost immediately after they happen. But if they forget easily, they also crave knowledge of who they are, something restored to them only in the Remembering. For a few blissful days, Yetu will be free of the other memories, existing only as herself. But taking back the memories will kill her, she is certain, and so Yetu flees, leaving her people in the throes of memory.

Although the act may seem selfish, it’s clear to the reader that it’s an act of self-preservation. When she lands in a shallow pond at the surface, at the mercy of the surface dwellers (who care for her as she heals), it takes developing a real friendship for Yetu to begin to view her own people in a kinder fashion. Yetu wants to believe that the wajinru will be able to handle the memories and the pain; ultimately, when the storms rising from the sea make it clear that they cannot, she fulfills her duty, hoping that one day she will find a better way, a new path forward where there is no separation between the historian and the wajinru. The solution presented at the end of the story is a surprise, and the deep understanding the others develop for the pain of history—and the importance of holding onto it for themselves—allows Yetu and the wajinru together to reinvent themselves.

While Yetu and the others have no forgiveness for the two-legged villains who threw their original mothers into the sea, or who threaten their world with climate change and an unquenchable thirst for oil, Yetu realizes that there are individuals who are worth learning about and understanding, whether wajinru or two-legged. And it’s her growth and connection to others that maker her so easy to empathize with, and so easy to follow into the bright surface or the depths of the ocean.

The trans-Atlantic slave trade is never a pleasant topic, and it shouldn’t be. The consequences of that slave trade, and the echoes they have caused throughout history, are painful to consider, and there are few clear paths toward righting those wrongs. The fantasy genre has often turned a blind eye to those consequences, focusing instead on feudal societies where such thorny issues are glossed over or never existed. Bringing that history into fantasy fiction gives readers another lens, another set of perspectives, and a deeper sense of memory—not only for secondary worlds, but for the world where those echoes still ripple across the waves.

Read and download the Den of Geek NYCC 2019 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Feature Alana Joli Abbott

Nov 8, 2019

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from Books https://ift.tt/33B9jME

#aion-rsa #Books

[harusha]

I just saw your post about PJ and I'm wondering, do you have any book recs?

On mythology specifically or overall? I’m gonna do both since I’m not sure. Also sorry for the relatively late reply, I had to think about this, and I just got back from dinner.

The Count of Monte Cristo- Fantastic page turner, and a genuinely good “revenge” tale. It’s actually one of the first of that kind (or at the very least, one of the most popular ones). It’s also a book that a lot of people cite as the one that changes their mind on classics as “boring.”

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn- Somewhat of a controversial pick (both because of its subject matter and because it’s often “required high school reading,” ie “boring” to a lot of people.)

Huck Finn is an exceedingly complex character, and his friendship with Jim is really good. Pay attention to what Huck Finn does and says; he’s an unreliable narrator due to how he was brought up, his age, and his illiteracy. There’s also a lot of symbolism and other literary devices at play in his character (ex. notice his fixation with death and how it colors how Twain writes him). It’s very much a book I recommend if you want to study the unreliable narrator as a trope, the  Naïf version of it.

As a side note, it’s very poignant because of how Huck learns to condemn his racism. One of the messages you can get from this book is “If this uneducated poor white boy can learn to overcome his prejudices, so too can someone who has been educated, has money, etc.” It is a brutal condemnation of racism (though you do have to consider the time period, the “lens” of which you have to view through.)

Lolita- Another controversial pick, and one I’ll upright say as a lot of trigger warnings attached (google the summary, and you’ll see what I mean).

Beautiful prose (some of my favorite in literature actually) and a monster of a protagonist. When you read this, remember how Humbert Humbert is framing it. He is telling his tale to a court; he is unreliable and will frame events to make himself appear sympathetic. One notable factor of the author’s skill is how often Humbert gains the readers’ sympathy despite the atrocious subject matter. I personally felt viscerally uncomfortable reading his thoughts, and this is one of the few books that has ever made me feel that way. I didn’t fall into the sympathy trap, but look at any discussion of the book, and you’ll see what I mean.

I also recommend this author’s (Vladimir Nabokov) other works.

Franz Kafka’s literary works- Kafka is one of my favorite authors because he really showcases the isolation (both due to WWI, technological advancement, and the “beginnings” of modern capitalism) of the beginning of the 1900s, and he’s one of modernism’s premier authors. His works often deal with the themes of isolation, judgement, and outcasts. 

In particular, I’m fond of “The Metamorphosis” (cliche pick I know) and “In the Penal Colony.” The former is a short story so quick read if you just wanna try his writing style + it’s very influential (See Part 1 of Tokyo Ghoul for one example).

Also know that Kafka had a very strained relationship with his father and a conflicted relationship with his religion. I recommend reading “Letter to his Father” first to get an understanding of Kafka’s psyche to truly get pass the “nonsensical” nature of his works. It, like the title says, is a letter he wrote to his father, but his mother never delivered it.

If you want even more info on Kafka to understand his works, I recommend Kafka: Judaism, Politics, and Literature which covers a lot more (and in more succinct words) than I can on his works and life. As a fun fact, Vladimir Nabokov also placed him as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century. On Kafka himself, he thought he was a failure of a human being and writer, and now look at him. He’s up there in the Western Canon with Shakespeare.

Paradise Lost + Paradise Regained- If you’re interested in Lucifer (or Samael if you subscribe to that theory), this is a must-read. Beautiful, haunting, and with a very charismatic figure in Lucifer. Alongside the obvious Divine Comedy, this work has influenced the portrayal of Lucifer and Hell quite a bit imo. Namely, the “sympathetic” portrayal you find in works such as Supernatural. It’s also an epic poem so it’s best listened to imo rather than read.

No Longer Human- Osamu Dazai’s work if you’re into that one show. An incredibly depressing book that’s often thought to be semi-autobiographical. It’s a haunting book that I don’t recommend for prose, but for the mood it evokes. I don’t recommend this unless you’re in a decent state of mind.

The Catcher in the Rye- Mildly controversial pick in that you either hate Holden or love him. It’s a book where you have to be in the “right” state of mind to appreciate Holden. For example, the period of moving away from home for college  This work deals with societal isolation and human loneliness and features an unreliable narrator.

It’s just a very particular feeling you have to be experiencing to appreciate Holden. I think anyway.

