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nelllraiser · 3 years

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raising nell | erin & nell (flashback)

TIMING: some twenty years ago. LOCATION: the childhood home of the vurals. PARTIES: @corpse--diem & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: erin takes a sitting job from nisa, looking after a young nell. the regret is almost instantaneous.

With the coven meeting fast approaching, Nisa had been left high and dry by her usual babysitter. She was one of the other young girls in the coven who knew the ins and outs of watching a magical child, and all the hurdles it came with. At least Beatrice and Lucinda were already taken care of. Just last evening they’d been taken for a two-night excursion along with their father and a few other fire elementalists to better understand the flame and its sanctity. As for her youngest...Penelope had yet to show signs of any fire-wielding despite Nisa employing all the usual tricks to encourage combustion. But she cleared her mind of that troubling thought as the young sitter she’d managed to find on short notice returned to the doorway with her, and Nisa handed over Penelope as she prepared to leave. Almost instantly, the child witch began to squirm in Erin’s arms, trying to work her way out of them. “She’s got a lot of energy, but her bedtime is in two hours. It’s best if you tire her out in the backyard before then. Oh- also the Latin tapes are near the radio on her bedside table, and should be played for her to fall asleep to once you’ve read her two books. You’ve got my number, and I need to go so please feel free to call me if you have any questions.” With that Nisa opened the door as she glanced down at her watch, antsy to depart. She could still make it on time if she sped. “I’m sure everything will be fine. I’ll see you around ten, Erin! Thank you, again!” And with that she was gone out the door.

Erin nodded along quickly, eyebrows raised as Nisa Vural listed off very explicit instructions on how to take care of the infant wiggling her way out of her grip. This wasn’t the first babysitting gig she’d taken on in the past few weeks, at the encouragement of her parents, but already something felt a little… off in the Vural household. It was hard to put her finger on what but the Latin tapes were her first clue. Maybe they were just one of those families that played Mozart or Bach to their kids hoping it’d make them smarter or something? Not like she had a lot of room to judge. It wasn’t as if she had the most normal childhood living above a funeral home. “Okay, sure, but what if she--” But Nisa had already closed the door behind her. Guess Erin would just have to figure it out. “Bye,” she called out weakly to the closed door. Finally, Erin let the kid slide out of her grip enough to let her down onto the floor and she knelt down to her leve. “Alright, Penelope, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Erin!” She gave her a bright, if not slightly forced smile. “What do you say we go outside and play? Does that sound like fun?” She asked, her voice laced with the exaggerated, slightly condescending tone that came with talking to babies. The faster she tired this kid out, the better.

Nell settled on the ground in an ungraceful heap of limbs and grabby hands. Almost instantly she rocked from side to side on her toes, Erin’s tone of voice doing it’s job of getting her excited. “I’m Penellie!” the little girl screeched in her excitement as an introduction, a combination of her given name and the one her family tended to call her. She barely waited another instant before shooting off towards the backdoor, grabbing any small items she could get her hands on along the way as she blazed the trail though the house. “Race you! You’re too slow!”

Penelope was very nearly endearing, even with her screeching, before taking off like a bat out of hell. “Oh, Penelope, no, don’t!” Erin yelled and followed behind her, trying to scoop up the items that didn’t fit into her tiny fists. “Ow, fuc--” she muttered, stopping herself before she could fully curse in front of the rugrat, even if she stepped on a small, sharp object that had clattered onto the floor. She picked up what she could and put them up high enough so Penelope couldn’t grab them again and trailed after her to the backyard. “Oh, no, you won. You’re so fast!” she exclaimed as she followed her outside. “What do you have in your hands?” She eyed the girl suspiciously. Whatever they were, she had a feeling Penelope shouldn’t have them. “Can I have them so I can push you on the swing? Please?”

