#I STAYED UP AND FINISHED KUDZU!!!!

[fakesurprise]

The tentative knock at the hotel door is something of a surprise. Sharing a hotel suite with Jay is a lot of things, but most of them seldom lead to tentative knocks. Charlie is asleep in her room; I’ve no idea where Jay is as I head to the door. The coffee pot turns itself on without being asked as I walk by. Tentative knocks aren’t something I’m used to, both as the wandering magician and someone who is friends with an eleven year old boy from Outside the universe.

I open it and find Tanya standing on the other side. The night manager looks almost apologetic.

“Morning?”

“Arnold, the day manager. He wants an explanation for the guests in the parking lot.”

“And you told him Jay?”

“Which wasn’t enough. I’d rather not wake Charlie,” she adds quickly.

I almost smile. Two days ago Tanya had been new to her position and uncertain; two nights of adventures and jaysome had got rid of all doubts but she was still trapped by the hotel hierarchy. Which Charlie would have got cross over, and since Jay is convinced Charlie is the scariest person he knows, it bleeds into others.

Not that Jay would ever grasp people finding him scary.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and follow her down to reception. The three dinosaurs in the parking lot are trying to learn poker. At some point I will probably have to ask them why, or how they plan to return home. For now they’ve been eating kudzu and making the locals very happy.

Arnold is a balding, stern older man, with a smile to match his eyes over any wrongdoing. “I demand to know how the hotel has paying guests staying in the parking lot and what happened in the kitchens since most of our fresh produce is gone,” he snaps. “Tanya said you –.”

I smile. He pauses. I feel my smile widen and force myself to relax before speaking.

“I imagine you’ve lasted as long as you have, Arnold, by knowing when not to pay attention. Jay is always one of those times, even if I suspect your boss is too cheap to have a jaysome protocol on hand?”

Arnold twitches and pales. He’s heard stories; we stay in a lot of hotels, so stories do tend to spread.

“As for the kitchen, Jay was eating quinoa and got lectures about superfoods and how a lot of weeds can be those. So the kitchen now has many weeds, all of which are likely super. Some of which have been tied so do they don’t try and fly away, I suspect?”

Tanya nods.

“Wise. This is your first shift on with Jay, Arnold. And there are three dinosaurs in the parking lot which are paying guests and likely need to be asked about meal choices.” I pause a beat. “I suspect they’ll tip well, since they’re friends with Jay.” He manages a nod and bolts outside to ask them what they link.

Tanya whistles softly. “… I need a smile like yours.”

“We can discuss it tonight.” I offer a smile with none of the magician in it. “There are costs to such skills.”

“I have six nephews. That might balance it out,” she says with a grin as she clocks out.

It might.

I finish my coffee and head back up to our room.

There is still no sign of Jay, or even a good morning hug.

I try not to worry.

#writing #prose #magician series

[prophetworthy]

@intimate-comrade thank you saving me from a gut wrenching teeth pulling work day.

1. Do you make your bed? I make it into a nest yes or is that the wrong answer?

2. What's your favorite number? 17. 

3. What is your job? I got a fancy title for a temp job working with Childcare institutions in the Govt. Woop woop

4. If you could go back to school, would you? History. Go back as in for my B.A, specifically I would do double major in Religious Studies and History. I would like to graduate school for history (does passion win over intelligence? lets find out). 

5. Can you parallel park? Anyone can in desperate times.

6. A job you had that would surprise people? I was a housekeeper at a historic inn for 2 weeks.

7. Do you think aliens are real? I WANT TO BELIEVE (but yeah why not)

8. Can you drive a manual car? God no, first car I “had” was manual and I pulled a full Tina Belcher wincing and crashing very slowly into a curb then never touched the car again.

9. What's your guilty pleasure? Raspberry sorbet while watching some X-Files or cheesy romantic period drama.

10. Tattoos? I have a handdrawn ghost on my right shoulder named Oswald.

11. Favorite color? Kudzu green or ocean at night blue.

12. Favorite type of music? I love a big variety, but British Alternative comes up most.

13. Things that people do that drive you crazy? Ignorance, showcasing privilege, and... rude drivers (I got honked at this morning by a Lyft driver because I wouldn’t run a yellow light. Get bent)

14. Do you like doing puzzles? Very much, I haven’t played with one since university though.

15. Any phobias? Taking control of my life, *demons*, annnnnnd being unloved.

16. Favorite childhood sport? SOCCER (aka football for everyone else). honestly I was INCREDIBLE at it. Oh! and swimming.

17. Do you talk to yourself? Sometimes....in accents....you know, totally normal.

18. What movies do you adore? The Awakening, The Prestige, Stay, Stoker, As Above So Below, and Extra Ordinary (I like staying spooky ok?!)

19. Coffee or tea? Coffee (as I finish my salted caramel mocha iced latte) 

20. First thing you wanted to be growing up? Ice Cream Maker (simple wishes)

(who to tag!? If you read this, YOU are tagged and you better tag me so I can read your answers)

[shadowsong26x]

Hey, look, a meme!

Rules: List 10 words/phrases that have something to do with your work(s) in progress and then tag 10 people to do the same

I was tagged by @darkpuck​

1. Does dactylic hexameter even work in English? Stay tuned to find out! (SW Orpheus AU, will probably be posted around Halloween)

2. Niche Crossover Kudzu Plot Which Now Spans All Three Generations (Jedi of Valdemar)

3. France and Spain would never actually do what I want them to, so this is now technically a fantasy novel because it’s on a made-up map. ...on the plus side, this means I can have lady Cardinals, yay! (Untitled Intrigues Story)

4. So, something on this alien planet we crashed on corrodes the VERY SPECIFIC plastic that our spacesuits are made out of and we’re pretty sure we spotted a city on from orbit before we hit the ground THIS WAS NOT IN THE MISSION SPECS (Untitled First Contact novel)

5. The Apocalypse in SPACE. With queer ladies! (Lux)

6. Ten-year-old time-traveling Luke + Asajj Ventress = “We think something awful is about to happen, and I guess we want to help you stop it.” (Asajj Ventress and Her Tiny Time-Travelling Conscience)

7. What if Baltar ended up on Pegasus instead of Galactica? (The Other Battlestar)

8. The Force is really invested in the twins, okay??? (Distaff)

9. Anakin does not follow Mace Windu et. all to Palpatine’s office, and therefore doesn’t get that last push over the edge, and doesn’t Fall. ~nearly 200k words later and we’re still not dooooooone~ (Precipice)

10. The Life and Times of Bo-Katan Kryze; Part One - the ten years between her father���s assassination and when she joined Death Watch (our faces like a mirror)

Tagging anyone interested!

Honorable Mentions:

1. I have WAY too much backstory here to not write more of this AU (various bits in the same AU as The Devoted; starting with Bail and Obi-Wan’s first meeting)

2. “Hey, I could make a Leverage team out of this. ...HEY I COULD MAKE A LEVERAGE TEAM OUT OF THIS!” (Let’s Go Steal a Crossover; sidebar - I should actually do something with the Last Batch even if I don’t ever get around to finishing this particular AU outline...)

3. Look. First there was that cave scene. Then Elena took the time to change her clothes before taking hostages. HOW COULD I RESIST. (The Mask of Zorro/1840s Gold Rush AU Fusion No One One Person Asked For)

4. Gilad Pellaeon impulsively kidnaps a fourteen-year-old girl, one thing leads to another, and now the Galactic Civil War has a third power in play. Also, Kallus is having a Weird Day. Or three. (The Pellaeon AU)

#darkpuck #meme #i mean some of them don't have a whole lot of actual Text yet (i.e. i think the other battlestar has like...two paragraphs...) but still #and some of them i haven't actually worked on in a While but keep meaning to get back to #aaaaaaaaaaanyway #labeling them because hey if you're interested in seeing/hearing more about any of them #i am happy to babble! #(also as a note this excludes anything for which i have a coauthor) #(also for those of you familiar with my origfic feredar is not listed b/c i have trouble making a Pithy Summary as the meme requires)

[eiolrin-talifae]

It began with rain.

Traveling down highways,

Where somewhere in my memories

The echoes that remained surfaced.

Inky, icy skies followed us

Until we stopped sometime in the night.

In a city far from home,

Listening to the storm rage,

Like a dark omen warning us away.