The Epic of Gilgamesh- Not super fancy or a reinterpretation of whatever. Just the oldest known written work of mankind. I like it a lot, but I like Sumerian myth so YMMV. It’s still missing a few tablets last I checked, but still a good read.

Also the related Enuma Elish, you get the creation myth.

Vampire Chronicles- I recommend the first three or four so books honestly. Afterwards, Anne Rice just goes off the rails. Prose is pretty, and Lestat is a terrible person but fascinating to read about. I am partial to Armand though tbh.

Dracula- I think this is another page-turner. I certainly enjoyed it. I don’t think it’s as scary as it would be in its’ published time period, but it is a classic Gothic horror. The unabridged version may look intimidating, but like Monte Cristo, you’ll sweep through it rather quickly.

“A Rose for Emily”- One of William Faulkner’s short stories. I think it’s a lovely piece and showcases the Southern Gothic (crumbling house, decaying and failing tradition and the southern nobility, etc.) There’s a theme of decay and time passing throughout this work.

As a side note, I actually enjoy Faulkner a lot, but he’s a difficult author imo. It’s not as apparent in this work, but more so in Intruder in the Dust (the first racial thriller) and especially The Sound and The Fury.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof- A play that deals with repressed homosexuality (maybe, it depends on how you interpret Brick’s dialogue and actions), loss, and denial. I quite like it a lot, and Tennessee Williams actually was gay (was because he’s dead and all). I read it, but tbh I feel like it would be better watched if you can find a performance on Youtube.

The Picture of Dorian Gray- Oscar Wilde’s most well known work imo. I enjoy the prose and the themes of corruption and indulgence present throughout the novel. There’s also a lot of allusions to Faust in it if you’re interested in that.

Peter Darling-a more modern choice but it features a trans and gay protagonist. Part of what I enjoy is how it’s not browbeaten into you that the protagonist is trans. It’s interwoven into the character where it’s an important part of him, but to where it doesn’t overwhelm his entire character. However, this is a novel where I feel the beginning and ending are great, but the middle is so-so. It’s a retelling of Peter Pan.

The Tain- Focuses on Cu Cuchulain and his cycle.

Poetic Edda- A must read if you’re interested in exploring Norse myths outside of Marvel. It’s basically a collection of tales.

Arabian Nights- Scheherazade is one of my favorite female figures from literature. She’s daring, clever, and particularly resourceful. It’s a frame narrative sort of tale so you technically won’t be seeing her as much since she’s telling each story, but it’s a lovely piece and perfect for a bedtime read because of its collection of tales. A lot of them have been referenced in media and related as well.

The Book Thief- Classic YA novel rec. It’s set in WWII and one of the novels that really showcases what YA could be. Basically a classic gem in the rough pile.

John Keats- He’s a poet, but I love his poetry because of how haunting and dark it can get; he often deals with themes of mortality.. Ode to Nightingale is particularly good.

China’s Four Great Classical Novels (Journey to the West, Dreams of the Red Chamber, Water Margin, Romance of the Three Kingdoms)- I decided to clump them here since this is already super long. Each one is incredibly well-known in Asia (and obviously China), and you can find allusions everywhere to these four novels. Each novel is rather long and expensive though (I paid like 40 USD for each set). Journey to the West follows Sun Wukong, unarguably one of the most well-known figures in literature (at least in the East; he’s super influential, but somewhat less so in the West; keyword somewhat). Dreams of the Red Chamber has some very pretty poems, but it’s often thought to be the semi autobiographical work of the author (it deals with the rise and fall of his family and the dynasty).

Daiyu’s flower poem is one of the most memorable for example.

The blossoms fade, the blossoms fly,  the blossoms fill the sky. Their crimson fades, their scent dies out,  and who is there to pity?  Drifting threads gently twist together  and float past the springtime lodge;  Falling willow floss lightly sticks  and strikes the lady’s window drapes.

Water Margin is a bit “bawdier” than the other ones imo, but it’s a good tale and has many notable figures and scenes. On Three Kingdoms, it’s the one I’d recommend to start with if you’re interested in military intrigue and battles.

I also have a Goodreads where I organize everything by shelf if you prefer to look at that. I do need to update it though tbh.

https://www.goodreads.com/Mahariel

#long post #books

[amdusccias]

Fanfic: Worry

The Traveler reflects on one of his clerics. POST EPISODE 55.

‘I’m proud of you...’

His voice glinted in the dark, and blinked out. A young cleric knelt over the body of the firbolg, a gaunt creature that had spilled onto the cave floor like a handful of charred bones. A shudder, a gasp. Life, again. In the silence a heart began to beat. The world hurried to rush back in, filling the vacuum it had left for the miracle. Noise rose up: footsteps, groans and panting whispers. The scene picked up pace and Jester’s concentration broke. She turned to smile at her friend. 

The Traveler watched her fade from view. How easily she slipped from his grasp, receded back into the embrace of her companions. In a moment she was out of reach, left to her own devices. She would call him when she needed his aid again. He wasn’t concerned. He was listening for her voice but he wasn’t concerned. She was out of sight which meant she was out of mind. 

There were other matters to tend to, other believers to encourage, entertain, egg on. He turned as if to look through a hundred windows, each leading to a different room, a different life. He watched the turning kaleidoscope and let each new light fall upon his hooded face, warm him to the touch. A nudge here, a whisper there. The facets shifted and glittered, rearranged themselves and splintered apart. 

This was the chaos he wanted to see in the world. The Traveler had grown so weary and bored of his old life, the eternal dusk. Exandria was full of life and color and mischievous souls that were so much like his own. Each one was a different spark in the dark, dancing by like fireflies. He watched them dip and pirouette, delighting in the voices that giggled in his ears, telling him stories. And among the swirling patterns, a small sapphire gleamed back at him, stilling his laughter.

His eyes wandered to her again. Jester was sleeping now. He could feel the ache in her bones, her tired muscles. She was hugging her pets to herself, curled up against the back of a human woman she seemed to care for a great deal. The Traveler hummed to himself as he looked the tiefling over. He had watched her grow up, a little bluebird in a golden cage, beating her wings against the bars. She had been the perfect candidate for his plans, a little child whose head he could fill with wonder and foolery. It had been so easy to befriend her, play at paintings with her, teach her tricks and trades. He had done it a hundred times before.

But now that he was looking at her, through the lens of a distant dream she would not recall in the morning, he felt his fluttering excitement calm and settle. It felt warm and heavy, like a sun-heated stone in his palm. Jester. He had told her she had made him proud, and for once it truly hit him, that this was not just not a lie, but the truth. Which were two very different things. 