“Ha!” Nell exclaimed, not humble in her victory in the least. “You’re too slow!” she called out as Erin relinquished to the toddler’s obviously superior speed. At the mention of her hands and their contents, the little girl took off once more in the blink of an eye, holding her prize high above her head as she yelled her answer with bright eyes. “A knife!” Indeed, there was a blade clutched within the teeny fingers of her hand, though it wasn’t a knife in the traditional sense of the word. The blade was an athame hastily grabbed from one of her family’s altars. Still...there was no denying that it was sharp, and larger than the average kitchen knife. “No! You have to catch me!” Nell giggled as she ran with little regard for the ceremonial dagger in her hand. “Then swing!”

That was a knife. The child that Erin was supposed to be taking care of was running around here with a knife in her goddamn hands. She was not getting paid enough for this. “Penelope, no!” She yelled and bolted after her. Wait, no. Chasing her would only force the kid to run more. Erin stopped in her tracks and held her hands up, trying not to let her see the panic in her eyes--though she doubted it was hidden well. Because she was. She was panicking. “Penelope, put that down right now!” She pointed a questionably authoritative finger at her. “If you don’t put it down right now, we’re going inside, and you’re going to bed without any snacks! I mean it!”

“Yes, Penelope!” The little girl continued to giggle with a hint of mania coloring it, apparently all too thrilled with Erin’s impassioned response to her holding the knife. Generally Nisa wasn’t all too concerned with Nell’s handling of knives, having taught the little girl the basics of knife safety as was protocol for a budding, young witch. Therefore it was much more amusing to watch the way this new lady had reacted with loud words and open hands. Unfortunately- the mention of missed snacks put a damper on that new found joy. “You can’t do that!” she yelled back, already hastily climbing the oversized playset that was a permanent fixture of the backyard. She got the very top of it before looking down at Erin, knife still in hand, and a new thought coming to mind. “Fine! If you can catch it you can have it!” she exclaimed before willing the knife to magically make its course towards Erin, always loving to play this game with her father. She always loved the way he would magically slow the knife before catching it, pretending to plunge it into his chest before dramatically falling to the ground with Vegas-worthy theatrics.

“I can and I will!” Erin instantly retorted, trying not to think about how silly she felt about arguing with a toddler. She was supposed to be the one with the authority in this dynamic but this literal child had manage to shift that on its head in a matter of minutes the moment her mother had left. “Penelope! No!” She yelled when she saw the child fling the knife in her direction. In all of her sixteen years on this earth, Erin had never felt fear and panic strike her so deeply as it did the moment the knife struck a nearby tree just inches from her face. “Bad, Penelope. That was BAD!” She found herself yelling by accident, her young life still flashing in front of her eyes. Shakily she yanked the knife out of the tree and tossed it far away from the young child into another part of the yard. “Get down here, right now. Playtime is over,” she continued trying to scold her, approaching where she stood on the play set, pointing to the ground, even though her voice had lost much of it’s authoritative gusto. She’d been here less than a half hour and was already ready to go home.

“You didn’t catch it!” Nell accused with a deep pout on her lips, tiny arms crossed defiantly over her chest. Why hadn’t the lady caught it like her Dad did? Sometimes he even magicked fake blood and everything while his tongue stuck funnily out of his mouth! What was wrong with this woman? Where was her magic? Why wasn’t she using it to play? “That’s a mean word!” the little girl called down from her perch on the playset, apparently not at all amused with being called ‘bad’. “I’m not bad! I’m not! You’re bad!” Still...Nell didn’t like the feeling of being called bad. It made her tummy hurt and her bottom lip tremble. Wasn’t there some way to make the lady think she was still good? One bright idea later, and Nell was toeing the edge of the playset, high enough on it that the ground below looked miles away to her short legs. “I’ll fly! Bad people can’t fly!” That made sense somewhere in her tiny head, and mommy loved it when Nellie showed how good she was at casting the magic that made her fall slowly! “You stay there and watch!” And with that her little legs were already bending, arms raised high as she let gravity begin its course- already able to feel that fun little buzzing sensation of magic filling her veins.