'Don't come back this way,' it said,

'Not until wanderlust is quenched.'

The sun greeted us that morning.

A signal that it was safe to continue on,

We fled across the country,

Headed south.

We paused at an old battlefield--

It wouldn't be our last--

And walked the ruined, half-finished barracks

That men had died to defend. 

I found it somehow peaceful.

Then, the mountains loomed over us

And we slept again in their valleys. 

At dawn we traveled through winding roads,

Our destination another battlefield,

One I'd visted many years ago. 

The memories refused to surface, though.

Only pictures were the proof

That I'd been there at all. 

In those woods, clear-cut by modern day,

I heard gunshots from phantoms,

Still haunting their grave. 

I stood at the white house atop the hill,

Looking out on the dozens of stones

That marked where they lay.

I awoke above the clouds the next morning.

The sun below set them afire

And I stared at the rolling hills of flames.

I watched misty smoke rise, surrounding me,

Until I was swallowed in its embrace. 

Too soon, we descended,

Following the twisting roads

Towards our final destination. 

The first palm trees were accompanied

By the sweet, salt-scented air. Mid day. 

Finally, echos turned into the first notes

Of a long-forgotten song.

Under the moonlight at last.

Feet kissed the familiar white, powdery sand.

The gentle crash of salted waves called,

Beckoning my soul, and I thought,

'Ah. I remember this as if I'd never left.'

For seven days and nights I was caught

Somewhere between a memory and a dream.

Where climbing trees aren't quite the same

As the mind recalls them; covered now

In kudzu and spanish moss. 

Locations somehow shifted over time. 

Still, I reveled in the place I'd longed for.

But when the sun set on the seventh day,

I said goodbye again. 

Suddenly, back to adult routine.

The rain met us again on the way home,

As if we'd been spirited away

And the inky, icy skies

Had melted the illusion. 

It should have satisfied me longer than it did.

I find myself wishing, sometimes,

That I had stayed. 

That I could remain wrapped up in a memory-dream.

That the rain had kept away.

#creative writing #poetry #original

[tradewithjorgie-blog]

3. I’m not sleeping, I’m resting my eyes...

We often think of success as a linear journey. All I have to do is slough through enough shit and eventually I’ll make it. Not a bad way of looking at things. Very macho man, tough guy, don’t stop no matter what attitude. Maybe not the best. Here’s why

1. Not stopping at all is exhausting. Can you give me an example of a perpetual motion machine of any kind? That’s just not nature’s way.

2. What happens when you inevitably do stop/run out of gas/get distracted?

and my personal favorite

3. What if what you need to move forward on this particular journey, is found on the path to something else? Do you ignore that key item/emotional development/character development and hope that your persistence will be enough to power through? How will that affect your journey if you are able to push through this obstacle poorly prepared?

They’re not easy questions because life isn’t linear. At least I don’t think it is. Sure you get older every day, and when people ask you how you are, you say “livin’ the dream”. Seems pretty straight forward right?

Maybe, but probably not. The reason people quit the shining glorious dream of complete financial freedom through Forex is usually for one of two reasons.

1. Forex just isn’t for everyone.

And that’s okay, but that’s where it ends for some people. And that’s okay. 

2. They lose buckets of money, trying to sprint to the finish line, desperate to achieve the dream they were sold (or that they sold themselves). They chuck entire trading accounts upwards of $2,000.00 USD at the wall hoping that at least this time when they fail, they will learn some secret that will kick the doors open for them.

But that’s not how Forex works. And once they can’t afford to lose anymore money... They give up. Broke and pissed off, they regret the day that sparkle came to their eye. 

Whether fast or slow, it happens to everyone. We’ve all sat there hopeless and lost, stuck in the paradox of not knowing what you don’t know, so you don’t know what to do, to start knowing that which you don’t know. Tricky innit?

Yea. It’s frustrating.

So you get busy with life and generally forget. But as my acting teacher used to say, “you can’t pour from an empty cup”. Some people come back to it later with a little more life experience, and find that they’re able to see things a little differently. In fact I’ve found that a little perspective can go a long way. 

I didn’t get Forex. It just didn’t make sense. But the truth is, when I started, I wasn’t who I needed to be, in order to be successful at trading in the Foreign Exchange markets. I still might not be. But I’m closer to him. And I’ve come to realize slowly that as I live and grow, my perspective, discipline, and intuition change. Slowly, but they do. Hopefully more like Kudzu and not like a succulent, but still.

I’m not who I need to be. But I’m closer than I was. And to be honest, it’s been really fun. It’s been hard. Late nights, and long months doing nothing Forex related which leaves my feeling guilty. Guilty at not practicing my craft. But even when I’m not doing Forex, I’m still thinking Forex. After all, Forex is the way human psychology affects the exchange of money across international borders. And human psychology is present in every decision we make.

Like I said in my previous post, you can’t predict price because price is the result of 7+ billion people making an innumerable number of decisions every single day. But... we can relate to the way people make those decisions. And invariably, how people think.

The point is, stopping to rest is okay. Stopping to smell the roses is okay. Slowing down, is totally ok. Quitting is even ok. If it’s not for you, it’s not for you and you should find something that's fulfilling. But don’t quit because it gets hard. That’s not okay. Rest. Recover your strength so you can walk the journey and enjoy it at the same time. I don’t mind driving. I hate driving tired. There’s a big difference in what I take away from it. 

People quit Forex for many reasons. But because it’s hard should never be one of them. You don’t have to blow your life’s savings. But don’t think it’s going to be easy either. Rest and take time away from the charts so that you don’t burn out. 

That being said, I’d like to touch on the last trade we were looking at in AUDJPY.

This where price action was when I decided to close the trade. I closed it while it was in profit but it didn’t hit my target. As you can see in the speech bubble, my target price was now on the outside of the triangle walls. If I’m basing my trade on the expectation that price will bounce between the two lines, I should best hope that my exit is inside those lines. That being said, I took my money and walked away. Not easy to do considering it could go my way after I've left and then most people would have to live with the, “aww man I should have stayed in!”. But I’m cool with it. I don’t have to put it all on red. I’m cashing my chips, and I’m gonna go enjoy a drink while I rest at the bar. 

I might get back into this pair, but I’ll do so with a different strategy, the breakout strategy potentially. That is, only if everything lines up right.

Now as we get into the weekend, I can’t put in any trades. On a global scale, all Forex markets close Friday at 5pm and open Sunday at 5pm Eastern Standard Time. Any trades placed during this time will be entered into the market at whatever price the market opens up at Sunday night. Very rarely the same price that it closed at. All that being said, my next few posts will probably not have any entries but will instead have an in-depth analysis of different charts on various time frames. This is a good way to practice.

The thing with each pair is that it moves differently. And every pair moves differently from the way it moved 1-6 months ago. Here from May 2017 to May 2018, we can see that this pair (the Euro vs. the $) had a definite direction most of the time with strong pushes. Price rose through the months and even though it fell here and there, it mostly moved upward.

Here we see that from May 2018 to May 2019, price fell but it did so much more slowly. It consolidated most of the time (no definitive direction or trend, up or down). Price behaves differently at different periods in time. That is why Forex traders have to have a bag full of tools for different occasions. Our most powerful tool regardless of anything is called confluence. That is important to note. 

Here’s a comparison of the “trend” or average direction. From February 2019 to the beginning of June 2019 price fell. Up down, up down, but overall it fell. From June to now however, we start to it coming back up. Will this be a change in overall direction (a trend reversal) or could we see it start to play inside of channels in extreme cases of consolidation? Let’s break it down and see what happens.

The highest point looks like Batman ears. We call these price history formations Double Tops. It means that price rose up to it, then people started selling, it got to a point where people thought it was relatively cheap and started buying again, driving prices up once more. It essentially hit the same price twice, testing it out, but when it failed to break through this price level again, the bulls got exhausted and the bears rode it down. When this happens it usually means price is going to fall hard. And it sure did. A little news release happened today and it caused price to fall just a tad from the strong push it’s had in recovery of that double top, but it rose back up quickly and so only a big wick remained. The MA’s did cross which is important, but I will get to them next time. 