Tonight had been another close call for her, hadn’t it? Adventures were dangerous. That was par for the course and he had no qualms about sending her out into the world, about how he had pulled the strings just so that she had had nowhere else to go but away and away, following the winding path out the door. How masterful of him, how clever. But next to the excitement and pride another, third, alien, feeling was taking root. It was a bitter feeling, somewhere at the back of his throat. It started tingling in the depths of his chest whenever her prayers became frantic, when her prayers stopped.

Jester shivered, not from the cold but from a new dream, a dream about fire. The Traveler slid back into the cave and waved a spectral hand over her form so that her cape tucked itself tighter around her. 

Worry, that was the word. It gnawed at the back of his brainstem like a bored dog. Worry demanded attention. He could have lost her, her and all her laughter, her joy for life, her bravery and love. Again and again and again he could have lost her. What was there to do about worry?

This would complicate things. 

#maybe the real dad is the deity we worshiped along the way #fic #the traveler #critical role #jester lavorre #cr2 #what am i doing #no romo

[consciousenneagram]

The Truth about Trump's Enneagram Type

I’m going to be completely honest here, I shouldn’t be writing this article. I should be working on my book, or doing laundry, or walking my dog. But there has been a disturbing trend in the Enneagram community over the last few weeks that has me frustrated to no end, and since no one seems to be saying the things that have been on my mind, I guess that just leaves it up to me.

Several very prominent teachers in the Enneagram community have taken to typing the 45th president of the United States, and after reading their articles, I have to say, they’re all wrong.

I respect these teachers very, very much, and to their credit their cases are strong and well thought out, but (and there’s a huge but here) no one knows anyone else’s type. EVER. END OF STORY. Sure, their articles are written with heavy disclaimers at the beginning about how we can’t know, and how this isn’t to stereo type the president, and how they could be wrong, etc. I’m not saying they’re all wrong about what type they assume 45 to be, what I’m saying is they’re wrong for trying to type him in the first place.

Why we don’t type other people:

It may be the most important and most ignored rule in the Enneagram community: don’t type other people. I must admit, I’m as guilty as anyone of this, but thinking to myself that someone may be mistyped, or that a friend has some qualities that greatly resemble a certain type is wildly different than trying to type a person who might be the most divisive character in our county’s short history. No matter who it is though, trying to type another person is always a bad idea. There are three main reasons why we should never type other people (or at very least, keep our thoughts to ourselves):

It takes away their opportunity to come to it on their own terms. This is soooo huge. The way we come into contact with information will greatly affect how we use that information. By simply putting in answers and having a computer spit our an answer, we sell ourselves short. The Enneagram is meant to be a tool for personal and spiritual development, it’s meant to be used as a map that can lead us on a transformational journey, and discovering our type is a large part of that journey. If someone is just labeled as a type, they could spend the rest of their lives believe that’s all they’re capable of being, instead of embarking on a journey toward so much more. By typing celebrities and well-known public figures, we make the assumption that they won’t ever be interested in using the Enneagram for their own growth and transformation. We turn those people into nothing more than cardboard cutouts of themselves and rob them of the opportunity to use a tool that could change their life. If the Enneagram teaches us anything it’s that we must learn to see more of people’s humanity, not less. Typing celebrities like this robs them of their humanity.

We can only see people through the lens of our own type. I have a dear friend who’s mother is a 9 (self-reported!). After learning about the other types, this 9 was certain her daughter (who is very much a 7 with strong 6 wing) was an 8. When my friend relayed this to me, I laughed and said, “To a 9, everyone seems like an 8.” While that may not be exactly true in all cases, 9’s extreme aversion to engaging in conflict would make even the average person seem like someone who actively enjoys conflict. Each of us in our types and in our personal experiences have lenses like this that skew the way we see the world. And while our work in with the Enneagram helps us to understand this and shift our perspective, we always be looking through our own rose-colored-glasses and won’t be able to see others clearly.

It’s an invasion of privacy. The Enneagram isn’t a personality typology based simply on behavior, its focus is on motivation. Not only that, it details so much of our personal trauma and the ways we tried to cope with it. To make assumptions about a person on this level is deeply intrusive, and quite frankly offensive. Long story short, we shouldn’t be typing anyone. We should be treating this tool and what it illuminates with in us with the respect they deserve. By simply throwing around numbers and types, we cheapen the Enneagram and what it’s capable of, not to mention the possibility of deeply wounding another person.

So what about Trump?

There are plenty of arguments for why we should know Trump’s type, and why his type matters, and I’d like to address a couple of them here and explain why they’re misguided.

“Knowing Trump’s type will help us understand how he came to power.” I love the Enneagram y’all, I really do, but I also know that it has it’s place. And this is not the place for the Enneagram (or at least, not the personality typology piece of the Enneagram). Knowing Trump’s type won’t give us any more insight into how he came to power than we had before we knew his type. And to be honest, we don’t really need it. Trump used money, fear, and the Russian government to make it into the White House. He is nothing more than a symptom of a much larger issue in our country and in our society. In so many ways, he’s a pawn or a scapegoat, his personality doesn’t actually matter. AND, to top it off, knowing his type won’t help us understand how he came to power, because there’s no way to know for sure what his type is unless he does the work himself to find out. All it is is speculation and conjecture, simply an intellectual exercise with little bearing on reality.

“Knowing Trump’s type will help us have compassion for him.” WRONG. Let me explain: We don’t gain compassion for other people by knowing more about them. This is a common misconception in the self-awareness/self-help community. Understanding and knowing are head-based faculties, while compassion is heart-based. Compassion for others doesn’t come from knowing more about them, it comes from knowing more about ourselves. As we learn more about ourselves, and do the work of exploring and reintegrating our own shadows, we learn to have true compassion for other people, because we understand how difficult the journey really is. If our goal is to have more compassion for Trump knowing his type won’t help us get there, only doing our own work on ourselves will bring us the ability to see him in a truly compassionate light.

