#it's all just a romanticised version of past Britain

[nadzhosny2]

The Rantings of an Old Soul

Does anyone else feel as if they were born in the wrong era? I do. Constantly. My ways of viewing aspects of life are so categorically different from how society views them, that I feel as if I've been plucked from the past and slammed into the present with no recollection of how I got here. So being the nerd that I am, I decided to do some research into this and see if there is any coherent explanation for it.

Thankfully there was. The term for this feeling is ‘historical nostalgia or vicarious nostalgia’.

Whatever else you can change about your life, one thing you can’t do anything about is the time. If you don’t like where you live, you can move — if you don’t like when you live, well, tough shit.

Complaints about being born in the wrong era come up a lot online, often in the context of decrying modern culture and yearning for bygone days. Whether it’s memes about being misunderstood, lambasting other “kids of today” spending all their time on their phones or endless YouTube comments on Nirvana and Queen videos written by teenagers complaining that music today is bullshit, it’s a common yearning. Also if you don’t know who those two bands are, I am SERIOUSLY judging your music taste and you need to update your playlists IMMEDIATELY.

It should go without saying that almost any one of us, transported back even a few decades, would find the past to be unimaginably awful. Living in the Swinging Sixties or the Roaring Twenties probably sounds awesome — hello flappers and tie-dye shirts! — but it mostly just means foregoing the benefits of a huge amount of life-improving technological and medical breakthroughs as well as civil and women’s rights. You don’t have to go back that far for things to become utterly dire: Life expectancy among the middle classes in Victorian Britain (i.e., the 19th century) was just 45!

The sad thing about this though is that versions of a time period we didn’t live through are often idealised or romanticised, images of a simpler time, before tech dominated our lives, seem to show that people were happier then. Such periods are usually shown in film or other art forms in biased versions by avoiding the unpleasant, even painful, aspects.

But syphilis, tooth decay and dead-before-middle-age thing from the flu aren’t what people fantasise about, of course: It’s the dream of experiencing cultural milestones firsthand, even though the reality is that most people only become aware of the cultural significance of a moment many years later — just try asking the average Italian peasant how enlightened they felt while the Renaissance was actually happening. While Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael and Leonardo were busy creating their masterpieces of art, they wouldn’t come to prominence or even be unveiled until several years later. Also if you thought these people were the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, you need to be hit on the head. With a chair. Shame on you.

Putting all of this aside though, there are some things that used to be so powerful in the past that have utterly lost meaning in today’s world: language, art, music, love, marriage, MANNERS.

As a massive lover of Shakespeare and Homer (no, not Homer Simpson, because sadly that’s the first thing that will pop into people’s minds *HUGE eyeroll*), I developed a love for the older English language; a language that wasn’t spoiled by slang or oversimplified ways of speaking, that spoke in ways that resonated with your soul, using words that perfectly described a situation or a feeling. The language people use now is mostly sullied with cuss words or smut.

The language used to be dignified and elegant, Shakespeare’s sonnets are the prime example of this. The language flows beautifully and while it is drastically different from the way we speak today, the meaning behind the words is powerful. People just don’t talk this way anymore and it's a true loss. With all the trends and challenges that are flying around these days, is it too much to ask to have an Old English trend? Sigh.

Instrumental and classical music is something else that is missing from today’s world that used to be revered in the past. The works of Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, and Chopin have been forgotten and shoved aside in vinyl records somewhere, collecting dust in favour of Ariana, Beyonce, Drake and Post Malone. I remember the first time I ever heard a piece of classical music; I was 13 years old and was visiting a friend at her house, her father had an enormous collection of vinyl records that he had been gathering for 30 years, which he kept in pristine condition in a shelf mounted on the living room wall. His record player, a large, old-fashioned brass gramophone (the man was committed) was in the corner of the room and the most exquisite violin music was playing. I remember just sitting down, right there in the middle of the room, facing the gramophone and listening as the music washed over me, giving me goosebumps as it vibrated through my body. I sat there, not moving a muscle, until the song ended and then dashed to the gramophone to pick up the record sleeve next to it to see which song it was. That was the first time I had ever heard ‘Concerto in Two Violins’ by Bach.

After that day I was hooked, I went down the rabbit hole and started listening to all the classical composers I could find. Fortunately for me, YouTube had an abundance of videos of orchestras from all over the world that were playing the music. As I grew older I found Yanni, a Greek/American composer and pianist who was bringing instrumental music back to the modern world with his concerts all over the globe. His song ‘Nostalgia’ has such a haunting rhythm which is just breathtaking that I always listen to it with my eyes closed.

Just recently I found a duo called 2CELLOS who were doing instrumental versions of modern songs. The blending of the past and the present was so perfect that it was hard to believe and brought me such incomprehensible amounts of joy. Now don’t get me wrong, I'm not decrying today’s music, I'm an avid listener of all genres but there is just a magnificent beauty in the classics and the way it reverberates through the soul that is unmatched.

Finally, the aspect of life that has been butchered the most by modern society is love. “I love you” is a phrase many people tend to throw out into the world, without realising its full impact and repercussions associated with it. The society we live in today loves love, just for the sole idea of it. We lust for the idea of being head over heels in love, so maybe that is why it seems to slip through our tongues so easily. Media exploits love in the sense that it is used as a patch-up for when the going gets tough, used as a way to have someone finally commit fully to you, and has begun to underlie lies and most shamefully, it gets someone into bed. Maybe this is just my perception, but it seems to me that emotions are muted, and are shown through materialistic things rather than our faces. We would rather buy someone a bear over writing love letters or poems.

A love letter was the main way men and women expressed their romantic feelings for each other back in the 19th century. To put all their emotions down on paper, pouring their hearts out so that the others would understand how deeply they felt about them. Something to be cherished and reread over and over until it's dog-eared and ragged. A physical reminder of the love the other had for them.

What happened to courtship? To developing a deep bond to ensure the relationship has a clearly defined direction and it’s going just the right way. When prioritising the mental connection over anything else by getting to know each other, thereby capitalising on emotions was the main reason people got together. How all of this has been twisted in today’s world.

Today’s world is infinitely better in significant ways than it was in the past, there can be no doubt about that. It just needs to remember. These are perils of being an old soul stuck in a modern time that baffles her.

#old soul #the past #history #modern life is weird #art #music #love letters #what is an old soul like me doing in a world like this

[friendoftheelves]

I really just wanna see more (any really) dark academia aesthetic based off Islamic countries because they never get any love but their scholarly pursuits fueled the world back when Europe was too small to notice, I wanna see academia aesthetic from Egypt where the library of Alexandria was once the greatest in the world, from Asia where the countries thrived before colonisation

I just wanna see dark academia from not romanticised Britain or Europe for once

#none of the dark academia ever has any connection with the current Britain #it's all just a romanticised version of past Britain #but there are more academic hubs then Europe #and some of them had more to their name #seriously just look up Islamic scholars in historical Africa and tell me you aren't impressed

[tiredandineffable]

A Proposal

Now I’m Very behind on fictober, as this is still entry #7 (prompt: “Can you stay?”; I had to adapt this one slightly). This one just ended up being an immense entry for me with so much I wanted to throw in. It’s also quite possibly the longest single scene I’ve written in a good while. 