Here we are at the moment. Hungry for success standing outside of a closed shop in the rain looking through the window. We can’t trade but we can analyze and hopefully get ourselves in a good position for when the market opening back up on Sunday collides with what we know in a beautiful fire works display of confluence. It pushed past where the Batman ears had formed (that’s the yellow line). Between where it is now and the yellow line is little under a 35 pip channel. This could be just the space it needs to rest for a bit before continuing to sky rocket upwards. Perhaps it gets pushed back down. I don’t presume to know these things, but I do have plans for what it might do and more importantly I am ready to react at a moments notice. That is the life of a successful Forex trader. Free and ready. And I’m closer to that every day.

[lolainblue]

Presque Vu    Chapter 13

T/w:  Anxiety/panic attack --- which starts this chapter off, so everything under the cut

   Raina couldn't breathe, couldn't move.  There was something heavy lying across her, holding her limbs down, pressing on her chest.  She fought down the rising panic, trying to kick her legs loose or free her arms.  As she tossed her head from side to side she began to orient herself a bit and realized she had been dreaming, that the only thing she was pinned under was her blanket and Jared, who had wrapped himself around her like the kudzu around her grandfather's farm.  The panic wouldn't leave though, and she dragged herself out from underneath him, falling on the floor in her effort not to wake him.  He merely groaned and rolled over as Raina fled to the bathroom, locking the door and starting the shower to cover the sounds of her sobs.  This couldn't be happening again.  She didn't think she could fight her way back if the darkness and fear came for her again.  

   She sat on the bathroom floor clutching her knees, trying to talk herself back down from the proverbial ledge she was on.  She focused on controlling her breathing, ignoring the way her limbs were shaking, the nausea, the ringing in her ears and the sick sweat on her skin. After what felt like an eternity her chest began to loosen and the shaking stopped, but she was drained, and she let herself dissolve into a puddle on the cold tile floor.  

   Raina didn't know what had brought this on.  It had been almost a  year now since she'd had an attack, and she truly thought she'd left them behind her.  The only thing that had changed recently was the addition of her two lovers, and her pathetic little attempts to open up to them.  Was she really this constitutionally incapable of any kind of emotional intimacy anymore? Was this all she was? IF came to choosing between anxiety and loneliness, she was going to have to choose loneliness.  She couldn't make this trip again.

   She stayed in the bath until she had composed herself and the shower was no longer giving off steam.  When she went back into the bedroom Jared was more or less as she had left him, rolled to his side but still sleeping, unaware of her little crisis.  She watched him for a minute but couldn't bring herself to get back into bed next to him, so instead made her way into the kitchen to start the kettle.  

   Once she had a mug of tea in her hand, she sat down with the pieces of her presentation that was scheduled for tomorrow. She had taken the day off work to prepare but really there wasn't much left to do but obsess.  Maybe it's just the stress of finals, she thought, maybe it's not Jared and Shannon at all.

   Still trying to quiet her mind she found a book and settled herself under a quilt on the sofa.  She wasn't sure how long she was out there before she drifted off to sleep but the next thing she knew Jared was shaking her arm gently.

   “Raina? Are you okay? What are you doing out here? I didn't chase you off did I?” He was standing over her, peering at her with those bright blue eyes as his brow creased in concern.  Raina blinked and sat up quickly, her haste sending the book tumbling from her lap and to the floor.  Jared scooped it up and handed back to her.

   “No, I'm sorry.  I have my final presentation due tomorrow and I just came out to go over some things again.  Too jittery to sleep properly I suppose,” she lied.

   Jared sat down on the sofa next to her.  “When do you have to go into work? A decent breakfast would probably help settle your nerves.”

   Raina shook her head.  “I'm off until Monday so I can finish up with school but I'm too nervous to eat, really. “

   Jared sighed.  “Look, I know it's not really any of my business but you have to take care of yourself.” He tucked a curl behind one ear and kissed her forehead.  

   Raina felt the butterflies start their unwelcome migration from her sex to her heart and gritted her teeth. I'm not going to do this, she told herself.  I am not going to fall into his arms just because he shows me the smallest kindness.  She got up from her seat.  “You're right, it's not any of your business,” she told him, her arms folded defensively in front of her.  

   Jared regarded her from his spot on the sofa and frowned but said nothing. Raina dropped her gaze and shifted from foot to foot but held her silence as well.  When she still failed to acknowledge him Jared cleared his throat, got up and went back into the bedroom.

   Raina had just finished refolding the quilt when Jared emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed, keys in hand.  This wasn't how she had planned for this morning to go but at least if he was leaving she could maybe get her emotions back under control.

   “So you're going to be spending the day working on your project I suppose?” he asked.  She nodded.  Jared bobbed his head in return and let himself out.  

   Raina let out the breath she had been holding and fell back onto the sofa. She had been so sure when Jared asked her to dinner that night that he was just another shallow pretty boy, out for whatever he could get, and would be gone before the sun came up and she had to endure a vapid conversation.  He had turned out to be anything but: charming, interesting, and actually trying to make some sort of connection with her.  She had been the slutty, emotionally unavailable one in the end, unable to sort her life to accommodate anything beyond a one night stand.  The problem was she liked him more than she cared to admit, not just for what he did to her but for the little glimpses of the actual person that he was that kept peeking through all the bossiness and attitude.  And now she had run him off.

   She put her tea mug in the sink and went to get dressed.  She paused in front of the bathroom mirror longer than was necessary, trying to see herself past the tension in her jaw and the circles under her eyes. No wonder he was concerned.  She looked miserable and exhausted, her wee hours panic attack having taken it's toll on her. With a sigh, she turned out the bathroom light and went to make the bed.

   Once she had finished tidying the little apartment back up she found her book again and tried to settle down and quiet the thoughts in her head.  She was only a few pages in when the doorbell rang.  Raina was surprised to have a visitor at this hour.  She was even more surprised when she found Jared on the other side of the door, a big smile on his face and hands full of bags and a drink carrier.  

   “Sorry it took so long,” he said, stepping past her and into the apartment.  “I wasn't sure what you actually eat since there was nothing in that kitchen to judge by. So I just got you what I eat. ” He sat everything down on the kitchen counter and started opening bags.  After a minute he handed her a Styrofoam container and coffee mug.  “Here.  That's a tofu scramble and some toast.  If you haven't had it before I think you'll be surprised, they're very good. Lots of good veggies in there.  Oh, and the cup is just a basic vanilla latte with almond milk.  I hope you don't have an allergy, I don't remember you mentioning anything when I took you to dinner.”

   Stunned, Raina shook her head and opened the little container.  The food smelled amazing and her stomach grumbled at the sight of it.  She actually couldn't remember the last time she had eaten.  She looked at all the other bags he had carted in with him. “What's all that?”

   “Fruit, veggies, some almond milk and coconut water, cereal that isn't 80 percent sugar, you know... food.” He started putting the groceries away while Raina looked on, dumbstruck.  Seeing the expression on her face Jared stopped.  “What? I told you last night I'd go grocery shopping for you today.  If I say I'm going to do something I do it.”

   Raina was rapidly figuring that out.  “Don't you have an assistant or something that does that for you?”

   Jared laughed.  “I think I can handle an early morning grocery run and take out on my own, thanks.” He quickly stowed away the produce and other refrigerated items.  “I'll let you show me where the rest goes after we eat.”

   He grabbed the other Styrofoam container and sat down at the counter next to her.   She saw he had the same thing he had ordered for her.  Picking up a small forkful Raina gave it a tentative taste. She was surprised how much she liked it, it was very much like scrambled eggs with a ton of vegetables in it.  With a smile, she took a bigger bite.  Jared smiled back in approval.

   “I told you it's good,” he said, quickly devouring his own portion. “Now, tell me about this presentation that has you so stressed out,.”

   Raina tried to explain the project was about establishing continuity between web presence and brick and mortar storefronts but ended up having to explain the entire Visual Communications program to him. He seemed genuinely interested though and let her go on through the whole meal and until the coffee was gone.  “I'm sorry,” she ended up apologizing, “I've just rambled on and on and you asked me a simple question.”

   Jared shook his head.  “No, that was the first time I really felt like you talked to me.  You're so passionate about what you're doing.” Raina felt the frown slip out before she could stop it.  “What? What did I say?” he asked, puzzled.

   She was supposed to be reigning her emotions in, not jumping further down this rabbit hole.  Quickly she started clearing up their containers. “Nothing.  It's not you.”  It was the truth anyway.  She opened the remaining bag and started putting away the remainder of the groceries.