“He is a prime example of the unhealthy elements of type XYZ.” I understand there may be value in seeing a real life example of the unhealthy characteristics of a given type, but if the person hasn’t self-identified as that type, we’re really only seeing what we want to see, and this can end up hurting a lot of people. Also, as a community, this sentiment is dangerous for us and the real transformative work of the Enneagram. There’s no way that Trump is going to change, we have no way of making that happen, but there are millions of Americans who we could reach and who’s lives could be changed that are still supportive of Trump. By simply labeling Trump (or any other celebrity) as the pathological extreme of a type, we cut ourselves off from the people who might actually be open to using this powerful tool to build more self-awareness and compassion in their lives.

What’s at stake:

Trump is an incredibly divisive character, as well as an extremely unstable one. Some view his instability has a sign of his psychological incapacity, while others believe he’s just “telling it like it is.” When we type someone like this, all we’re really doing is showing our own biases. I know many of the Enneagram experts have typed Trump as an unhealthy 8 or 3 or counter-phobic 6, but really all that shows us is how they feel about Trump and those types. I’m sure if there were a Trump-supporting Enneagram-buff they might say that he was a perfect example of a 1, living out exactly what he believes, or a healthy 8, taking charge and “making America great again.” What I’m saying is, what we see has a lot to do with what we believe about this person from our own perspective, and to project those things on to a type could severely limit how that type is seen. The more we play into these limits, the less people are going to be interested in using this tool, because it will become ineffective and demeaning instead of expansive and life-giving.

When I did my Enneagram training with The Narrative Enneagram in California, there was a day where we all got together in a class room and watched several clips of a movie. We then had to guess what type the main character was. Then we were divided into groups based on what type we believed this fictional character to be and we were asked to discuss how we had come to our conclusion. After each group had talked it over, we each sent a representative to the front of the room to present our case and convince everyone else in the room that we were right. The biggest group at the end won the game. It was actually a lot of fun (mostly because they allowed us to heckle the person up front giving their argument) but it also hit home a very important lesson: You can make a case that anyone is almost any type, and at the end of the day it doesn’t matter, because that’s not our work.

So, this isn’t a call out, but a call in. I hope that we as a community can move past the desire to label other people and focus more on the real transformative work that the Enneagram offers us. If we are really concerned about the state of our country and the world, getting down into the real work the Enneagram provides us is the best way to move things in a more conscious and compassionate direction. If we want to see the Enneagram spread and be a catalyst for global transformation, we as a community need to treat it like that’s what it is! I hope we can stop using the Enneagram as an intellectual exercise and put it to work as a truly 3-centered transformational tool. I hope that we can live up to our own standards, and treat the Enneagram like the sacred map that it really is.

[newidaho]

4.  Lucidity

Don’t have the time/patience/desire to read with your eyes? Don’t have eyes? Well, have your friend read you this:  You can check out the audiobook for free on Apple, Google, Stitcher, or Spotify.  Subscribe for new episodes every Wednesday!

20 December 2054 // 1300h.

Downtown New Idaho wasn’t remarkably different than downtowns in other well-to-do municipalities.  There was a main street, confidently named “Idaho Street”, on which most of the major retail operations resided.  Being such an isolated city, there was a lot more local flavor than you may see in other towns.  Start-up clothing shops, immigrant-owned restaurants, and charming coffee shops were the norm.

Idaho Street, like all streets running east to west, was bisected by numerically named streets.  The major retail portion of Idaho Street was named “New Idaho Mall.”  This was the (de jure) bike-free section of the street from 17th to 9th street.

If one were to view the town on a Satellite-Generated Map, it would look much like any town (ignoring the Jungle, of course).  Although the streets were made to accommodate bikes rather than cars, they were hardly skinnier than backroads in most smaller cities.  It allowed for more spacious riding.

Topographically, the man-made portion of the town itself would look somewhat like a mountain.  To the south, the one- and two-story homes of Young Urban Professionals.  To the north, the small ranch homes of the South Jungle neighborhood.  To the east and west, two- to four-story office buildings, banks, and co-working spaces.  And right in the center, a handful of five- to seven-story buildings—major retail outlets, expensive apartments, and right in front of the sizable “Idaho Park” in the center of the New Idaho Mall, the eight-story government building, where all municipal operations took place.

Today, a sunny and rather warm day for December (though Downtown was close enough to the jungle that it never got too chilly), Idaho Park was quite active.  A variety of citizens populated the grass in front of the government building.  People of all different nationalities picnicked with their children.  Dread-headed twenty-somethings spun hula hoops in flowing pants and dresses.  Street artists performed with instruments and magic.  Homeless communities joked around together, keeping an eye out for sample trays.  Young, well-dressed couples read to each other on park benches.

One well-dressed, not quite so young couple walked arm-in-arm, at a leisurely pace, on the paved walk in front of the grass.  The man was slightly taller than the woman, but not by much.  He wore a white hat and a light-weight white hoody.  His pants were tight-fitting and dark.  His wife wore a dress the color of a faded orange creamsicle.  Her head was hatless, revealing shoulder-length, curly red hair.

‘Do you remember when this Mall first opened?’ she asked her husband.

‘You ask me that every time, Emilie.’

‘I know, but still.  It gets me every time.  It’s only been, what, 20 years or so since they finished the first buildings on New Idaho Mall?’

‘Something like that.  I remember the advertisements.  2032—New Idaho is truly new.’

‘Or, 2032—New Idaho is new for you.’

‘Something like that, yes.’

‘So 22 years.  And now it just looks like it’s been here forever.’

‘For some of the kids around here, it basically has.’

‘I love it.  It’s like we’re living in the future.’

‘The City of the Century, that’s for sure.’

‘And always growing.’

‘Well, I reckon we have the land to sustain it for now, as long as the weather patterns hold out.’

‘Yeah.’

‘…’

‘Darren, are you sure we don’t need to do any more Christmas shopping?’

‘You’ve already asked me this, Emilie.’

‘You really don’t like covering topics more than once.’

‘I just feel like once something is covered, we don’t need to go back to it.’

‘Great novels aren’t completed on the first draft, you know.’

Darren looked as if he was preparing a combative retort, then seemed to think better of it and said, ‘point taken.  I think I’m just a bit irritable.’

‘So you are totally sure we don’t need to do any more Christmas shopping?’

‘If I were to make the ultimate decision, no.  We go for quality over quantity.  Snow said he wasn’t even interested in presents this year.’

‘You know he just says that because he feels bad.’

‘Either way, I think we already spent enough on his presents this year.  God knows it’s more than our parents could afford.’

‘Yes, but we have—‘

‘Don’t remind me.’

‘But we do.  We have a lot more money than our parents.’