This is a continuation of the past three entries (part 1, part 2, part 3). One part left, y’all!

A huge thank you to my amazing beta, @eunyisadoran, for all her amazing work! This chapter literally could not have been done without you!

Rated G.

Summary for the whole work: Aziraphale just wanted to get her parents off her back about her love life. She did not plan on falling in love with her best friend and fake girlfriend along the way. Nor did she plan on getting fake engaged. But such is life, she supposes. Ineffable wives, fake dating au that Escalates to fake engagement au. All around, a good time to be had.

..............................

2 Years Ago

“Did she say what she was looking for?” Mr. Eliot called, perching neatly on the stool behind the counter.

“Tolstoy. Zira dropped Sevastopol Sketches in the bath and she’s panicking because she teaches pre-Soviet literature this Monday, well before library hours,” Crowley explained, taking the stairs two at a time and all but throwing herself into the classic literature section. War and Peace, Anna Karinina, but where’s the rest? “Do you keep Tolstoy in Classic Lit, or is he under general fiction?”

“I’m afraid that whole second floor would be labeled classic literature if it contained everything I believed to be classic literature,” Mr. Eliot sighed. There’s the sound of another box of books landing on the counter and a smile tugs at Crowley’s lips. This place can’t fit any more books, but then he goes and buys them by the box full. “I keep popular Tolstoy works under classic literature, but Sevastopol Sketches is under politics. If it refuses to be found, I’ll come up. Can’t very well have you going home to Aziraphale empty handed, now can we?”

Crowley trailed her fingers along the spines, letting the warmth of the shop settle in as she worked her way to Politics. “Definitely can’t have that. I think the dissertation is already getting to her. You won’t believe how rude her advisor’s comments were. He claimed she was romanticising Oscar Wilde.”

When she found the book, the cover was torn and water damage had built up from what was likely years of reading in the rain, but it was legible and beggars can’t be choosers so close to a deadline. Knowing that nerd, she’ll probably just call it well-loved.

“Did the man not romanticize himself?” Mr. Eliot asked. “Was his entire life not one grand aesthetic movement? One decadence upon another?”

“Exactly!” Crowley wandered about the second floor, finding herself once again in classic lit. Victorian literature is comfortable, she realized, because it remains one of the only things she and Aziraphale share. She might never understand how a point in time so overstudied in literature could feel so personal, but it did, somehow. Ours, she thought, fingers trailing over a green spine with gold embossing.

“At times I wonder if this dissertation is about Wilde at all,” Aziraphale had said, closing her computer with the certainty of someone who has finished, but the sigh of someone who never will.

Crowley looked up from her book with a raised brow. “How is your dissertation on the translational history of Salome not about Wilde?”

“It’s so much more than that. The first English edition? Alfred translated it from Wilde’s French, even though Wilde could have easily translated it himself. To even accept its publication in Britain was to accept the censorship of its illustrations. It wasn’t true to the French version, the version Wilde himself had created. It was all a compromise,” she said. Aziraphale laid back on the carpet, short hair falling about her like a halo, and Crowley was acutely aware of the tightness in her own throat.

“But after Wilde’s death, Robert Ross took on the thankless job of purchasing back the rights on every one of Wilde’s works, including Salome," Aziraphale continued. "Cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars."

Crowley finally shut her book to lay beside her on the carpet, looking up to the ceiling to avoid staring right at her. Aziraphale was beautiful like this. Her usual perfect posture had been swapped out for a much more casual sprawl, a symbol of some unspoken trust. They'd seen the worst of each other, Crowley supposed, so letting her guard down made sense. "Seems like a lot of money to spend. Was he hoping for royalties?"

Aziraphale had lit up at the question, shaking her head and rolling onto her side to look at Crowley. "That's the thing. There was no promise the books would even still sell after the trial. But Oscar had hated some of the changes made for publishing and Ross decided to fix them after his death. Salome in particular. Robbie made sure the illustrations weren’t censored this time, confirmed that the cover was as self-indulgent in its beauty as Wilde would have wanted, took out Alfred's name. My dissertation focuses on the translation, sure, but it is a study in Ross’s choices, not Wilde’s.”

Crowley brushed her fingers along the cover, the floral pattern larger than life under her touch. A cover as decadent as Wilde would have wanted. The restored illustrations are in such direct opposition to turn-of-the-century rules of propriety that it's any wonder the uncensored form got published in Britain at all. From cover to cover, the only credit Crowley found was to Wilde; Alfred's ties to the play had been severed completely. Ross's choices.

It's a tribute, Crowley realized. In her hands is a testament to Ross's self-sacrificing love. It is the product of countless fights against King, country, and publishing houses until Ross was sure Wilde would have been pleased. All this done in the memory of a man who had never loved him back. A man who never would.

An act of self-sacrificing, unrequited love.

She paid for both books quickly and tried not to read too deeply into the purchase on the walk home.

……………….

Present day

“Don’t see why this couldn’t have waited,” Aziraphale said, brow raised to emphasize the edge of doubt in her words. Part of the benefit of their agreement was that they could toss ideas for their theses back and forth without having to worry about classes the next morning or Crowley’s commute back to her own apartment. That’s where they should be, sitting on Aziraphale’s bedroom floor, brainstorming or complaining about whatever it was they had to write next.

Instead, she’s sitting at the front door, straight-backed despite her exhaustion and tugging on her boots for an excursion that is likely not appropriate for the time of night. “It’s nine PM, Crowley. The bookstore closes in less than an hour and I am very certain that you can simply download Jekyll and Hyde online instead of harassing the bookshop owner who, quite frankly, is likely already at his wits’ end with regards to our visits. And it’s very unlike you to go out of your way to purchase a book.”

Crowley rolled her eyes, reaching over Aziraphale for her bag. “Firstly, download? What kind of English student are you? There’s no romance in sitting around with my eyes burning, reading on my computer like some amateur. There are notes to be made through the margins, stolen glances to be had over the top.”

“This isn’t Dead Poets Society, Crowley. I’m rather certain your romanticism is not worth the trouble to Mr Eliot.”

“He likes us, Zira. He’s probably bored. It’s why he always asks us about our theses and gives us discounts when we go.” She pauses then, squinting down at Aziraphale as she tugs on her sweater. “Wait. Are those my boots?”

Aziraphale considered it, looking down at the boots before getting up to smooth her skirt out. There are so many things she’d borrowed and so many things Crowley had borrowed in turn. “Likely. I don’t believe I remember buying them. Although that sweater is mine, so I’d say we’re evenly matched.”

Crowley shrugged, lips curling up in a way that leaves Aziraphale’s chest aching with fondness. She’s fond of the way Crowley turns and steps through the door, swaying as if she has both too many bones and not nearly enough. She’s fond of how Crowley all but swims in that sweater, of how she’s rolled the arms up neatly to the elbows in order to compensate for the size. Most of all, she’s fond of the unspoken intimacy they’ve cultivated over the years. She rarely lets herself dwell on that last part; no sense in misconstruing friendly actions for romantic ones when her feelings are so clearly not reciprocated.