   Jared shook his head.  “You are quite the minefield,” he said sadly. Raina didn't acknowledge him, just kept stowing away packages of crackers and rice.  She didn't notice him stepping up behind her until he had flattened himself against her back, one hand on her waist, the other closing over her own as she put a box of muesli on the shelf.  As soon as she set the box down, he drew her back against him, arms crossed over her chest as he rested he his head on her shoulder.  She hated the way she tensed up at the intimate contact but she was becoming increasingly wary of his intentions this morning.  

   “I have to go.  I have things to do today,” he told her, his voice soft against her ear.  “My schedule is pretty full for the next few days but would you call or text me after your presentation tomorrow and let me know how it went? Maybe let me know the next time we can get together?”

   He wasn't pushing.  There was that at least.  She turned around and slipped her arms around his neck, allowing herself a moment to enjoy him now that she knew he was going to be giving her the space she was craving.  “I will,” she said, pressing her lips to his for a goodbye kiss. He lingered for only a moment before picking his keys back up off the counter.

   “Remember that you promised.  I don't want to have to explain to you about keeping promises again,” he said with a wink.  

   Raina smiled.  “I will remember.  Tomorrow.”

@msroxyblog  @nikkitasevoli @fyeahproudglambert  @meghan12151977 @snewsome756  @maliciousalishious

#jared leto fanfiction #shannon leto fanfiction #presque vu

[aerialsquid]

My head is naked.

The Deeply Symbolic Haircut occurred a month and a half ago ago. I’d been keeping it off personal social media because I want to see how people react in person, but I don't think anyone who knows me IRL on here hasn't seen it yet. Please enjoy this extended hair saga.

This was before the haircut:

The hair and I had never been on good terms. If I’d taken care of it properly it would have been different, but I almost never did more than wash it daily and put it up in a ponytail. There was always fluff sticking up, or escaping from the hairtie. I might put some smoothing solution in it on occasion, to the point of frustrated excess if I actually wanted it to look good (it never did, or at least not to my satisfaction). I never cared for the sight of my own reflection, aside when I did cosplay, and the hair was a big part of it.

The problems didn't end there. My hair once ate a round hairbrush to the point we had to remove it with scissors right before a youth group dance, and someone’s pet rat needed assistance finding the way out when I let it walk on my shoulder. I caught it on fire leaning too close to Shabbat candles. I have twice gone through the TSA body scanners, set something off in the scanner, and been asked to take my hair down so the guard could scrunch her fingers through it to search it for…I don’t know, rare birds or something.

I got compliments on my hair not infrequently due to curl and color, and my answer was usually “If you want it, you can have it”.

Every time we took a family photo my parents and I would argue over whether I should keep it up or let it hang down. I always felt I looked bad with the hair falling across my face. They thought I looked pretty like that, and to be frank it didn’t look great pulled back in a harsh ponytail either. My mom constantly asked why I always dug my heels in about the hair when it was a simple thing that would take five bloody seconds to do. I was never quite sure why myself.

…And here we come to #Squid's gender and the larger implications of The Haircut.

Some of you may have noticed the survey I sent around a while back trying to gather information on exactly how people of varying identities feel and react when their perceived gender is socially invoked. The data’s been fascinating; among other things, a lot more people than I expected want to get rid of their chest bits regardless of their gender identity, while almost nobody feels anything besides awkwardness or confusion when their gender identity is misconstrued. It also left me with more frustration, because if I'm not...the thing that I'm currently being perceived as, I want some kind of plan of action to act upon this revelation. Contended self-acceptance of an ambiguous self-identity is not going to cut it.

I finally went to my friend J about the issue. J is trained as a counselor focusing on queer youth, which she’s currently trying to make into a proper profession. She asked me if the survey had a question about whether the noncisgender people felt they were doing it for attention. I said no, because I’d assumed that wasn’t a common thing.

“Not every young person I spoke with felt like they were just doing it for attention. But almost literally every young person did.”

“What the hell.”

I mentioned wishing I could just magically be seen as male for a week to see how it felt, without having to make some kind of big announcement that would be impossible to take back if I found out I was wrong. Using a binder isn’t easy at the moment given my pain issues. I own one and could only wear it for about half an hour before it got too painful. My voice is low but not low enough, and I've got curves in all the wrong places. Winter is good for hiding your physical form under a jacket, but there was no good workaround for hiding my giant barely-restrained poof of dead keratin.

J suggested I finally get it cut off.

“You’re worried about having to buy that ticket to Manland, so this is a good baby step. You’re not buying the ticket to Manland yet. You’re just testing it a bit, you’re dipping your toes into the Manwater.”

“NEW METAPHOR. NEW METAPHOR.”

The place J recommended is a queer run, queer friendly salon on the north side. I went in for a consult to see if it was even possible to get a short style without looking like a chia pet. My only request was ‘a masculine haircut’, no other details. I couldn’t point to a specific style I wanted. I’d never had it cut this short before. I didn't do anything to care for my hair or style it and now wanted a dramatic change. I probably looked twitchy as heck.

Perks of going to a queer-catering salon: Maeva didn’t say anything but I’m pretty sure she had my number in the first thirty seconds.

She showed me pictures of men with short curly hair and talked about the difference between the nature of men and women’s cuts. She also mentioned that if I was going to always keep my hair in a ponytail there was no reason to have it at all, and how it was always nice to see people getting a big change. It was suggested that I wear clothes that made me feel comfortable and nice-looking so I would get the best impression of my haircut once it was finished.

We made the appointment. I spent the next two weeks fixated on it, staring at people's heads in the streets, pulling back my hair in the mirror to try and mimic what it might look like.. Some people I deliberately didn’t tell because I wanted to see their faces after I did it; others I constantly talked about it to because I was unbearably excited for it.

I finally told my parents exactly how short ‘short’ hair would be the night before the appointment. They took it better than expected…took it fantastically, actually. My mom even mentioned that she'd been considering getting me haircuts for Hanukkah as a present. Between that and the hour we spent running around a men's consignment store looking at suits and blazers I'm wondering if she's getting any ideas too. My father just wanted to make sure I did not get a 'really gay' haircut.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

“What, like an undercut? That’s queer woman chic right now.”

“No, that mature gay woman’s haircut. You know, like gay women had ten years ago. The staid one.”

“I wasn’t looking at gay women ten years ago.”

“The kind older gay women tend to have, that really short one. You’d just look like a cliché.”

(NOTE: I’m out to my family as homoromantic asexual and the last person I went on a date with was nonbinary. I think my dad just doesn’t want me in a butch buzzcut.)

I wore the suit that Mom bought me. J offered to drive me to my appointment, and stayed for the entire session as moral support. My knee kept jumping. Butterflies occurred. I expected to be more nervous, what with this being the largest voluntary body modification I’ve had since my thyroidectomy. Instead I was so excited I could barely sit still.

Maeva and another stylist spent ten minutes braiding up the entirety of my hair so I could donate it. The entire time Maeva and her coworkers referred to me with they/them pronouns. No one had tipped them off, as far as I could tell. They had just looked at the situation as it lay and judged that it was best not to make assumptions. As soon as it was braided up for donating she started cutting, no pause to ask me if I was ready. The first one made me flinch. After that I couldn't stop staring. It felt like a weight was being lifted off of me, like something smothering me had been cut away.

When I was under the dryer J came over and murmured, "You know that look you were trying to achieve? You've got it. Also, your head is naked." (She would spend the rest of the evening interjecting 'your head is naked' at random intervals, as she attempted to get over this weirdness of seeing her friend's head shrink by several inches, and it has since become a running gag for us..)

We finished up, Maeva put some curly pomade in my hair that I still need to get the name for, and this was what I looked like.

Look at that grin. Just look at it. I don't think I've ever seen a photo of myself that exuded such utter joy. I feel liberated.

My parents bugged me for daily selfies until Tuesday. I’m getting constant compliments on my hair and now I'm agreeing with them. My boss actually squealed when she saw how it looked during our Skype chat. I've even had several people tell me that I "look more like you" like this, even if they're not sure how to explain what that means. (My friend Drake explained it as "you were dilute Squid, now you're concentrate Squid'). My confidence is higher, my self-loathing is lower, and I feel so much handsomer. When I look at my reflection I preen, smoothing or fluffing my hair, and then wind up just staring at myself for a bit.