Darren was slightly embarrassed about his fortune.  He had grown up lower-middle class, and still remembered coming home to the absence of any satisfying food in his house.  He hated the thought of being lavish with his new wealth.  New Idaho had been a risk for him and his wife, and it happened to pay off better than either could have imagined.  But he still didn’t feel completely comfortable with it.

‘That doesn’t mean we have to go throwing it around,’ Darren said.  ‘We have an exceptional house.  Snow gets all the latest technology.  He’s up with the times.  We don’t need to spoil him any farther than that.’

‘He doesn’t have all the newest technology.’  Emilie was treading lightly.

‘Emilie, we’ve been over this one, too.  Lucidity isn’t even on the market yet.  And we certainly don't know all the implications.’

‘I know.  But Lex trusted it enough to give us all a prototype.  It’s going to market in February.’

‘Yeah, so Lex still has bugs to work out.  And he doesn’t care if those bugs are worked out by the parents or the children.’

‘I understand that.  It’s just, we make such a big deal about keeping Snow ahead of the curve—making sure that he is on top of his generation—you always said that was of the utmost importance, not for status, but for knowledge.’

‘This is not keeping up with.  This is charging ahead of.’

‘And what is so wrong with that?  Lex gave us four copies.  That’s one for each of us, and one to give away.  It’s generous—he wants New Idaho to be ahead of the curve.’

‘Honey, we don’t know what Lex wants.’

Darren’s mind returned to the Lucid Theatre two days ago.  18 December, 2054.  The world was about to change forever.  A futuristic human aspiration finally realized.  At least, for those who worked at Lucid Labs.  It must have been how those at Apple felt when Steve Jobs unveiled the first iPhone.

On the 18th, a company-wide meeting had been announced for 1400h.  Just enough time for everyone’s lunch to have digested.  These meetings were rare, and always symbolized something big about to happen.

The auditorium was packed.  Lucid had apparently made some new hires since the last meeting of this kind, a meeting about privacy held last January.  Lucid Theatre was circular, with seating that gently rose out from the center.  On the north side of the auditorium was a tunnel.  At 1400h, sharp, Lex Lucid emerged from the tunnel.

Lex Lucid (nobody believed that was his birth name) was a middle-height, balding man.  He had stayed relatively fit for his age (he would be 60 in January), if a little skinny.  He entered the room to polite and sincere applause.  He smiled, and waved down everyone’s vocal excitement.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen.  And AI.  It’s 2054, are they sentient yet?  When is that happening?’  Laughter from the audience.  ‘Oh, well, I guess that’s not my industry.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I have asked you here today to let you know that we are, once again, planting a flag in the soil of history.  Allow me to recap the last 40 years or so.  In 2016, the Oculus Rift was released, the first real Virtual Reality headset to come to market.  In 2025, Lucid Labs, with its sleek new Lucid Mask and Lucid Gauntlets, displaced HTC in sales of Virtual Reality Equipment.  In 2026, we began construction on the edge of a ring of mountains, an area of the US that no one had yet thought to colonize.  We commissioned, with our friend Aubrey Daskus, a hyper-train that would run through the mountains, and thus planted the seed for the City of the Future.

‘Not content to simply build off of old industries, we moved past the Lucid Mask and into the future.  In 2035—and we were surprised it even took this long—we released the first market-ready AR Lenses, the “Lucid Lens,” and slowly displaced the smart phone.

‘Augmented Reality slowly but surely took over the market.  By 2040, nearly everyone in the middle class had Lucid Lenses.  By 2044, even those in low-income situations could afford at least a passable knock-off from one of our competitors.

‘But I have always held Lucid Labs to the highest level of quality, and the highest level of innovation.  20 years after the original Lens was released, we have given people the ability to truly change the way they see their environment.  It feels natural.  It doesn’t hurt the eyes or have negative physiological effects, short-term or long-term from what we’ve been able to test.  And we’ve made New Idaho one of the wealthiest, most educated cities in the nation.’

Applause from the audience.  To an outside observer, this may have sounded too arrogant.  None could argue, however, that Lex was doing anything other than simply stating facts.  The facts just happened to be extremely impressive.

‘And that was all fine and good.  But it is now 2054.  We are nearing our 20-year anniversary of the Lucid Lens.  And I wanted to gift you all an early anniversary present.  It’s our biggest innovation yet.

‘Allow me introduce to you—Lucidity.’  Lex pulled his hand out of his pocket, bearing a small black box the size of a deck of cards.  Those in the front row could best make out the simplistic design—a white circle, an inch in diameter and half-a-centimeter wide, directly in the center.

‘Lucidity is a patch.  It rests comfortably on the right side of your temple, like so.’  Lex opened the box, pulled out an elegant patch that resembled the circle on the front of the box, and lightly touched it to the right side of his head.  The patch immediately latched onto his skin, sticking to his temple as if by magic.

‘This is the smallest computer with the most power known to man.  Our Biological division has been working with our hardware division for over 4 years, under a strict expectation of total secrecy, to integrate brain waves with this computer.  And now, we’ve finally gotten it right.’

Booming applause from the audience.  It was evident—this was a technology of a lifetime—a truly futuristic achievement.  Some spectators simply sat in their chairs, mouths agape, unable to process what they were seeing.  No one had yet processed the implications.

‘This is Lucidity.  As you can imagine, the applications for this sort of technology are endless.  And the beauty is, once you buy the device, you have access to updates for at least three years.  It integrates perfectly with the entire Lucid Ecosystem.

‘As of now, we have one application finalized for the product—the aptly named, “Lucid Dream.”  This application records your dreams while you are sleeping, allows you to play them back, then re-live them in both Virtual and Augmented playback.  Yes, for the first time in human history, we can truly make dreams come true.’

More intense applause from the audience.

‘We are looking at a release date of 14 February, Valentines Day 2019.  By November, we will have the newest applications out.  Applications that will include mental communication to your Lenses, and between other Lucidity Users.

‘Today, however, the guerrilla marketing starts.  Lucidity is here.  It works.  I would ask that you hold off on spreading the word until Christmas, when I will make the official announcement, but it is no longer a secret.  Rumors, I’m sure, will begin to flow before the big show.  But what people are about to learn may need a little primer.

‘At this point, I would like you all to look under your seats.’

It was then that Darren and Emilie each put their hands under their seats to uncover two small boxes containing the newest and most powerful technology they had seen in their lifetime.