The sweater suits Crowley, she supposes.

God, Zira, don’t focus on that either.

……………….

She stepped into the bookshop and immediately forgot why she had protested this book run. It is utterly deserted and blessedly quiet, filled only with the dusty scent of well-loved books. She has spent countless hours sitting amongst the books with Crowley, debating the potential symbolism of some minutiae of Atwood’s latest novel or the relevance of Orwell in modern society. The bookstore holds both her most infuriating and most beloved memories of Crowley, tucked comfortably between its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

In the middle of it all, Mr Eliot sits perched behind the counter, passively accepting the shenanigans and arguments with learned patience. He looks up as she and Crowley step in. “Ah, such illustrious visitors at such a late hour,” he says, looking up from a pile of collectible Beatrix Potter paperbacks. “May I help you find anything?”

Aziraphale shakes her head automatically, speaking before Crowley can start up an inevitably long conversation. There’s no sense in holding up Mr Eliot more than they already have. “No, no. Crowley simply forgot a book and insisted she needed it tonight. Apologies for the late hour. I assure you, we won’t be a bother.”

“Nonsense. You two are always welcome to come in,” he insists, returning his attention to the books, while Aziraphale turns hers to Crowley.

Crowley, to her credit, has made no move to engage Mr. Eliot in literary conversation. Rather, Crowley is already halfway up the steps, bounding up the stairs two steps at a time. How could anyone still be so enraptured by the subject of their dissertation after so many years? Aziraphale sighs, ignores the pang of jealousy, and ascends the stairs at a pace better suited to individuals who were not long-legged beanpoles. Maybe I should have focused on Victorian horror too.

Crowley looks over at Aziraphale as she finally reaches the top, a handful of books already in her lanky arms. All are clearly too large to be the sought-after Stevenson novella.

“How are there no copies of Jekyll and Hyde under classic lit?” Crowley asks, her shoulders back, and hips tipped a little too far forward. Forced nonchalance. Crowley’s tension is clearly the result of far more than just a misshelved book. Between the kiss and the proposal, Aziraphale has put too much on her shoulders and this is the result. Guilt settles into Aziraphale’s chest, stamping out the bookshop-induced calm.

“You check horror and I’ll check general fiction? It has to be here, Zira. I have to get this shit emailed to my advisor by the morning or he might literally crucify me.”

“We’ll find it, Crowley.” She bites her lip as she walks through the bookstore, finding her way through on muscle memory alone as she worries. Crowley had insisted it was fine, even talking her into the not-proposal. But Crowley always did this, sacrificing her mental health to save Aziraphale, and in the grand scheme of that week, it all made sense. Crowley had listened to the “80’s Songs for Self-Pitying Dumbasses” playlist no less than 14 times in half as many days on their shared account and Aziraphale, perhaps the true dumbass in this whole situation, had assumed Crowley was beating herself up over her latest publication draft. Aziraphale has to call this off. She can’t keep taking advantage of Crowley’s kindness.

Book first, sort-of-breakup second.

Stevenson should be an easy find. She brushes her fingers along the spines as she moves through the horror section. Jackson, Lovecraft, Poe, Rice, Shelley, Wilde.

Wilde?

She looks curiously at the misshelved book, running her thumb over gilded letters. Salome. The warm bookshop lighting illuminates the delicate gold floral pattern of the cover, brightens its soft green background, and Aziraphale’s hands shake not out of anxiety but out of overwhelming excitement. She flips through it with quick, light touches to the first few pages and inhales the words just as she exhales the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She skips over decadent illustrations, over publication details. And, impossibly, there it is.

A Note on “Salome” by Robert Ross.

“Crowley!”

“Did you find it?”

Something drops out as Aziraphale flips through the book, and she reaches for it just as Crowley turns the corner. She looks...hopeful, worried. Aziraphale looked down at the small envelope and then back up to Crowley, tears forming in her eyes because this is it, isn’t it? The proposal, ineffably cruel in its perfection.

Because it is perfect. It’s intimate and thoughtful and literary. She has no idea where Crowley would have found this edition in such perfect condition, nor does she have a clue how Crowley would have been able to afford it.

And then there’s the bookshop itself. It has borne witness to their very history, from the earliest days of whatever this is, cataloguing every laugh and shelving every fight. If this were real, if Aziraphale and Crowley had actually been together for three years and Crowley had proposed right then, things would be fine. Because the library would have been theirs. Ours.

It’s where I fell in love with you. With your red curls and your too-loud laugh and the way you complain about books with bad covers. Its where I realized that every bookshop felt too quiet without your commentary. Did you notice how I dragged you here whenever I felt like shit, because I wanted my favourite person in my favourite place? How I snuck glances at you while you read because I’ve spent every school holiday over three years just fighting the urge to kiss you against the shelves? I have ached and I have ached and I have ached for any of this to be real, for you to feel even an iota of the love I do for you. I have done so amongst these books, these shelves, and these words.  

And now you mock me with it.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale sounds about ready to break and she knows it. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

Watching Crowley’s face in that moment is like watching a person simultaneously go through the five stages of grief. She wets her lips, parting them to say something but seemingly not finding the words, her brows furrowing only to smooth out. Instead, she stands frozen, sharp edges barely held together, quiet as if deciding how to act without pushing Aziraphale any further. She finally takes a step, tentative and awkward with stiff knees, looking down at her feet.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”

Aziraphale almost laughs despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Dearest Crowley, how the hell was it supposed to be, then? Had you intended to hurt me more, to make things worse? Was there some silly detail you missed that would have truly put the nail in this coffin? I can’t imagine there’s much else you can do to toy with my emotions. You truly did your homework, checked all the boxes. Bravo. Perfect show. You outdid yourself with this one.”

“Is that what you think this is? Do you think any of this has been easy for me?” Crowley’s entire demeanor has changed, her shoulders rising not with their usual anxiety but with the frustration that comes with years of suppressed hurt, exploding all at once. “I almost drove home three times this week because the thought of doing this and seeing you react the way I had imagined was excruciating.” Crowley reaches for the envelope on the ground and pockets it, not looking back as she walked down the stairs. “Congrats on somehow making it fucking worse.”

“Can’t you stay and address your mistakes like an actual adult?” Aziraphale calls back. She won’t give her the satisfaction of running after her.

“My mistakes?” Crowley stops on the last step at the bottom of the stairs. “Want to hear about my mistakes? I fell in love with you. Not even a year into this. I stayed because it wasn’t fair that you’d have to deal with your parents just because I got a crush. Then I stayed because I couldn’t risk losing my one shot at doing all the dumb little romantic shit that I wanted to do with you, even if it didn’t really mean anything. Then I stayed because I thought maybe, one day, it might actually mean something.” Crowley sighs, tugging her coat on a little tighter with her hands clenched in the fabric, her voice too thick. “So no, I won’t stay.”