The hair's been growing out, as hair tends to do. I feel actively stifled by this thick mass on my scalp, and as it grows my anxiety grows like I'm some reverse Samson who only keeps their power when their hair is shorn. I’m scheduled to get the auburn kudzu cut back on Monday and I cannot fucking /wait/.

(Also yes, I will explain later why there’s a dog skull on my groin in the last picture. Long story.)

#squid's gender #squid's life #squid's face #gender #hair #haircut

[joiedecombat]

100 Days of Writing: the List

Since it seems there is some interest, why not? List of works (nominally) in progress, old unfinished fics, and Stuff I Want To Write below the cut. Feel free to ask about any of these.

Works (nominally) In Progress

Fanfic

"Reason or Rhyme" (Time Princess - Gotham Memoirs). The Vittorio expansion/fix-fic, because I will be forever disgruntled at how little romance content was actually included in the Mafia romance route.

Galactic Date Night Shenanigans aka "The one where everything is Balkar's fault." (SWTOR - Theron Shan/Jedi Knight). Theron "disaster spy" Shan is goaded into trying to take his wife out for a nice date for once, and it goes like every other plan these two have ever had anything to do with.

#3: [I] trusted [you] (SWTOR - Theron Shan / Jedi Knight). A post-Nathema prompt fic I swear I will finish one of these days.

Original

super secret short story/novella project - Okay it's not that super secret, but it is something I'm mostly keeping under my hat for now as I work on it because of reasons, and is actually (inconveniently, for 100 Days of Writing purposes) the main thing I've been working on lately. I expect to be able to say more about it later. Maybe even within the 100 days! We'll see.

southern gothic urban fantasy procedural romance - Faerie Animal Control Warden meets FBI Elf during investigation of a suspicious death out in the kudzu. A little bit of Bright, a bit Mushi-Shi, a drop of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

Stuff I Want to Write

Distinct from works in progress in that I have not actually gotten past the planning stage on any of these - if that. A few of these have been rattling around in concept for long enough to have gone through several distinct evolutions without ever getting any writing done on them. Still, hope springs eternal and ideas are never wasted.

Fanfic

the rival bands AU / the rock opera playlist fic (Sailor Moon - Makoto Kino/Nephrite). Currently exists entirely as an incomplete playlist.

space opera Pride and Prejudice retelling - exactly what it sounds like on the tin. Do y'all know I have yet to encounter a futuristic/space AU? Surely there's one out there somewhere, but I have yet to see it. If you know of one, for the love of God don't tell me.

"Ten of Swords" - (Archer EMIYA/Minako Arisato). fate/stay night + Persona 3 Portable crossover what's even wrong with my brain.

Original

the Regency fae story - a Regency-era fantasy in which a lot of the needlessly complicated and restrictive social rules followed by the upper classes are actually an attempt at defending against the Fair Folk. Sort of Pride and Prejudice vs Changeling: the Lost vs Labyrinth. Could turn into a whole Pride and Prejudice retelling, I guess?

drinking games - fantasy imperial court intrigues involving a romance between a court poison taster and a master spy/assassin.

untitled - East/southeast Asian-inspired Beauty and the Beast retelling in which the Beast is a mountain god whose appearance is based on a tiger. I'm probably too white to write this.

untitled - Private investigator hired to investigate local bad-boy-made-good for insurance fraud, turns out it was actually an ill-advised teenage deal with the devil coming due. Might fit in with that other southern gothic urban fantasy idea, I am not sure.

the ciphered letter - This one started off as a combination of a Mage: the Awakening campaign and a really, really weird spam email I got one time. Orphan gets mysterious ciphered letter, meets snarky Welsh mage, awakens to magic and maybe almost gets made a human sacrifice to an eldritch abomination.

Forfeit - Regency/Victorian-esque fantasy involving reincarnation, a race of immortals, and a half-immortal teaming up with a mortal who sacrificed his future reincarnations for pseudo-immortality to uncover and stop the sinister secrets that power a colonizing empire. It makes more sense in my head... probably?

untitled - Slow burn enemies to lovers between the world-conquering emperor and the rebel leader who's opposing him, over the course of a time loop. AKA Lord of Heroes Kartis/Monarch with the serials filed off. Or I guess I could just write Lord of Heroes fanfic?

low fantasy Magnificent Seven Samurai - Farming village scrapes together a group of starving mercs to protect them from marauders, drama ensues. That's it, that's the whole idea.

Unfinished Fics

Distinct from works in progress in that these are all old enough I can no longer claim I intend to finish them. Some of them I may come back to, especially the few that had substantial progress made before they fell by the wayside. Most will probably be left abandoned, either because I have lost interest in continuing to work on them or I have just plain forgotten what I was planning to do with them.

dreameater - A very old, loosely Forgotten Realms-inspired concept involving an aging half-elf, his fully elven partner, and a mysterious magical threat that's devouring people's dreams.

"Fortune Favors the Brave" (Baccano! - Luck Gandor/Eve Genoard). The Luck/Eve shipping fic.

"Intermezzo" (Blood+ City of Nightwalkers). Follow-up fic to an obscure manga prequel/side story for the vampire anime Blood+, involving Hagi and the Hong Kong cop who semi-adopted him that one time.

"The Art of Losing Everything" (Dragon Age: Origins - Alistair Theirin/f!Cousland). An Alistair/f!Warden fic with themes of loss, duty, and sacrifice.

"In Pieces" (Dragon Age II - Fenris/f!Hawke). A terrible horrible no good very bad AU where Hawke actually turned Fenris over to Danarius and then came back to try to fix her mistake, which I can never finish because I can't make that initial decision make internal sense no matter how hard I try.

"Pas de Deux" (Final Fantasy VIII - Squall Leonhart/Rinoa Heartilly). Exploration of how Squall and Rinoa's relationship could develop after the events of the game.

"With Good Intentions" (Final Fantasy VIII - Squall Leonhart/Rinoa Heartilly). An AU in which Rinoa discovers that technically you can change the past, it's just that if Squall has an actual decent childhood the world ends. Way too ambitious for me to ever actually finish, probably, but I can't quite give up on the idea.

"I've Loved These Days" (Gundam SEED - Mu la Flaga/Murrue Ramius). One of several partly-written Gundam SEED fics kicking around in my files.

"The Last Night of the World" (Gundam SEED - Mu la Flaga/Murrue Ramius). Another Gundam SEED fic, one that began as a prompt in ye olde LiveJournal days. "I've Loved These Days" might have been a prototype, though they don't appear to have any text in common. Could in theory still get finished, maybe.

Valentine's ghosts (Gundam SEED Destiny - Andrew Waltfeld/Murrue Ramius). I'm just saying, Andy/Murrue would have been so much more interesting than the whole Neo thing in Destiny.

"Lion Passant" (Kingdom Hearts). Something something Leon as a failed Keyblade Bearer. The Kingdom Hearts franchise has rewritten its own lore at least three times since I originally had the idea, I can't imagine I'll ever continue it now.

"Vigil" (KotOR - Carth Onasi/f!Revan). Carth/Revan retrospective somewhere around the tomb of Naga Sadow on Korriban.

"Semper Fidelis" (KotOR/KotOR II - Carth Onasi/f!Revan). Post-Sith Lords Carth/Revan resolution fic.

"Clarity" (KotOR II). Atton Rand backstory study from the POV of that one nameless Jedi.

"A Simple Game of Cards" (KotOR II - Atton Rand/Jedi Exile). Spoilers: it is never a simple game of cards. Turns out someone already did it with more or less the same twist I had in mind.

the besieged base fic (Mass Effect - f!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko). A fic rendition of the "Besieged Base" mission from the first Mass Effect.

"Get Up, Jonah" (Mass Effect). I woke up thinking about Turkish drummers. Didn't take long; I don't know much about Turkish drummers. Virmire, before the other shoe drops.

"Long Night" (Mass Effect). Ashley on Virmire.

"My Heart Dances" (Mass Effect - f!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko). Liara POV of Shepard/Kaidan.

"No Way Out" (Mass Effect - f!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko). Heading up the Citadel during the ME1 endgame.

"Right Here, Right Now" (Mass Effect - f!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko). An ME1 epilogue / pre-ME2 sort of fic.