Now, walking along the slightly warm sidewalk, in between clothing shops, restaurants, and all the technology of old, Emilie was asking Darren to make a decision about whether this technology would be gifted to their son.  To guide him into the future a couple months before everyone else.

Surely, she was right—it was what Lex Lucid wanted.  Surely, it had been tested.  Lucid had allegedly been using it himself.  And there was always a resistance to new technology.  Darren had grown up rolling his eyes when his grandparents couldn’t figure out their iPhones.  Was he now slowly becoming the old man, willfully ignorant of any new technology?

Maybe so.  But he did know this—no matter how much they kicked and screamed, the future was coming.

#New Idaho #Ben Vizy #New Novel #Writing #WRiting Community #NOvelist #Novel WRiting #2054 #Augmented Reality #Futurism #New Technology

[char27martin]

How to Use Acting Techniques When Writing a Character’s Emotional Journey

by Warner Loughlin

An actor’s greatest desire is to so fully embrace a character, that he transports the audience into a magical realm of make believe. The ability to convincingly do that is what separates the good actors from the great actors. They take us on a magical journey. Just how do actors do that? While it may look like an elusive art, there is a tangible and real way that you, as a writer, can achieve the same thing.

It all starts with character. You may have the most intriguing story ever printed on a page, but ultimately we will care about the story because we care about the players in it. We are caught up in the emotional journey of the character, and want to see him/her succeed triumphantly, fail miserably or overcome adversity, etc. In essence, we want to take that roller coaster of a journey. In order to do that, you the writer must first create that journey of the character.

A backstory for your character is imperative, but understanding the nuances of the emotional journey of your character is essential. It elevates your writing to unprecedented levels and separates your work from the next guy’s. Without the emotional component, your backstory stands the chance of having superfluous or predictable events crafted only to serve the narrative. So start with character first, understand him, know him, feel what he feels, and then put him in the circumstances of the scene.

[Can you impress us in 1500 words or less? Enter the Short Short Story Competition today! Deadline January 15, 2018]

You’ll benefit from starting your backstory in early childhood. It is here that we form our earliest perceptions of the world. These early perceptions can live with us through a lifetime. In real life we are greatly influenced by many factors such as parents, sibling, friends, socioeconomic levels, education and so forth. Keeping those factors in mind, try starting your backstory with a single formative event in the character’s young life.

This all-important event in the character’s young life doesn’t necessarily have to be a tragic one. It is however, an event that leaves a lasting impression; one that had a significant emotional impact. As human beings, we store memories according to that which we see, touch, hear, smell or feel. And we can recall them from such a distant time because they had significant emotional resonance. When we recall them in great detail, we sometimes feel the emotion of that day all over again. You likely don’t remember what happened, say, last February 10th. Unless of course it was someone’s birthday or something memorable happened on that day. But you can recall childhood events, both innocent and traumatic, because they had an emotional impact on you.

Thinking about your own life for a second, give it a try. Close your eyes and see if you can recall your earliest memory in childhood. The first one that pops into your head. Maybe you remember where you were, who you were with, and what circumstances surrounded this event. You will remember specifics such as what you were wearing, or eating or any other number of details, if and only if, these were of emotional significance at the time. Now thinking of that event and the emotion surrounding it, ask yourself, “Does it have any significance in my life today? Does it have anything to do with how I behave as an adult?” If you answered ‘no’ then think a little while longer.

This impactful event caused what I like to call the Base Human Emotion. It is the overwhelming, overriding emotion—caused by an event in the character’s life, at a very early age—that causes the character to interpret and perceive the world in a specific and unique way. The Base Human Emotion is the springboard of sorts. It becomes the filter and the lens in which the character perceives the world and is the emotional thread that runs throughout his lifetime.

Think of Base Human Emotions in terms of “Fears” or “Needs.” There are literally hundreds of possibilities, but some examples are: “

Need to Matter

Need to Be Seen for who I Truly Am

Need to Protect

Need to Connect

Fear of Not Being Enough

Fear of Conflict

Fear of Vulnerability

Fear of Abandonment

What specific event may have happened to the character in early childhood that could have had such an emotional impact on him that he then perceived the world in a unique and specific way?

Writing the Intimate Character: Create Unique, Compelling Characters Through Mastery of Point of View

If he’s the rebel that never met a rule he liked, ask why? What childhood event may have made him that way? Perhaps as a child, his parents were unusually strict. He felt he had no power over his own life. As an adult, he is determined to live by his own rules, and no one else’s. How about the underdog who rose up out of adversity against all odds? What made him or her that way? Was he from a poverty stricken family and bullied because of it? And therefore was determined to succeed in life? Is your character a loner who shies away from any long lasting commitment? What event may have been the springboard? Could it be that as a child he dealt with the Fear of Abandonment? So as an adult, he/she avoids commitment so as to never again experience the pain of abandonment?

Once the Base Human Emotion is established, a domino effect occurs as we advance in age. For example, the child who begins his emotional journey with a Fear of Not Being Enough may seek to excel above all others, so the Need to Succeed becomes his focus. With that dire need it’s quite possible he could begin to feel a Fear of Failure or even a Need to Please. Where your character’s emotional journey goes is up to your wild and creative imagination.

We are all creatures of habit, repeating patterns of behavior over and over again. Many times we are seeking to either repeat or to repair our Base Human Emotion. The child who has a Fear of Abandonment may choose partners in adult life who will surely abandon him. He is seeking to repeat the Base Human Emotion so as to confirm that what he’s believes about himself is true. Conversely, he may choose a partner in life that would never leave him under any circumstances (for reasons both good and bad), thereby attempting to repair his Base Human Emotion.

When you see a character explosively angry, excessively hurt or provoked in some way, chances are his Base Human Emotion has been tweaked or prodded. You’ll also find that in friendships and particularly in romantic relationships, two people will often come together because they soothe each other’s Base Human Emotion. For example, someone dealing with a Fear of Abandonment might join up with someone who has a Need to Connect. However when one or both withdraw that commitment, or cease soothing it altogether, the relationship suffers and sometimes ends.

Consider the common saying (often attributed to Mark Twain): “Knowledge without experience is just information.” While the detailed information about your character is good, and necessary, you can take it a step further with Emotion with Detail. It’s what many great actors do in order to truly feel what the character feels.