“Would you stay if I said I did too?” Aziraphale doesn’t know where those words came from, how she spoke them so confidently despite her wet lashes and shaking hands. She takes a breath as she slowly works her way down the steps, leaning on the hardwood railing. Now she’s the one being overcareful, stopping a few steps short of where a tightly wound Crowley still stands. Aziraphale is suddenly very aware of how ready Crowley is to run.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, angel.”

Aziraphale laughs, short and bittersweet. “We were here one night, just upstairs. Mr. Eliot said we could stay as late as we wanted so long as we locked up before going home. You wanted to power through, finish up some presentation in time to get comments from your advisor because you insisted we should get some time to ourselves on this trip. So you sat there and you worked, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, really, because I kept thinking of what it would be like to crawl over and just kiss you. Which is ridiculous, because we’d kissed a handful of times that day for show. But I wanted…” She feels the curl of her lips, a breath escape between words. “I wanted to kiss you until you forgot about that presentation entirely. Until it meant something to us both.”

Crowley turns a bit towards her, wiping roughly at her face with shaky hands and God, even looking like an emotional wreck, Crowley is somehow the most beautiful person Aziraphale has ever seen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You could right now,” Crowley says, looking into the otherwise empty shop beside her in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact. The soft hiccuping breaths, a remnant of some shouting they’ve both come to regret, have squandered any attempts at looking cool and collected. Crowley is trying all the same. “Kiss me, I mean.”

“Could I, hmm?” Aziraphale steps forward, her pinky reaching for Crowley’s own. Crowley, to her credit, takes her whole hand instead.

“Better do it fast or-”

There’s a little choked sound from Crowley as Aziraphale finally presses in, letting her hand tangle up in Crowley’s curls, pulling her in as she’d only dreamed of doing for...God, too damn long. Her lips press in hard, a little too eager, but neither of them is up for complaining when this is so long overdue, and it’s all more than smoothed over by Crowley’s tender brush of a thumb along Aziraphale’s cheek. She had imagined how this might feel before, extrapolating from the limited data of their meaningless embraces, but she’d never before noticed the little things: the cherry taste of Crowley’s lip balm, the way she somehow eternally smells like coffee, the way she miraculously manages to be tender and hurried all at once. Too much and not enough.

She pulls Crowley in tighter but miscalculates the trajectory, accidentally bumping their glasses together. They’re both laughing by the time they pull apart.

“Wanna get out of here?” Crowley asks. She’s a little a little dishevelled and a little breathless, but she’s still brimming with her trademark teasing and Aziraphale wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Aziraphale hugs the book to her chest. “Wherever you want to go.”

#ineffable idiots #ineffable wives #oh i love ineffable wives #ineffable wives fanfiction #ineffable wives fic #ineffable wives fanfic #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #my writing #Aziraphale #aziraphale/crowley #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #crowley #fictober #fictober19 #fictober 2019 #this chapter took me four days #my baby tbh

[shelikesthosefunnypeople]

Pls explain more abt the ancient history thing b I’m very interested

Hello anon!

I know this was sent in months ago and I should have replied to it then but I’m a master procrastinator and life has been strange (before coronavirus kicked off I was in the middle of preparing for exams). Anyway, I’m happy to answer this.

I made a post in the distant past, basically saying that I think there is a view that history before 1800 is somehow less intellectual and that this is rooted in sexism. That post is here. Allow me to explain and please bare in mind that this is all just my opinion and is based off my experiences.

Apologies for the length.

Firstly, I love history. I’m a complete geek for it. I think it’s important, interesting and with a bit of luck I’ll be studying it at university soon. Therefore, this isn’t a post where I try to claim that actually history before 1800 is superior... because that’s just dumb. History is history and while historians can have personal preferences over which period they find most interesting, that doesn’t make that period “better” than any others. Literally. I mean, everything leading up to the present day didn’t happen in isolated, distinct boxes and all of it is useful to understanding how modern society has developed.

It makes sense that there is a general interest in “modern history”. After all, it is interesting and we have more information about it thanks to technological developments. The 20th century was a time of massive change if you compare 1900 to 2000 - although, I’m sure it’s easy for us to see the difference, seeing as the 20th century wasn’t so long ago in the grand scheme of things and many people who are alive today lived through a part of it. I’m sure people living in the early part of any century probably thought (if they had access to history) that the start and end of the previous century were hugely different. Nevertheless, I agree that the 20th century is quite profound in this respect, at least at the moment. In 100 years, who knows?

The 19th century also offers us a lot more remnants than its predecessors and I think culturally is still viewed as important. Some people have a rose tinted view of the 19th century. In Britain, I’d say it is seen by those of a certain political persuasion (check out Tory MP Jacob Rees-Mogg) as a time of peak Britishness(TM) and nationalistic pride... although that narrative is simplistic and disregards the suffering of the colonies and indeed the working classes of Britain, who had to prop up all this “greatness”. Anyway, I’m sure if you found a stuffy 19th century bloke, he would tell you how his society’s morality has gone to complete shambles and that he yearns for a bygone era that only really exists in his mind. I guess that’s just what some people always do. Conservatives, eh?

I’ll actually get to the point now.

At my college, there were two history courses available: modern (involving subjects such as the Russian Revolution and Britain from about 1950-2007) and pre-modern (involving subjects such as the crusades and the English Reformation). I took the latter course and was in a class of 18, where there were 13 girls and 5 boys. Generally, the modern history classes were weighted in the opposite way, which simply suggests that at my particular college with my particular year group, boys had a preference for modern history and girls for pre-modern. I would argue that this preference appears to be more widespread in general, but that’s not definite.

The fact that this difference existed is not the problem. The problem is what people perceived this difference to mean.

I was told by a boy (not a nice boy, so not a representation of everyone) who was studying history that the course I was taking was “the gay version”. That, of course, is a puerile insult for 2020 and highlights his maturity level - all history is very, very gay and if you take issue with that then I don’t know what to tell you. Get your head out of your arse, maybe? But anyway... why did he feel superior about studying a different bit of history?

It wasn’t just him. A (male) teacher once told me that the history course I had chosen wasn’t as useful as the other one and that the only use it had was that I could apply transferable essay writing skills to my other subjects. Which was bollocks, might I add. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t a history teacher.

So, where were these views coming from? Why was the English Reformation - which was basically 16th century Brexit - seen as lesser than the Russian Revolution? The obvious argument one could make is that events that have happened more recently are more important and have more of an impact today. However, without the events of the years before them, would these events have happened either? Does the Church of England not still exist? Do we not have a statue of Richard the Lionheart in Westminster (because we like giving statues to tossers, apparently)?