"While the Night is Still Young" (Mass Effect - f!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko). Shepard/Kaidan en route to Ilos.

Apparently I had approximately a million little Mass Effect shortfic ideas I never finished and in some cases never started. Apparently they're all for the first game. (I think there was a Thane idea or two for ME2 that I just never started on at all. RIP.)

"To Absent Friends" (Tiger and Bunny). Sad, sad futurefic of an elderly Pao-Lin reflecting on the deaths of all the other heroes over the years.

#100daysofwriting #works in progress #stuff I want to write #writing #fanfic #southern gothic urban fantasy procedural romance

[milagroscottrell-blog]

teacher? If You Do It Smart, it's Easy.

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In last night's chat, which you could discover archived below in addition to previous ones, I shared my favorite art teacherin' publications. Being an educator coach is a tough function nevertheless you could assist by giving recurring guidance on locations of lesson preparation, class management as well as classroom company. The PERMS system (Professional Education and learning Document Administration System) allows Pennsylvania educators to learn about available Act 48 courses, study authorized training course companies and track finished coursework. I'm sorry that you've made a decision to stop but enjoy that as a para you will certainly continue to use your skills and also experience to help those teachers and students manage this continuing assault of screening. So, if you find the details as well as details on this page on the most up to date and trendiest guitar educator software application appropriate as well as essential, examine them currently on the internet and see excellent results on your training experience. Of course, the salaries for educator assistants vary depending upon education as well as training. From what I learn through younger teachers today the instructional kudzu has actually been difficult to stop. Exactly what I do intend to suggest, however, that we explore how reflection is educated with an open mind and also some curiosity, instead of just birding whatever we assume we bear in mind hearing our teacher say. Piano instructors should keep in mind that like all other topics finding out the best ways to play the piano successfully and also effectively requires numerous learning sessions, numerous lessons on piano from reviewing music to playing a music item by ear. An excellent collection of distinctions to educators who are effective as well as efficient and are doing exactly what is anticipated of them; an abomination to the stubborn ones that are billed of the other due to dereliction of obligation. Teachers would probably stroll each class to the following educator, as well as have a brand-new set of trainees each hr. It reveals that the teacher does have an emotional side than just being a robotic and also just there to instruct. Self-reflection assists educators to remember those times when the order was not followed, and just how it impacted the success of the lesson. The Friday that we had Valentine's events had the largest presence of any type of titan gel κριτικεσ day. This could in some cases be a difficult task; however watchful educators or lunchroom workers can assist in establishing those kids that consume the same thing day in day out, or that choose not to consume anything yet graham crackers for treat each day.

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[dcnativegal]

Maybe I am an artist

Zora Neale Hurston once said, “I love myself when I am laughing, and again when I’m looking mean and impressive.”   I could safely say, “I love myself when I am playing with yarn, and again when I’ve finished a project and taken a picture of it to post on Facebook.”

Moving to the Oregon Outback, and Valerie’s adorable loft house, has loosed whatever constraints I’d had in DC on yarn binging. Or am I stocking up for my new career as a fiber artist?   Perhaps my yarn buying behavior is yet another one of my compulsions. The Cambridge English Dictionary defines compulsion as a very strong feeling of wanting to do something repeatedly that is difficult to control. So why control it? I see an ad for yarn, I get an email from Webs.com, I get a notification that someone has posted “a yarn for sale” picture in Yarn Hoarders Anonymous on Facebook. If its bulky yarn, or very reasonably priced… I’ve hit up paypal before I know it. Or I do know it and I do it anyway.

But is it a bad thing? Why must I pathologize my yarn buying? I love my yarn. It gives me great joy to order it, anticipate it coming, then open the package (that Paisley’s patient and kind postmistress has hauled to her counter). I deeply enjoy planning what I’ll make with it. Occasionally I’ll open it and go, bleh, not what I had hoped for, but that stuff will find a place and a purpose, too. Yarnbombing with many strands of yarn at once will reduce my supply…

I dream of projects. When I want to stop obsessing about a client, or about my most recent blood sugar, or whatever really stupid thing I said that day (Open mouth, Insert foot), then I plan a project as I drift off to sleep. Something in purple, the color I have the most of. What kind of baby blanket will I make for the Holy Brother’s daughter’s love child? What kind of stitch will best cover the irrigation half wheel that Valerie salvaged? I plan to make a half sun full of oranges, yellows, and white, with a little purple and green thrown in. It will be 3 feet in diameter, and hung from the fence. It will be my second outdoor decoration, after the July 4th crocheted flag I tacked to a folding rectangular trellis and hung on the side of the house.

Why should we all use our creative power?  Because there is nothing that makes people so generous, joyful, lively, bold and compassionate, so indifferent to fighting and the accumulation of objects and money.                                        Brenda Ueland

 Perhaps I am subconsciously planning for my next career, although I learning and growing in my current one. This ‘behavioral therapist’ business is hard work. Lake County is the redheaded stepchild of Klamath County, which is supposed to share resources with its sister county to the east. It’s also the mostly ignored second cousin of Deschutes County which is just to the north and full of resources, people, stores… it’s where most north Lake County residents go for banking, pharmacy and grocery shopping. Anyway, the impoverishment of Lake County is only one of the reasons this old social worker finds the work challenging. I think most therapists struggle with at least some cases. The multiple early traumas that my clients had to cope with, on top of the challenges of modern life and the dearth of jobs and housing, combine to lay waste the most resilient psyche. Not to mention the recidivism of “substance use disorder”, the newest official term for what was once called addiction.  I do get a surge of joy when one of the clients graduates from their 12 weeks of sobriety and I can report to the probation officer that they are CLEAN.  They were clean before I knew them, however; I take no credit.

Treat people as if they were what they ought to be, and you help them to become what they are capable of being.    

Goethe

 I have no business plan for my next career as a fiber artist. I had an Etsy store once, and spent a lot of money on photography equipment (a huge white sheet and nice lights with umbrellas attached) to take pictures of my accomplishments. Didn’t really work. Maybe I didn’t promote it? I thought my prices were reasonable. I sold more by just mentioning something on facebook than I ever did on Etsy.  

I don’t really care, although I suppose I should, whether I make money from my creations. It would be nice to recoup some of the expense of the yarn, which is really pricey, even when I buy from other yarn hoarders. (Maybe I should have sheep in the side yard, sheer them, prepare their wool, spin it, dye it… yeah? No.)  I enjoy seeing my work wrapped around a friend’s shoulders in winter. I missed seeing the smile of delight when Valerie’s niece opened up the box and saw two, washable, gorgeous if I do say so myself, baby blankets at her twin baby debut. That delight is my payment. I did get a nice thank you note.

What I really love is making the stuff. I love selecting the yarns, picking the hook or needle size, and going at it. I don’t follow patterns, although I do learn stitches from youtube. I make shit up. I know how to fit a hat, and even fit a sweater, without a pattern, although mostly I make scarves and afghans. People don’t wear nice handmade sweaters anymore. They are too hot indoors, and too much of a pain to take on and off. Hats and scarves make more sense, and in winter, a beautiful lap blanket totally helps when the fire is beginning to go out. I think so anyway. My family members, and Valerie’s, get knit stuff for Christmas and so far, no one has taken me aside and said, Jane, “We have enough hats to last the rest of our lives… maybe a gift card??”  I think they are too polite to tell me; I just hope they’ve passed the hat along to another cold noggin.

When I ask myself, what do I have to do each day? One answer is I must crochet or knit. My hands itch to be making something, to follow a rhythm with a piece of wood and soft fur of sheep, rabbit, llama. Or the product of silk worm and bamboo. I’ve discovered to my delight a substance called Upscale Acrylic.  I sit having a conversation with anyone, and if I am not also crocheting, a part of my brain is aching. I have two projects I’m knitting[jl1]  at work which I labor to finish during staff meetings, which are an odd affair, taking place over a large screen where most of the staff is sitting around a table 2 hours’ drive away and three of us in Christmas Valley are straining to hear. It is an exercise in frustration, but perhaps it is  practice for when I’m hard of hearing and I miss most of the content and a whole lot of nonverbal verbal cues. I’ll be knitting then, too.