“You threw it at me! I can’t catch knives!” Of course, trying to explain this to a toddler was more futile than trying to get her to stop, but Erin had to say it anyway. It was the only thing that made sense, even if it didn’t. She tried to regain some semblance of control over this ridiculous situation despite the frustrated burning at the back of her eyes. She was supposed to be the adult here. “No, you are being bad, Penelope. You’re not listening to me and that’s not nice, is it?” She stood a little firmer, fearful now instead of her own life, for the little girl’s. And a little for herself. If this kid died while she was supposed to be in charge of her, her mom and Erin’s mom were going to absolutely kill her. She ran towards where Penelope was readying herself to jump and held her arms up. “Hey, no. No! Penelope, don’t! Stop! You’re not bad just--STOP!” But it was too late--the girl was in motion and in the air. Erin didn’t think, just lept, her arms wrapping around Penelope mid-air. They hit the ground with a thud, Erin’s back taking the brunt of the impact. She didn’t let her go, not for a second, squeezing the child to her even as she hauled herself up to an upright position. “Why would you do that? Jesus--are you okay? Are you hurt?” She asked in a panic, looking over her for cuts and that all of her bones and parts were bending in the ways they were supposed to.

The joint impact of Erin and Nell hitting the ground momentarily stunned the little girl. She wasn’t hurt, but she’d...fallen? She wasn’t supposed to fall. Not like that, anyway. The unexpectedness of the result had caught Nell off guard. This wasn’t the endt she’d wanted to achieve, and for some reason that was deeply upsetting. Now the lady was looking at her with big eyes and more panic, but this time the stress in her voice was different. It wasn’t a fear for herself that colored the woman’s words, but a fear for Nell. Was Nell supposed to be scared? If the adult was worried about Nell, she should also be worried about herself, probably. Right? All of the commotion seemed to have finally taken hold of Nell, and her bottom lip began to tremble, eyes growing a little glassy— worried that Erin was worried. “I just- I wanted to show you,” she began dejectedly, suddenly feeling very tired. “But now we’re on the ground! And I don’t want to be on the ground!” It was the best she could do with the limited vocabulary and emotional intelligence of a child. A little hiccup broke up Penelope’s words, still not entirely understanding what was going on. Then she remembered her former determination, and she was back on the wagon of sticking to her guns. “I’m not bad!”

“You’re on the ground because you jumped, Penelope!” Erin argued, even though the second she said it she knew it was a useless stance to take in an unwinnable argument. She brushed some of the grass off of the little girl, taking a final glance over to make sure there weren’t any visible bruises or scratches her mother would come questioning Erin about later. That’s when she noticed her ever-growing wet eyes and even as frustrated with her as she was, it tugged on her heart enough to concede. “Okay, okay. You’re not bad. Alright?” She was lying but Penelope didn’t need to know that. Standing up and brushing herself off, she reached down and held out her hand for the little girl, hesitant to pick her up after how violently she’d wriggled from her earlier. “But you have to listen to me when I tell you to do things. That’s why I’m here. I’m just trying to keep you safe, okay?” She asked, hoping that she could at least understand a little bit of what Erin was trying to explain here. “What do you say we go inside, get a snack and relax for a little bit, hm?” She tried to smile without looking as stressed as she felt. “We can put on your favorite show and eat on the couch and everything. I know your mom doesn’t want you to but we don’t have to tell her. Just this one time,” she offered, putting a finger over her lips like she was sharing a big secret. Kids loved that stuff, right?

“But it wasn’t supposed to go like that!” Penelope whined, still upset with the way things had turned out. Erin wasn’t supposed to catch her! The woman was meant to watch as Nellie gracefully floated to Earth, and coo and awe as she landed with arms open in a high V just as her mom had taught her to do. The other magical ladies loved it when Penelope performed her magic for them, laying praise and praise onto the little girl and her mother for being so accomplished at a young age. So why hadn’t Erin let her show what she could do? “I wasn’t being not safe! I was safe!” Nell protested. But she still remembered how frantic Erin had looked when she’d jumped, and suddenly Penelope was upsetting herself all over again, tiny hands balled into fists while her feelings took a front seat to all else. For a moment it was too much, too many big emotions trapped in a little body, and the only place for them to go was out. Crash! As Nell’s eyes squinted shut, a rather ornate and old looking vase crumbled, cracking into a million little pieces. Nell looked to the ruined family heirloom with wary eyes before finding Erin once more, unsure how the woman might react. “I...I think I want the snack now, please. I won’t tell mommy- I promise.”