In my opinion, the answer to this odd hierarchy of time periods lies in gender socialisation and the propensity of people to view history in the same way they view fiction. We know that the traditional male/female gender socialisation patterns are different: boys are socialised to be “tough”, “leaders”, “aggressive” etc. whilst girls are socialised to be “submissive”, “friendly”, “polite” etc. This is hopefully changing now but inbuilt, subconscious biases about the genders and what quantifies masculinity and femininity are still around. There is the stereotype of boys being interested in war due to the toys they were given to play with. Surprise, surprise - warfare in the 20th century alone was vastly different to anything that had come before it and, as I said, due to technology we have more archived about it. I’m not suggesting that only boys are interested in historical war - again, that’s a stereotype. Anyone can be interested in war, 20th century or otherwise. Despite this, I’m not going to pretend there still aren’t those guys who get waaaay into warfare and that their interest and knowledge in history is largely confined to that subject.

And that’s fine! You know, as long as you don’t start worshipping Hitler or anything equally creepy. People aren’t experts on every little bit of history and are allowed to have stereotypical interests.

Yet, that still doesn’t explain completely why “modern history” is viewed as more intellectual, just because maybe it appeals slightly more to men (apart from the obvious that anything men like is viewed as superior in some way).

As historical societies are notably different to our own - especially on the surface - and because there is so much historical fiction that seeks to romanticise it, it is not massively surprising that many people do see history as an extension to fiction. It’s gone, we live in the now, lots of people don’t even believe history matters. The fantasy genre has a habit of adopting historical (often medieval) settings for its tales. It’s an obvious example but Game of Thrones was a retelling of the Wars of the Roses, amongst other things. I think when fantasy is applied to history it makes it seem even less real than it may already and this can lead to it being taken less seriously (though please do watch Horrible Histories or Blackadder and take the piss out of all time periods because humans of every age have been fallible). Of course, it is far easier to romanticise and play around with times that are further from our own because they are further detached and therefore more fantastical. This plays into post-1800 being seen as more “real” and “intellectual”.

Some men who wish to keep women out of the historical circle accuse them of only being interested in history because of “romance” or “fancy dresses” - princesses and knights and fairytales. This is more a low down problem with internet trolls than actual, published historians but the issue still stands. If you view “pre-modern” history through this veil of fiction then it must seem rather childish compared to the stark brutality of the World Wars and the political rise of the New Right in the West. However, conversely, it could also be argued that the nationalism and legend attached to recent warfare makes it equally comparable to a story. Not a happy story but then, Game of Thrones isn’t a happy story either.

I don’t think anyone serious about history actually believes that the romantic, fantastical elements attached to any historical periods are 100% true. Hopefully, most people don’t see them as proof that being interested in a certain period makes you better than someone who is interested in another period. Any period can be romanticised, including the “modern” one - Titanic, anyone? Not to mention the frilly view we have of the Victorians (although that’s not silly because of the Britishness(TM), remember). Actually, using history in fiction and even making fiction about history isn’t even a bad thing and I certainly encourage it. I just think that the truth shouldn’t be conveniently forgotten by those with weird superiority complexes who think that because The Tudors was all about love trysts and fine clothing, the entire period is “girly” and a write off.

What am I saying amongst this rambling mess? The next time you see a girl going through her Ancient Egypt phase, don’t roll your eyes. Not if you wouldn’t do the same when you see a boy with an interest in WW2 tanks. Whichever way people come to their interest in the past is valid (apart from the creepy fascist worshipping I mentioned). A lot of things in our world are gendered when they shouldn’t be; history should be equally open to all and although there is a focus on the past 200 years (just look at the uni modules on offer), that doesn’t mean that if you are interested in the years before, your interest isn’t valid enough.

I hope I’ve managed to explain myself properly and have gotten through how gender plays into this sufficiently. I know this is a very niche thing to have an opinion on and I’d like to stress again that this is just my opinion and you are free to disagree with me. That said, if you send me hate then don’t expect a proper response.

Thanks for the ask!

#history #modern history #sexism #little bit of #homophobia #random ramblings #ask #anon #sorry that got a bit long #watch me badly articulate thoughts

[the-desolated-quill]

Demons Of The Punjab - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Let us now look at our first non-Chibnall episode this series. Demons Of The Punjab, written by Vinay Patel. 

Curious about her grandmother’s past, Yasmin persuades the Doctor to take them to India in 1947 only to discover that the man her grandmother is marrying isn’t her grandfather, but a Hindu man named Prem. What follows is quite possibly the most well written and emotionally charged Who historical story I think I’ve ever seen.

Honestly this comes as something of a relief. I confess when the giant alien bats showed up, screeching and teleporting all over the place like something out of a tacky horror film, I was worried. Chris Chibnall and Malorie Blackman showed remarkable restraint with their episode Rosa, focusing solely on Rosa Parks and the oppressive society she was forced to endure without letting the sci-fi elements intrude or distract from the narrative. With this in mind, an amateur production of ‘Attack of the Killer Bat People’ trouncing all over partitioned India doesn’t exactly seem like a good follow up to me. Thankfully they don’t go that route. Turns out that the Thijarians (not the Vaginas, as I first misheard them) are just a massive red herring. They’re not alien invaders. They’re just travelling psychopomps comforting the dead. Presumably they’re the basis for the numerous death deities that have appeared throughout many cultures and civilisations. It’s a nice idea. Granted the episode would have worked just as well without them, but it’s still a good twist on the monster of the week format nonetheless.

Patel quite rightly focuses on the characters and historical setting. Demons Of The Punjab is refreshing in more ways than one. It’s a historical, but it’s not set in Britain or America. Some people (let’s call them idiots) may complain that the show is getting ‘too PC’, but I for one am quite interested in the history of India. It’s about time we delved into the past of another country and another culture. New Who has spent so much time in Victorian London in recent years, I’m surprised the Doctor doesn’t just rent a holiday home there. It’s also nice to have an episode that isn’t afraid to point out that the British Empire was... well... a bit of a bastard, to put it mildly. The Moffat era in particular was very much guilty of romanticising British history (the most notable example being Winston Churchill, presented as a cuddly leader and the Doctor’s bezzie mate when in reality he was a colossal racist and arguably the very epitome of British imperialism in the early twentieth century). Patriots and anglophiles can’t help but think of Britain in positive terms, seeing the British Empire as some kind of noble ideal. The truth of the matter is the British Empire wasn’t some Utopian peace keeping force uniting the world. It was a bunch of white colonialists taking other people’s land and resources and not giving a tally-ho fuck what the ‘alien races’ thought.

The partition of India is quite possibly one of the most petty and irresponsible things we as a country have ever done. Crudely dividing the country into regions before picking up their ball and going home, leaving the native Indians to sort it out for themselves. What angers me is that I was never actually taught this in school. I learned about the partition of India years later through fucking Wikipedia. And you’d think this is something we ought to know. Like the Atlantic slave trade, this isn’t ancient history. This happened relatively recently and the after effects are still being felt today.

So not only am I’m glad we’ve got an episode like this, I’m also glad that Patel chooses to explore the partition of India in a very intelligent and respectful way. Like with previous episodes, Demons Of The Punjab is very intimate and small scale. It’s not about the Doctor combating a massive threat. It’s about how a massive threat affects the lives of this one family.