I have projects that are perfect for church, or for a movie, since I can knit in the round without looking.  I get a lot done, especially during the sermon, or the previews, when I’m just not really engaged. If you are preaching, just know that you knocked it out of the park if I stopped knitting.

In a college seminar, we sat in a circle and talked and listened. I knit and talked and listened. One day, everyone turned to me and I asked why everyone was looking at me? One of the students said, because you put your knitting down. I always put it down when I had something to say. Ah.

My biggest projects are in the house, in large piles or baskets or boxes, and they require a lot of lap, and a cooperative cat. I’m working on a rug that will be something like 6 by 4 feet. I also have a number of lap blankets that are in process. I have two small purses half finished: purses the size of smart phones sold really well at the Paisley Bazaar last November. Sometimes I stare at my yarn and I get a flash of inspiration and I just up and start something entirely new. So what if I have 12 projects in various stages of completion. I finish my projects. Then I put them in a plastic trunk for gift/bazaar/me for later. And keep going. Yarn is joy.

It is also taking over the guest bedroom and the living room. You can’t see the surface of my desk for the piles of yarn. It’s rather like kudzu in the Southern states, hanging over everything and creeping around. Rather like a fungus. Rather like the clutter in a teenage boy’s room, there is a debris tide.  I neaten and organize, and more yarn comes into the mix.

I think this is where the compulsion comes in. I do not need more yarn. I have a ‘stash beyond life expectancy.’ But new yarn, new colors and textures, they call to me.

Like wine calls to the alcoholic. Like meth calls to the meth user. Like chocolate calls to me. Like Blue Bunny chocolate covered ice cream bars call to me all the way from the Summer Lake gas station store. The one that says ‘Ice! You need Ice!’ on its big sign.  The owner is the cranky pumper of gas who hales me when he sees me: So! What treason have you committed lately, you pinko?  (Pinkos of the world, unite.)

I can’t afford the yarn, any more yarn ever, until I am out of debt. I asked Valerie if she minded the slow creep of yarn, and she said she will mind it come winter when she’s living in the house most of the time. With her peripatetic work schedule, she gets to stay a bunch of different places, none of which are as cluttered as our Paisley home. Cluttered with yarn.

Okay so I should stop buying yarn.

I was always a spendthrift, but my then-husband’s monthly explosion in response to the credit card bill was a bit of a deterrent. When we divorced, I blew through some serious money that came out of my retirement, and oh, I bought a house. Which I then had to sell toot suite when I took a severance package to get out of a very well paying but crazy-making workplace. (In 4 years, I lived through 3 bosses and 3 reorganizations. By the buyout, I was working so far away from my skill set that I would sit in my office and cry.)

Living in small spaces or other people’s spaces after the divorce kept a slight lid on my yarn obsession. And now in the lovely loft house, when I’ve down sized my furniture to the amount I could move cross country, I have lots of room.  Oops. Yarn explosion. The generous tax refund this spring did not help.

What’s this about being an artist?  Delusions of grandeur, probably.

Once upon a time, I took an environmental sculpture class at Oberlin. By my junior year, as a religion major and women’s studies minor I was writing a bazillion papers every semester. I wished to escape another paper and branched out to take folk dancing, print making and drawing, and even horseback riding, which, for this city kid, was really fun.  A friend of mine, Monica, talked me into this class on Environmental Sculpture.

Our assignment was to plan a sculpture, and take care of all of the steps necessary to get permission to make it and install it. Finally, you build it. I wandered around the Oberlin neighborhood we lived in and found several shells of houses that had burned down. One shell had all four corners intact, and everything else was a stinky mass of melted plastic and trash. I had my site. I don’t recall getting permission from anyone to build a sculpture there.  So it was a squatter site. I do remember finding an old wooden fireplace mantel, a bunch of wooden chair legs, some pallets. Pretty soon, I had the outline of a little hut. About 8 feet by 8 feet. I looked up Shinto Shrines, and back then there was no google. A shrine could be a home to a spirit who lived in that place. A living thing was needed, and a philodendron did the job. My classmates helped me raise the roof, which was a wooden shed structure just perfect for the top. I had my sculpture and I loved it very much. I still have the photos taken by another Obie, Bernice. Looking at them, I recall what a magical process this was.

To this day, I collect found objects and plan to make more sculptures. I might just be able to do that in Paisley. I have the space, and live in a town with a complete lack of judgment for saving odd things that look like junk. (Have you seen our side yard???) (Have you seen our neighbor to the immediate south???)

Why can’t I be an artist?

Why can’t art flow out of me and be manifested in some form, and then be shown to the public?

What is art? I have a broad definition. Anything made from my hands that is not food, is art. It does not have to be a job, but instead, a way of being in the world. A way of seeing something that does not exist yet and bringing it into this reality, rather like the sculptor who sees a large block of stone and envisions a human figure hidden inside. Chip away the stone and the human emerges. ­­I see a physical space, or a blank fence wall, and I envision something there. Mobiles made of found objects, including cow bones, are taking up residence in my imagination. The afore-mentioned setting sun, made of half of an irrigation wheel and a whole lot of yarn. There are a lot of weathered pieces of wood, including twisting branches, that I’d love to build into something…

Creativity is seeing something that doesn’t exist already. You need to find out how you can bring it into being and that way be a playmate with God.                                    Michele Shea

 As I settle into life in Lake County, I anticipated I’d have more free time to do things like volunteer, and make art. I’m beginning to make some art, as my fourth of July American flag takes its place on the side of the house. It has many other colors besides red white and blue, which I’d hoped would make a point about multi-cultural diversity, but they are too subtle. You have to go right up to the thing to see the greens, golds and purples. That’s okay. It was a first effort. It is a reassuringly familiar American Flag for the conservative county I live in. It was Valerie’s idea. She said, you know what the cowboys would love? A crocheted American flag. And so it is.

The sun will be multi-colored.

The outside of the house will begin to look like the inside: colorful and full of art.

I am an artist.

I recently stayed in a house that had a small wooden sign in it that said: I can be anything, but I can’t do everything.

I will be an artist. And a therapist. I will be a volunteer in small ways, like when I go to Lakeview or Bend, I can tell my neighbors that I’m there, so I can pick up a prescription or a rotisserie chicken, or hair dye. I will try to treat my pancreas better, and maybe ride my tricycle around town.

I will try to buy less yarn. Hmf. I call bullshit. Yoda said, there is no try, there is only do. So, I guess that means, I will stop buying yarn. Until… the kudzu has been trimmed and the native plants can breathe. Um, or maybe until we can walk through the living room without tripping over a bag or basket of yarn. That’s a fair goal. The more specific the goal, the easier to reach, right?

All the arts we practice are apprenticeship.  The big art is our life.   M.C.Richards

    [jl1]

#knitting crochet art artist

[arnicaxross]