It was easy to dismiss the tiny child’s cries of protests. She was young. Half the things children said at this age didn’t make sense or were simply not true, like how she was trying to convince Erin that jumping off of her playset from that height was a totally normal, safe thing to do. “Penelope,” she started, shaking her head. “You’re fine now, that’s all that--” but the young girl was starting to lose it, even know that she was starting to shuffle her back into the house. She didn’t know how she missed it happening but striking a panic through Erin’s entire being when the sound of shattering lit up the empty home. She turned to see the cause of it, a fearful toddler standing not so innocently next to the remains of what looked like a very old, probably very expensive vase. “Penelope, what did you do?!” She exclaimed, her entire body sagging with complete and utter defeat. How was she supposed to explain this? Nisa was actually going to kill her. She could already hear the women in her head scolding her. You should have been keeping a better eye on her! Her mom was going to ground her and make her pay for it and she didn’t even want to do this stupid babysitting thing to begin with! She didn’t know what to do outside of making sure the girl was out of the way of the shards.

“Okay,” she nodded, no fight left in her voice as frustrated tears started to spill down her cheeks. She was so tired. She wanted to go home now. This child was way too much for her to handle. “Go to the couch. Put on your show. I’ll be right there,” she sniffed. Found the broom and cleaned up, nearly on autopilot, her mind sorting through the lectures she would endure when Nisa got home in a few hours.

“I didn’t mean to!” Nellie cried plaintively, knowing that she’d actually done something she wasn’t supposed to do this time. Losing control of her powers was something her mother got upset about, too— and she’d already learned at a young age that disappointing people wasn’t something she exactly enjoyed. “I didn’t mean to! Really! I’m sorry! I was upset and it just- it- it just-” It was her first apology of the evening, and the only one she was certain she owed. But as the woman’s tears began to fall down her cheeks, Nell’s bottom lip began to quiver all over again, upset that Erin was upset. Had she messed up so terribly that she’d made a grown up cry? Grown ups weren’t supposed to cry! Even the younger ones like this lady. “I’m sorry!” Nell whined again, but this time her own face had tears beginning to stream, her little breaths coming quicker and more jilted as she began to cry. And how long had it been since her nap time? Suddenly she felt very tired.

“I’m- I’m- not bad,” she managed to say between the gasps of her impending meltdown, worried that Erin would tell her mom she’d done terrible things. Then she wouldn’t be allowed to go with her sisters to the shop for candy this Saturday. Her mom would probably take her to the boring meetings where all the grown ups did was talk and talk and talk. As Erin did her best to tidy up the vase, Nell took herself to the couch— crawling onto it as new tears continued to fall. She wanted her dad. She wanted her sisters. She wanted the snack that Erin had promised. The show was forgotten about as she lay on the couch, and watched Erin clean up the mess she’d made, wishing her mom’s familiar hadn’t gone to the meeting with Nisa and that she could bury her face in its soft fur.

For a long moment, Erin stared at the pieces of vase in the dustpan, wondering how much work it would actually take for her to put them back together. She didn’t know how but Penelope had done a number on it and after some wishful thinking, dropped the pieces into the trashcan. There was no fixing this one. She was in so much trouble. And now she was crying in front of a toddler. This sucked. Tonight sucked. She sniffled and tried to get herself together while grabbing Penelope’s snack of apples, peanut butter and crackers from the kitchen. This was fine. They’d just sit on the couch, watch some dumb kid’s cartoon, and hopefully, quietly endure the rest of her time in the Vural household. The moment she saw her blurry-eyed, snotty little face, she immediately felt bad for yelling at her. She was being bad but there was something annoying endearing about the young girl with more energy than she’d ever been blessed with. “Here you go. As promised,” she said softly, trying to make her voice more chipper than she felt for Penelope’s sake.