Demons Of The Punjab has a stellar cast to play Yasmin’s extended family. Amita Suman does an excellent job as the younger version of Yasmin’s grandmother Umbreen. Something this series has been really good at for the most part is finding that humanity at the core of the stories. It’s not about the aliens. It’s about the people. Demons is not about the space bats. It’s about this young woman struggling to compromise between committing to her Hindu fiance and staying faithful to her Muslim faith in the wake of rising political and societal tension, and Suman portrays this perfectly. It’s an incredibly powerful and moving performance and it’s her character you feel for the most.

Then there’s Shane Zaza as Prem, quite possibly the nicest guy in the fucking world and definitely didn’t deserve his final fate. He’s appalled by the rioting and infighting, saying how this wasn’t what he fought for in the war. Despite being confused and scared by the ‘demons’, he still accompanies the Doctor and Ryan and protects them from harm. But most importantly, he clearly loves Umbreen dearly, preparing to share and adapt his beliefs to hers and vice versa. Throughout the episode, Prem and Umbreen’s relationship is presented as the ideal. A love for the ages. How the world should be, transcending belief systems and cultural barriers. This could have become quite sickly in the wrong hands, bu thankfully the episode never over-eggs the pudding. We like this couple and we like Prem, which is what makes his death at the end one of the most heartbreaking in all of New Who and the fact that this comes at the hands of his own brother makes it all the more tragic.

Hamza Jeetoa’s performance as Manish was exceptional. From the start you know there’s something not quite right with him as he seems to buy into the India/Pakistan border quite enthusiastically, but I assumed (perhaps in my naivety) that the Doctor would persuade him to accept his new sister in law Umbreen over the course of the story. Of course that’s not the case. Like I said, the aliens are the red herring. The real villain is Manish. Except... it’s not. While Prem was out fighting for the Brits, a disillusioned and confused Manish was left alone, leaving him a prime target for radicalisation. So as disgusting and horrifying as his actions are, it’s hard to truly hate him because he’s not a bad person. You do see occasional glimpses of brotherly affection between him and Prem, a brief window into their relationship before the partition, and it’s this that humanises him and makes him an effective antagonist. Yes he’s killed people, yes he killed his own brother, yes his views are downright poisonous, but he is in many ways just another victim of this turbulent time. He’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of rigid belief systems and how easy it is to indoctrinate and radicalise the young and disenfranchised. Jeetoa does a great job selling this character without tipping over into panto. He’s not some rabid bigot foaming at the mouth. He’s a confused young man who has willingly bought into this anti-Islamic dogma because of his own frustrations toward the British, He feels like an actual person. It’s this that makes the ending truly shocking.

I don’t think there’s any need to talk about the main cast. They are predictably good. Jodie Whittaker continues to blow me away as the Doctor. Her eulogy at the wedding, her excitement and enthusiasm when celebrating the night before with Yaz and Umbreen, and her sorrow and disgust when Manish shoots Prem are all memorable moments showing Whittaker’s range as an actor. Graham and Ryan don’t have as much to do this episode, although they do still have their moments (the scene where Graham hugged Prem and told him what a good man he was made me cry. God, Bradley Walsh can act!). This really is Yasmin’s episode and it’s about time too. My one complaint I’ve had throughout this series so far has been that Yaz has felt largely superfluous. She’s not a bad character by any means. It’s a problem common with many of the ensemble casts Doctor Who has had over the years. There’s always at least one cast member reduced to being the spare part. So it was great to see Yaz finally get a chance in the spotlight and Mandip Gill rises to the occasion as she portrays her character’s internal conflict. Obviously she doesn’t want Prem to die. He’s a nice guy and her grandmother clearly loves him, but he’s not her grandfather. In order for Yaz to exist in the future, Prem has to die. I love episodes where the Doctor and his companions can’t interfere as they often serve as great moral dilemmas as well as the means of exploring internal strife. Watching Prem die, knowing she can’t change it for risk of damaging her own timeline, is painful and gut-wrenching, and Gill gives her best performance to date.

Demons Of The Punjab I think is my favourite episode so far this series because it shows just how flexible the Doctor Who format is and what kind of stories you can tell. This is a very human story that packs a massive dramatic punch and has great relevance to today. As I said, the effects of the partition of India are still being felt today and the radicalisation of young people is something we’ve sadly become all too familiar with (see ISIS and the alt-right). It’s what makes this episode’s central theme, to love and respect everyone regardless of cultural differences, all the more poignant. If Demons Of The Punjab teaches us anything, it’s that we could use a lot more Prems in the world right now.

#demons of the punjab #vinay patel #doctor who #thirteenth doctor #jodie whittaker #graham o'brien #bradley walsh #yasmin khan #mandip gill #ryan sinclair #tosin cole #chris chibnall #bbc #review #spoilers

[elizadoolittlethings]

Dr Who's Mark Gatiss on his twitter nightmares

STEVE KILGALLON

Last updated 05:00, March 20 2016

Mark Gatiss discovers his past.

MARK Gatiss is in a fancy Liverpool hotel, struggling to find the light switches, when he takes my call. He's briefly bailed out of a day-long series of BBC promotional interviews to do so, and seems grateful for the change.

Of course he's in demand: so much of the broadcaster's output now seems to rely on Gatiss' industry and invention. Almost all of them reflect a childhood of avoiding footballs, watching horror TV, daydreaming of vampires and collecting fossils. As he says, his career has been a "massive, lifelong revenge against PE teachers".

Gatiss hoped for murder and intrigue: and got it.

Gatiss is scriptwriter on Dr Who (as well as other triumphs such as Little Britain and the revival of Randall and Hopkirk), writer and star of Sherlock, and has had roles in Wolf Hall, Coalition, Game of Thrones, and a string of other worthy dramas. In a recent editorial, The Guardian observed: "Every so often, always in the nicest possible way, a good actor's career enjoys a breakthrough. Suddenly the work flows in and the actor never seems to be off the screen or stage."

Mark Gatiss grew up loving Dr Who and horror movies.

"I like to work hard - there's great pleasure in it because I am doing so much of the stuff I always wanted to," says Gatiss, cheerily. "It's a very blessed position to be in."

Among this multitude of projects, we're talking to him, officially, because he's starring in an episode of the BBC's Who Do You Think You Are?, a show taking celebrities back through their family trees to find hidden secrets. But really, I want to get him going on his breakthrough work, the dark, very unusual late-90s comedy The League of Gentlemen, a show that rethought comedic boundaries.

But first, Who Do You Think You Are? The show took 18 months research and ten days shooting and Gatiss was warned that if the producers couldn't find an interesting story in his family tree, there would be no programme. "I love the show," he says, "I was dying to be on it".

Mark Gatiss.