Her bed in Fairie is everything a magical fantasy bed should be if imagined by a little girl. Hugely round, soft enough to sink into, and the curtains that envelope her bed in a rose red caccoon hang from the ceiling and wrap around the platform to look like a tightly closed flower bud from the outside. It's the most perfect bed she's ever laid in and she's constantly being pulled out of it. "FairieRaide," It's the low booming voice of a dwarf and she can already hear the clanking of his armor as she sits up and peers blearily through the transparent red silks. "Up. 'M up. What is it Jargyl?" Something has happened in the six hours since she came home, got her kid up and dressed for the day and sent him off down the road to the school before passing out face down in the pillows. "The enemy army has killed two more of your kins children, my Huntswoman." Her stomach twists tightly into something cold and painful as she pushes the curtains aside to snatch her phone from the polished stump shaped table next to the bed. No one, human or fae can explain why tech works just as clearly in Fairie as it does on Earth but they're exploring it, slowly. Her twitter feed is on fire. Two hashtags for two middle school boys who according to the police were attempting to rob a store and according to a handful of witnesses were kicking the door of a 7-11 where the white teenaged cashier took their money and then refused them service. "Jesus fucking Christ. We can't even get robbed without them killing us now." She doesn't try to choke back the tears and rage in her voice, the fae of all types find emotions noble. "Your kin already begin to assemble and prepare to ride behind the Hunt and the Sithen has begin birthing more of the old city from her depths." "Thank you Jargyl. Have everyone sent into the feasting hall to wait for me. Ask the Brownies to make food available and the Kobalds to check and see if more of the armory has appeared. There's going to be more potential riders than I have horse and armor." "Aye, Huntswoman. Your kin are proudly ready for war." Dwarves are, were, the predominant war race of the fae. If Jargyl sounds this proud, the small city must be in a state of boiling readiness. "Fuck. I'll be there in a few moments." It doesn't take long to shower and the armor of the FairieRaid wraps itself lovingly around her limbs as soon as she touches it, but it still feel like it's been a dangerously long wait as she stomps across the marble and moonstone flagstones poking ever so slightly out of the lush lichens on the ground and into the feasting hall. The Sithen City holds almost a thousand people in it, rescued from hundreds of protests, jail cells, and raids and it looks like easily a hundred of those adults are waiting on her under the interlaced leaf canopy of the feasting hall. The roof that was a dying tangle of English Ivy and unscented roses when she first fell into the realm is a lush tangle of kudzu and honeysuckle now, morning glories twisting in and out in a dozen shades of blues wherever they want to. It smells like home and bolsters her bravery as she steps out of the back paths and onto the crumbled Queen's dias, hands held up. "I know. I've seen it. Who's been monitoring the protest threads, hands up?" It used to be easier to pick her huntsmen. At first there was always more armor than human riders, then volunteers started filling saddles and over the last year she's had to resort to using lotteries and even letting the armor itself do the picking to streamline the process. A hundred hands in a dozen shades of brown shoot into the air. "You, how many protests are planned so far?" "Thirteen." The girl she pointed to stands up, Iphone in hand and twists tied back out of her face. Tamika lets herself feel the twist of guilt that back in the mortal realm the girl would have been on some high school campus instead of gathering as part of a council of battle, and lets it warm into just another small blaze of anger to add to her determination. The girl may have been in school in the mortal realm, but she still would have been gathered in a group, following the tending tags for protests. The only difference really is that even preparing to ride out, she's safer here than there. "Big ones in New York, Baltimore, Chicago, DC, Austin, and L.A, the main protest in Richmond, and a scattering of smaller ones around the country. The White House has already announced they'll be deploying the National Guard in Richmond, New York, and DC." "Alright, then those are our first targets because those are the people in the most danger. Is there anyone here that's new? Who's never been with us before a protest?" Almost a dozen hands thrust upwards. "Okay. All of you come sit with me while we eat. Everyone else, start eating. It's going to be a long day and a longer night." The Queen's table is long gone, shattered and the pieces dragged away decades before she was ever born, but pieces of the legs still just up from the dias like weather worn broken bones dwarfing the much smaller wooden table that still easily seats more than a dozen. The scarred timbers are loaded with fruit that is common, exotic, and inhuman in glistening crystal bowls, platters spill their airy rolls, dense honied cornbreads, and lightly sugared shortcakes, and in between the bowls and platters are jugs of wine, juice, and the clearest most delicious water any of them have ever tasted. There's no standing on ceremony, not when food is concerned. She's already loading her plate with mangoes and lychees, shortcakes and spoonfuls of berries by the time people start taking seats around her, a group that could be siblings or cousins bow their head, hands clasped and murmur a quick grace as others reach with quiet respectfulness around them to load their own plates. "What is this?" One of the maybe siblings, maybe cousins is holding a Rambutan with a look that waivers between amusement and faint horror. "It's good, is what it is." She snatches one herself and peels it quickly, showing him the glistening white interior before biting it away from the pit. "Did I bring all of you here with the hunt?" "Not us, Ma'am." Oh ghatdamnit, they're calling her ma'am. Either she's too fucking old or they're too fucking young. "We heard about the bottle trees." "It's a good trick, right? We're trying to get word moving to put them up in ways where by the time it starts to leak outside the community that they're gateways, there're too many to get them all down in a coordinated movement." "Are you using Pintrest and shit? Just take some really good pictures and start pinning them to boards. People will do anything they see on Pintrest." "And if you've got a thousand white girls doing it too, it'll take them longer to catch on that you're moving through them." She smiles at them. She knew it was a good idea. "We're running a social media campaign, getting people to do blogs about them as yard decoration, tutorial vids on YouTube, pin boards. See your community leaders when we're done here. We always need more accounts." She piles a heaping spoon of berries into the small well in the shortcake. "After we're done eating, everyone heads out to the stables. All the armor we've got will be there. Everyone lines up and walks the line, touching the armor. You'll know when it picks you. That tends to take a couple hours. After that, a horse, probably a horse, will come out and pick a rider. We'll spend a couple hours riding the area so everyone can get used to being on a saddle and when the dwarves join us, it'll be time to go." "So if you don't get chosen?" The woman at the end of the table leans forward as she speaks and every single one of the knots coiled atop her head is a different vibrant hue. Tamika wishes her hair looked that cute. "Then you can go home or you can stay and volunteer with the ground team. We need people here monitoring the tags, the trends, the livestreams...we can't ride and watch our timelines at the same time. Someone has to send the info through to the carriage teams." The last two times the mounts had paraded out of the stables, teams of enormous black horses had emerged pulling behind them the kind of carriage you only see in period movies involving hoop skirts. And both times they filled both coaches to the limit more than once before the night ended. She just expects them to be a part of the mounting up now. "Our ground teams are vital. We fly blind without them. If you don't end up in armor today, I hope we can count on you to stay and man the lines. And you don't have to try the armor at all if you don't want to. At least twenty people here are just here to volunteer for the ground team." The ambient sound in the feasting hall is rising as people finish eating and begin to talk to each other. Tamika crams what she can into her mouth, gulps down as much water as she can, and rises. "Alright, come on yall! Don't let me see a single fucking adult here cutting lines and shoving, you hear me!" The stables are around the far side of the hill and her breath catches like always at the scale of it as she crests the top of the path that leads down to the beaten dirt of the massive parade ground that makes up the stable yard. The building, a long lodgehouse of white marble bricks and timbers like redwoods, is big enough to hold animals far larger than anything that's ever come out so far. She's been careful not to think the 'D-word' because things that she thinks too hard about in Farie tend to come and find her, but things grow wilder and wake up faster with every new believer she brings back and it's just a matter of time until one day there's a fucking dragon in the stables. 'Shit. I thought the word.' Which is fine. Wild ass Jamie with her purple glasses and her hair in puffs could totally ride a Dragon. It's fine. 'Fuck me I thought it twice. That's a lot of armor.' The thoughts tumble one on top of the other as she lets her eye scan across the long line of tooled leathers and tiny linked chainmails hanging against the stable walls. There's still room to spare, maybe two hundred suits could stretch the building end to end, but there's a lot less space than there used to be. She might have to send down into the city to get more ground crew. Jargyl stands by the gates looking particularly pleased with himself. "And as many for my own people besides. It will be a full hall under the mountain tonight. You are a damn fine FairieRaide." "Yeah, I better be. DC has locked down for 10 blocks around the fucking White House and protesters are fucking pissed that they're not being allowed near the Mall, New York is already threatening to bring out the sound canons if the crowd becomes 'Unruly', and Richmond is the scariest because they're not saying anything at all. They're waiting for us in more places then I think I can get to." "The Hunt has more powers than you've learned, friend. You have not yet begun to harass the enemy armies." She used to feel guilty when Jargyl called the assorted police forces enemy armies. They were just cops, sone good and some not, but just people. But years of faceless riot masks, bone shaking sound attacks, pepper spray and water canons have made all the distinctions dissappear. Her methods have been the same since the first Wilde Hunt of just her and the dogs; run those who will break and run, draw all manpower, recruit, and evacuate as needed, but the response continues to escalate. Their weapons cut everything but flesh, they always have, and the weaponized response just gets bigger every time. People have filed into the paradeyard and no one needs an explanation. People on their phones are peeling off towards benches and hay bales, assembling themselves into teams as everyone else begins walking the long line with one hand out to trail across the armor. "My people should be waiting for me. Ill return with the cauldron before we eat."The first figure has stepped out of line, leather wrapping and shaping around her limbs as everyone applauds and cheers. "We'll be ready for you."

[draconicanimagus]

Letta, you should really keep your phone on you

You missed out on two hours of some top notch fangirling. I suggest you find your phone soon and read the 10 odd messages you have in your inbox.

#kudzu #wild vines #gallifreyfalling #I STAYED UP AND FINISHED KUDZU!!!! #YAY!!!! #ALL OF THE FEELS