Script Classics: Writing a Great Third Act

Start with investigating the event that informed the character’s Base Human Emotion. Sitting in a quiet, comfortable place with your eyes closed, let your imagination fly. See yourself as the character at a very young age. This is not your personal childhood experience, this is your character’s. So avoid using locations that are exact replications of your own childhood experiences. Place yourself (the character) in a specific location – perhaps the child’s bedroom. Remember you’re looking at the world through very young and ‘innocent to the world’ eyes. Speaking out loud, in first person, describe in detail everything in the room that you see. Give objects, posters, rugs, etc., an emotional reason to exist. For example, “The rug on the floor is round; it’s a rag rug of colors – blue, brown, green. It belonged to my sister, but she hated it, so my parents bought her a new one and she gave this one to me. I hate it too.” That kind of detail gives objects an emotional reason to exist and will ground you in the moment.

Now incorporate as many of your senses as possible. What do you smell, feel, hear or perhaps taste? Keep inventing. Allow an event to unfold that caused your character to form his/her Base Human Emotion. Continue Emotion with Detail, inventing all the emotionally pertinent events throughout your character’s life until the present moment at hand.

With this deep and emotional knowledge you will create texture and nuance within your character. You will know him so deeply and completely that you’ll show the reader through his behavior just who he is, rather than telling us. You’ll take us on that emotional wild ride that draws us in, hooks us and keeps us wanting more.

For over 20 years Warner Loughlin has been a teacher and coach to Oscar, Emmy, Golden Globe, Tony and Grammy winners and nominees. Known for her warmth and intuitive approach, her technique shatters the myth that an actor’s past emotional traumas must be the fuel or foundation for their work.  Warner’s technique is imaginative, practical and psychologically deep, giving actors a safe and effective way to access emotion and create extremely nuanced and unique performances. Warner studied Contemporary Literature and Shakespeare at Oxford University and received her Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She now lives in Los Angeles, CA with her family. Visit her at www.warnerloughlin.com.

Make Your Story Take Flight!

Looking for way to get your story up off the ground? Now is the perfect time to get started on your 2018 writing project! This course has everything you need to get you writing your book, novel, short story, memoir, or essay. You will learn everything from basic grammar to examining different types of writing. Start writing today.

The post How to Use Acting Techniques When Writing a Character’s Emotional Journey appeared first on WritersDigest.com.

from Writing Editor Blogs – WritersDigest.com http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/script-notes/writing-characters/developing-your-characters-emotional-journey-warner-loughlin-technique

[jeremiahandrewsphotography]

New Post has been published on Jeremiah Andrews Photography

New Post has been published on http://jap.goodgallery.com/blog/fun-coeur-dalene-wedding-chapel-spring-wedding/

Fun Coeur d'Alene Wedding Chapel Spring Wedding

Fun Coeur d’Alene Wedding Chapel Spring Wedding

(Coeur d’Alene, Idaho)

Katie & Chad – 05/21/16

Venue & Wedding Details:

The Coeur d’Alene Wedding Chapel has stood as a proud sentinel at the corner of Wallace and 7th in the “Garden District” of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho for over 100 years.  This majestic white brick church and adjoining garden are skirted on all sides by lush greenery and vibrantly colored blooms; a stark contrast to the blanket of grey rain clouds enveloping the city on this cold May day.

We enter the garden gate and are immediately greeted by the tranquil gurgling of a water feature on the outdoor patio, followed by the happy bustling of preparations being made inside the tulle-laden reception hall beyond.  We wound our way through the historic chapel and found our beaming bride in an interior room smiling from ear to ear as she looked at herself in the full-length mirror.  Katie’s golden blonde hair swept up in curls at the nape of her neck just above her hands as she nervously adjusted the jeweled necklace at her throat.  The smile she wore at that moment lit her face the entire day, a testament to the vivacious and lighthearted spirit of this bride.

Moments after our arrival the groom and his entourage of family and groomsmen filled the opposite end of the building with deep laughter and palpable excitement.  Metal clanked against itself and the steady cadence of crutches approached.  We hurried to divert our dashing groom, Chad, away from his waiting bride until we were able to prepare the couple’s first-look encounter.

When we found him Chad stood proud in his dressing room, laughing and joking with his friends and soon-to-be son.  Other than the cane ever-present by his side and the brace forcing his pant leg to wrap tautly around his leg, no one would have even suspected that he had suffered a traumatic injury to his leg just two weeks earlier.

It was clear that Chad would let nothing stop him from marrying his bride and creating a family with her from this day forward.

Even though we knew Chad was a trooper, we wanted to be mindful of his comfort throughout the day.  The Coeur d’Alene Wedding Chapel’s garden and grounds offered us several picturesque areas to photograph the couple and their wedding party without putting undue strain on our groom.  We began the day’s adventure with the “First-Look” location.

Chad and Katie wanted to exchange notes they had lovingly hand-written each other prior to seeing one another on their wedding day; a beautiful, private sentiment.  We led Chad to a quiet room away from the rest of the group and had him stand with his back against an open hallway door.  We brought Katie through the hall to the other side of the door.  Back to back, the couple reached tentatively around the door and gently held each others hand before exchanging notes.  They opened the notes in silence, each wiping away joyful tears as they read.  Soon enough the tears turned to laughter and Katie shyly crept around the door to see her man.  The first-look is often the most heart-felt and emotionally evocative moment of the day for us … this day was no exception.

We let the couple talk and adore the sight of one another for as long as we could before excited family started spilling into the room.  As much as everyone wanted to start the festivities early, we knew there was still much to do before the “I Do’s”.  A break in the rain gave us good reason to round-up the handsomely dressed wedding party and head outside for group pictures.

Instead of trying to hide Chad’s injury, the couple encouraged us to incorporate it into the images of the day:  We playfully used crutches to create a saber arch over the couple while the wedding party threw out their best jazz hands and theatrical poses; Chad made Katie giggle in a candid moment while balancing in a child-like swinging pose at the front entrance of the chapel; The groom and his court sat in the garden feigning sophistication while showing off colorful socks (and Chad’s brace); and Chad’s use of his cane while dancing at the reception was truly a sight to be had!

As the rain picked up again and guests began to trickle in, we returned to the inner rooms of the chapel for privacy and some one-on-one time with the bride and groom.  We chose to photograph in the groom’s dressing room because of the unique stained-glass windows along one wall and the rich woodwork throughout.