He had suspected, he says, his late mother's Irish heritage would contain the most headlines, much to his still-living father's chagrin. At the start, he jokingly wishes for a murder and related to the King of Ireland. Broadly, that comes true - plus a vampire side story. Gatiss was stoked. "It was genuinely a surprise from day to day, to the extent that when we were finished, I rather missed it. I found it very moving, and at the risk of over-romanticising over these people who are long dead, I found it incredibly moving." As a writer, Gatiss also liked the lyric romanticism of an Irish family tree. He remembers an early episode of the show with the actor John Hurt, who was convinced he was of Irish roots and found he had none. "He was genuinely really pissed off. That programme ended on a sour note... I said I felt so Irish I am prepared to lend some of it to John Hurt. But they cut that line out."

Gatiss grew up in in working-class Durham, opposite the psychiatric hospital where both parents worked. Without going all Billy Elliot - to pick out another gay, artistically-minded escapee from the north-east - did this translate into a tough childhood? "I was never bullied or anything like that... but I always felt a little bit different, but not in a ridiculous, over-dramatic way. I have genuinely followed all my childhood interests and made them into my career, right back to ghosts and vampires and all the things I used to be told to stop daydreaming about, I still daydream about them and have made them into a successful career."

That includes his work writing on Dr Who over the past decade. It was his favourite show as a child. "I am as interested in its future as a living, breathing modern show," he says. "I think it is vital to its success that you can't live in the past, you can't bring back old monsters, and there is a new audience of kids who never even knew there was a doctor before Peter Capaldi. But I have a foot in both camps, as it were, to honour the past and keep it a modern show."

Handout

Gatiss says he works hard because he loves the opportunities he gets.

All four of the collaborators on The League of Gentlemen were the sort of kids who were avid Dr Who watchers. Gatiss, Jeremy Dyson, Reece Sheersmith and Steve Pemberton met at art college in Yorkshire, and have all gone on to writing and acting careers. "The first thing we bonded over was the fact we all remembered watching Carry on Screaming one particular Bonfire Night in 1976 [November 5]," he recalls. "That's like a psycho-geographical thing, that we were all sat inside watching TV when we should have been outside playing with fireworks. When we meet up now, it's like no time has passed at all we have a kind of shorthand - it's something I also have with [show creator] Steve Moffat on Sherlock - we are a bit like a married couple and can answer each other's sentences."

The League, which ran for three seasons and spawned a movie version, was a collection of bizarre characters, from murderous butchers to fading rockers to warring couples, all residing in a small Northern village - and all played by Sheersmith, Pemberton and Gatiss, in a variety of wigs and dresses. Many were modelled on real people, and Gatiss calls it a "proper Northern Gothic". Along the way, it grew increasingly dark, addressing cannibalism and paedophilia among other taboos. Gatiss says he primarily remembers it a a silly, often poignant show although he admits he regularly meets people who couldn't quite watch it for its grimness - along with a "reassuring" new generation who've discovered it on youtube. "I look back at it, and I have no idea how we got away with it - some of the things we did we genuinely would not be allowed to do today. We met recently and said we should make a 20th anniversary documentary with all of us sitting in a room watching it and going 'couldn't do that now, can't do that, can't do that'..."

For this, he rather blames twitter, a medium on which he was recently hammered for tweeting an off-colour joke about the late Cilla Black. "We were always quite near the knuckle and it's not about being deliberately offensive, I don't think that every works, it's about pushing things and being strange. I think what has happened now is we live in an over-examined age with instant reaction where people are prepared to be outraged about trying straight on twitter immediatelty so it is increasingly difficult to go slightly under the radar. People would go 'what the hell is this thing?' and maybe it took a few weeks, or a few series to get used to it. Now it is judged and sentence delivered usually before it hs finished broadcasting, people are typing about it. It's not a very healthy situation."

These days, he goes prepared. "After my last Dr Who," he says, sunnily, "I went out and tweeted 'thank you for your lovely/vile comments about my brilliant/dreadful new episode of Dr Who, very happy to have saved/destroyed the series'.

"That's the devil's bargain that you join in on.... it starts to become policed by people who just want to take offence. I can look out of the window and say 'it's a beautiful morning' and straight away some contrarian says 'it's f---ng dark over here."

Who Do You Think You Are?, Friday, 8.30pm, BBC Knowledge.

- Sunday Star Times

#MG #mark gatiss #the man behind the genius #entertainment #stuff #interview #devil's bargain #doctor who #twitter nightmares #all things MG

[history-huhh]

This is such an important way of looking at what's happening, the EDL and Britain First and all these other white supremacists don't care about the accuracy of what they're saying because their entire ideology centres around returning to a romanticised version of some mythical past - Hitler did it with the focus on German folklore and "traditionalism" w lederhosen etc, Mussolini did it with his ideas of going back to the old days of Rome, and in the UK they focus on the world wars and the the fact that when these occured (improving the status of Britain in the eyes of the world) the empire was at its height - by idealising Churchill they can idealise the time when Britain had a massive empire filled with people to control which perpetuates their ideas of racial supremacy, because in their eyes only an inferior group would be able to be taken over which cumulates in the fact that, therefore, arguing won't work like white supremacists don't care about the fact that Churchill was responsible for the deaths of millions in the Bengal famine, or that he supported genocide in Africa, or that he was just as racist as Hitler because they agree with him on most of these things (which I think really demonstrates why it's so important for the curriculum to be decolonised bc while you usually can't change people's minds once they're convinced about white supremacy, you can make their more normalised views e.g. that we should celebrate Churchill just bc he was the pm in the second world war less accepted)

#this is kind of convoluted but like #my point is that the celebration of a false ideal of britains past is not a new or surprising take from the right wing #tw racism #tw white supremacists #uk politics

[cheznieba2b]

Personal Branding W2

all about that brand, baby

Every company has a brand and they stick to it.

Some fun bullet points!

branding is known as the face of the company to the branding people (their image)

as humans we have a desire to fit in, that’s why picking your brand and sticking to it is important!!

‘tis not just a logo, ‘tis your reputation 

E.G. if we go into kids animation, that will be our brand and we would have to stick to what is acceptable and unacceptable in that world

let your brand find you (how dramatic)

E.G. Disney’s brand is child friendly family fun so they can’t just come out with some ‘Happy Tree Friends’ nonsense

even shops do it:

- Primark : cheaper, busy, full racks, clothes everywhere, lots of one item : no uniqueness to it 

- Expensive, niche boutique : lots of open space, super tidy, usually only one of each size on the racks, less available items : makes you feel special, like not many other people own it

a big part of branding is presentation

brands aren’t actually that much about the product more about the image and how the consumer feels towards them

it’s more like selling a story than a product

Products

Companies design their products to make you want you want to spend more money on them, which is rude, but hey we all need to make money to live. The best example of this cheekiness is comparing a supermarket’s basic range to their more expensive stuff - enjoy this lil diagram 

soz, I have current obsession with pink

I chose tomato soup because it’s so basic you can’t really do much with the packaging anyway so you can get the best representation, if that makes any sense?? Anyway, these are 3 supermarkets with slightly different clientele, but they still use the same technique; making the cheap stuff look cheap. I guess it’s kinda the thing where the vain part of your human nature doesn’t want people to see cheap stuff in your trolley, so you pick up the more vibrant, fancy looking stuff. The basics use the same white and various shades of red, yellow and orange, whilst the expensive versions have variety, bright colours, deeper shades and way nicer fonts. 