The shadows played on the faces and bodies of the couple, offering dramatic lighting and sultry composition.  We wanted to offer a timeless look at this couple’s love and affection for one another without reminding the viewer of Chad’s compromised state.

Sure, it was fun to capture images which poked fun at the unfortunate timing of the injury, but this is a stunning couple and they deserve to be photographed well also.

During the ceremony the couple exchanged personal vows of love, loyalty, and deep commitment to build each other up in Godly faith.  Not a dry eye remained after Chad knelt down and gently spoke directly to Katie’s son.  He vowed to not only honor his bride, but stand as a loving and nurturing father to the boy forever more.

As should be expected, this amazing couple is loved and supported by some pretty outstanding family and friends.  The wedding reception was filled with joy, laughter, scrumptious food, sweet homemade treats, and sooo much lively dancing!  Speeches made drew a picture of two wonderful people who had been living fulfilling lives separately, yet waiting for partners who appreciated the deep bounty they had to offer.  Clearly, their faith and strong personal character would lend themselves well to building a lasting bond between these two gentile souls.

We snuck away from the celebration while the party was in full dance mode.  The clouds had parted, and stars shone brightly in the crispy, night sky.  The passing of the rain and the exhilarating warmth which radiated from inside us made us appreciate the tepid evening air.

As we drove away and I replayed the day’s events in my mind, I was reminded of 2 Corinthians 4:17 (NLT) “For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever!”  I believe Chad and Katie take the truth in this statement to heart … Not just in their acceptance of larger life events (such as past heartaches), but also the grace with which they handle smaller annoyances (like a broken leg on their wedding day).  We honor their humble spirits and wish them a lifetime of joy together!

Highlight of the Day:

Jeremiah and I have an infinite soft spot for blended families.  Watching Katie’s heart fill with love for her groom as he poured his love out to his new son was just the kind of thing that makes our hearts brim with hope.  Parenting is difficult, and step-parenting exponentially more so.  However, with the right heart toward the children involved, there can be so much healing and closeness that comes from the creation of a new family unit.

Voice Behind the Lens:

Indoor wedding and reception venues offer year-round convenience, romantic backdrops, and cozy nooks … where they challenge photographers is in color, light, and space.  Jeremiah knows the ins-and-outs of photographing at the Coeur d’Alene Wedding Chapel better than any other venue; he has photographed more weddings in this particular venue than any other in his career.  In fact, the first wedding he photographed was at this exact location!  Here are a few points he is mindful of while photographing here.

The wedding chapel offers natural lighting which originates from intricate stained-glass windows lining the outer walls.  While the ambient light is warm and comforting, the light that shows up in pictures is more orange than is appealing; Jeremiah must adjust the temperature of the images to offset.  While some color temperature can be adjusted during editing, he also knows to make critical adjustments during the shoot.

Dark composition can create captivation, moody images, but it can also make the subjects dull and poorly defined.  Jeremiah uses natural light whenever possible.  However, he supplements the available natural light with bounce flash and off-camera flash.  The bounce flash ‘bounces’ light off of the ceiling or adjacent light surface to minimize the appearance of “crazy shadow people” behind his subjects while lending more light to the overall space.  Off-camera flash helps us add definition to specific details in the image.

While lighting can be manipulated, Jeremiah must work within the limitations of space in any indoor venue.  This proves challenging when Jeremiah photographs large-group shots during the festivities of the reception.  Many would-be subjects naturally turn away from a camera creating disjointed group images.  Jeremiah gives subtle direction to his subjects to maximize available space (and light).

Beautiful blonde bride raises her pastel bouquet to the sky offering a side view of her ruffled mermaid gown.

Fit and smiling bridesmaids in soft pink toga style dresses make fun and silly faces holding pastel floral bouquets

Groom with cane and groomsmen in dapper grey vests strike a pose in the garden on a rainy afternoon

Smiling blonde bride with updo and strapless gown in background, pastel rose and baby’s breath bouquet in foreground

Young bride and groom look over their shoulders and walk together holding hands in the garden under an umbrella on their rainy wedding day

Groomsmen sit together on the patio looking serious with their pant legs pulled up for this funny sock image

Radiant bride in fitted bodice gown and gemstone necklace, filtered sunlight in backyard garden creates a magical contrast with tree foliage

On the front steps of the Coeur d’Alene Wedding Chapel our bride and groom playfully accept the rain and injured knee that are a part of their special day

Back to back, with a door between, this bride fans away tears while her groom carefully reads the pre-ceremony notes exchanged just before they saw each other for the first time

Bride and groom in black and white, back to back, while reading sweet private notes to each other

Dramatic black and white image of bride looking coyly over her shoulder. The stained glass and cross shadowing her body, face, and beautiful fitted sequence gown

The rich woodwork, craftsman style, and bold wainscoting add architectural detail to this image of our bride and groom just before the ceremony

Shadow and dramatic lighting make this black and white image of our groom kissing his bride’s cheek romantic and candid

Our sweet bride got sassy when she popped her rhinestone necklace and framed her face with the lovely pastel rose bouquet

Elegant and stunning, this bride and flowergirl have matching dresses and lovely smiles

At the alter, posing for a quick selfie, just after this fun couple said “I DO”

Always a good sport, our groom is helped down the aisle by his lovely bride while smiling and being cheered on by guests

Tables of hand-crafted sweets dotted the wedding buffet table, but this “God gave me you” rhinestone wedding cake topper provided the ‘sweet spot’ for our ring shot

Super fun and energetic, this wedding party looked great and was a blast to photograph. We used the groom’s cane and crutches to create a fun and memorable group shot in the garden

Low lighting at the intimate wedding reception hall made capturing special moments a challenge. Luckily, our radiant bride’s happiness shone brightly as she danced and hugged her groom

Our bride and groom turn up the volume and dance the night away with their loved ones, a perfect day for a perfect couple

Elegant and scrumptious, this white chocolate wedding cake top was ornately adorned with a lovely “God Gave Me You” jeweled cake topper and skirted with pearls and black satin ribbon

White and silver gilded presents atop the gift table sit next to a sweet note tree full of loving words for the newlyweds.

Shy flower girl takes a break from dancing during the wedding reception to steal a sweet dessert from the decadent spread of homemade treats.

The large basement reception hall at Coeur d’Alene Wedding Chapel is large yet cozy, and the decorations are enchanting

The ladies of this family pulled out all the stops when preparing all of the sweet reception desserts by hand… one more delicious than the last.

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