‘you can show you’re better than other people with the expensive bread’ vs ‘you can get a lot of decent bread, make sure your kids don’t go hungry’

More bullet points!

your brand name needs to be exclusive, but something simple enough for someone to see and then remember to google later when they have 4G, and it needs to remind them of something they like

a slogan/motto is a ‘tagline’ (the proper word)

taglines like ‘make America great again’ and ‘get Britain back’ are good because people like to romanticise the past

time to focus on ourselves

as time progresses, we’ll progress, the industry will progress, and our work/branding will have to follow. It’s all a loop!

product ----> advertising ----> sell ----> feedback ----> repeat

colours are mega important to boosting those sneaky in-between-the-lines messages you want to get across

Conclusion

I didn’t realise how much I loved analysing branding until this project. I mean come on, how can the thought that certain colours, compositions and fonts can control your brain into forming different opinions?! Let’s get these deliverables on the go dudes, i’m up and ready to do this.

In all seriousness though, these lessons have been super helpful in making me feel far less anxious about the future, and what’s to come of me after university.

#personalbranding

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

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Juliette Sebock

is a Best of the Net-nominated poet and writer and the author of Mistakes Were Made, Micro, Boleyn, and How My Cat Saved My Life and Other Poems, with work forthcoming or appearing in a wide variety of publications. She is the founding editor of Nightingale & Sparrow, runs a lifestyle blog, For the Sake of Good Taste, and is a regular contributor with Marías at Sampaguitas, Royal Rose, Memoir Mixtapes, and The Poetry Question. When she isn’t writing (and sometimes when she is), she can be found with a cup of coffee and her cat, Fitz. Juliette can be reached on her website, juliettesebock.com, or across social media @juliettesebock.

The Interview

1. When and why did you start writing poetry?

I honestly don’t remember a time in which I wasn’t writing something—from stories in preschool to songs in middle school.  I really started writing poetry, though, in high school and into college.  It was solely a cathartic thing for me—a sort of therapeutic exercise to cope with, well, life.  I’ve always found writing, in all its forms, to be a kind of restorative act.  By the summer prior to my senior year of college, I knew I had to do something more with it, and my first chapbook was born!

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

Just like I can’t remember a time without writing, I really can’t remember a time when I wasn’t reading.  Shakespeare & Poe were early favourites (I was that weird kid who read way too much classic lit), so I was exposed to poetry in general rather early.

But, when it comes to my own poetry, I owe so much to my friend and fellow poet, Hugh Martin.  Hugh was the first person who ever really talked to me seriously about poetry, and he encouraged my writing, too.  He recommended one of the first poetry books I seriously read beyond the “greats,” and reading his work, as well, was especially inspiring.  I’d already been writing, but I never really thought much about doing anything with it, and I’m so absurdly grateful to him for igniting that spark, so to speak!

3. How aware are and were you of the dominating presence of older poets traditional and contemporary?

When I first started writing, and even submitting, I had no idea of just how massive the poetry community, both currently and through time, really is.  I’d been exposed to some of the biggest names (and even then, only a small portion of the canon), but little more.  I found Button Poetry’s videos which, while hardly unknown, showed me a glimpse of the voices that are out there.  From there, I dug up more and more small publications; along the way, I not only found more accessible opportunities, but I made connections with so many amazing poets I may never have found otherwise!

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I don’t really have one.  Between health issues and work, it really is hard to find time to write…but that’s when I really need to “make” the time, so to speak.

For me, writing’s always been a sort of compulsion–at the risk of a poetic cliché, I need to write like I need to breathe.  Most of my writing happens in a notetaking app on my phone when the urge strikes.  I hope to have the room, in a scheduling sense, to have the sort of formal writing routine that you see the big-name authors share but, for now, this works for me!

Link! https://mysmallpresswritingday.blogspot.com/2019/09/my-small-press-writing-day-juliette.html

5. What motivates you to write?

For me, writing is frankly as necessary as breathing.  There’s not really another option–if I’m not writing and haven’t for a while, everything feels off.

Publishing though, I’ve found is motivated in part by my experience in dealing with chronic illness.  A lot of what I live with tends to be confusing to doctors, and I constantly have that deeply-rooted fear that there’s something bigger going on that will be missed.  I’ve had a lot of people comment on the extent to which I submit & publish pieces, but so much of that is simply because I’m afraid I won’t always have the opportunity to do so.

6. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

Allusions are probably the most blatant case of that influence; I think almost every manuscript I’ve completed has at least one reference to something by Shakespeare.  His work and Austen’s, in particular, played in a big part in my dream of living in the UK, which I was lucky enough to do for a while–an experience that’s been a huge factor in my writing as well.

6.1. Why “Austen’s, in particular”?

Shakespeare and Austen were some of the first writers I read seriously, and that’s stuck with me through the years.  In fact, I learnt a lot about language from doing so, rather in the classroom–I’m still holding a grudge against an elementary school spelling test that took off points for my spelling it “grey” as opposed to “gray!”  I’ve always loved the sort of romanticised version of Britain and books were a major portion of that.  I’ve ended up with a sort of US/UK English myself as a result which, in my mind, sort of marks a piece as my own.

7. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

One of my favourite things about indie lit is that so many writers that I admire are those I’m lucky enough to call friends, or at least acquaintances (with a few exceptions in which I’m exclusively a fan [so far])…which also means I’m bound to forget a few along the way, so I’ll apologise for that upfront.  But some of those writers include Lannie Stabile, Lynne Schmidt, Elfie, Imani Campbell, Jean-Marie Bub, Kat Giordano, Maddie Anthes, Kate Garrett, Megan Lucas, Nadia Gerassimenko, Marisa Craine, Janna C. Valente, Megan O’Keeffe, Juliette van der Molen, Kayt Christensen, Courtney LeBlanc, and so, so many more! All of these writers are so hardworking and talented and generally wonderful–it’d be hard not to admire them!

8. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

Quite simply, I’d tell them to write.  It’s the only real “requirement” to call yourself a writer!

To answer the implicit question, though, of how to become a published writer, the answer is similar–submit.  If you tell yourself that your work isn’t good enough to send to a publication, you’ll never have the chance to have someone say “Yes, we’d love to publish your piece!”  There’s so, so much rejection to be had, but if you don’t push through that, you’ll never have the joy that comes with that first acceptance (and those that come after it!).

9. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

Right now, I’ve got two chapbooks lined up for 2020 publication and have a few more manuscripts out in the world and in progress.  I’ve pulled away from submitting much over the past few months amidst some health & other issues, so one of my plans for the next few months is to get back into the swing of things there–and I’ve still got a few pending submissions from earlier in the year!  Otherwise, we’ve got a lot of exciting things to come from Nightingale & Sparrow and I’m hoping to build my freelance writing & editing client base as well.  Overall, I’m optimistic about some great opportunities on the horizon!

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Juliette Sebock Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.