In the background, the TV played some cartoon she didn’t recognize when she sat on the couch beside her. A heavy sigh fell from her and she rubbed the tears from under her own eyes. “You’re not bad, Penellie,” she said after a long moment, brushing the hair away from the young girl’s face. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m sorry about that.” In the lull that followed the evening’s events, Erin’s eyes felt heavier than ever. “But your mom’ll be home soon, I promise. Let’s just--please relax until then.” She gently tugged the young girl closer to her, pulling a blanket over them while she held her snacks and mindlessly watched her show.

She wasn’t sure how long they remained that way but Penelope eventually quieted down, and she swore she heard soft, snotty snoring sounds coming from her side. At some point, she must have fallen asleep too. It was nighttime when the front door opened and she jolted awake. The vase. Oh no. Erin’s eyes immediately went to the spot on the table where it used to sit, her eyes suddenly fearful and wide as saucers. “We, uh--we had an accident.” She glanced down to the sleeping toddler still at her side and she tried to keep her voice hushed. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened, I looked away for a second. I swear just a second!”

Nisa knew that the house couldn’t actually catch on fire due to the numerous wards placed on it, but she was relieved nonetheless when she saw it was still standing. Actually- she wouldn’t have minded a little smoke rising from the home. If Penelope had shown signs of exhibiting fire elemental abilities while she was gone, she would have been utterly thrilled. As it were, she’d found the normie girl asleep on the couch with her youngest, and taken a rather endearing picture before waking her— careful not to jostle Penelope awake as well. “Don’t you worry, darling.” To be quite honest, the fact that there was only a single vase broken after she’d left her daughter with a magic-less girl was decently impressive. Besides it would be easy enough to repair with a simple spell once the babysitter was gone.

“It’s actually rather commendable that just a vase was broken.” But she could see plain on the girl’s face that there was that familiar fear there- the apprehension that set in after witnessing a magic you couldn’t entirely explain. This was why she stuck with witches from the coven when it came to babysitting. Penelope was still far too young to be entirely trusted around those without abilities, and those without magic were so intent on fearing what they didn’t understand. It was an age old balancing act between witches and their less magical counterparts, one that had gone so far as to bring about witch hunting at times. “In fact, I think you deserve a little bonus, don’t you?” If the girl had seen something she shouldn’t have, hopefully that would buy her silence. Nisa wasn’t all that worried about it though- after all, normies could be impressively stubborn when it came to rationalizing something they’d seen with their very own eyes. In fact, she’d made a career off their oblivious nature when she’d headlined with her husband. “You just get yourself home safely, and I’ll make sure Penelope gets into her bed.” As Nisa scooped up her child, the little girl stirred for a split moment before settling herself against her mother’s shoulder, still sound asleep. After paying Erin a rather generous amount, Nisa went off to tuck her daughter into her sheets and pillows, making a silent promise that Penelope would only have magical sitters for at least another year.

#// THANK YOU MAR FOR THIS TREAT LMAO #i literally loved this sm #wickedswriting #chatzy #raising nell #ch:Erin

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gayenerd · 3 years

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The Band You Love To Hate By Tom Lanham of RIP (There’s no date on this but I would say 1995 or 1996?)

Eyes wide as a barn owl's. Spines stiff with anticipation, like a hungry scorpion. The two teenage girls sit stock-still in their booth at a posh Berkeley diner, practically bursting with excitement, but without the faintest clue how to handles it. Clueless, you might call them. A few feet across the linoleum aisle--with his back to them, oblivious to all the oh-my-gawd facial expressions--sits the object of their adulation, dressed in unassuming black jeans, black T-shirt, shredded black Converse, and a beat-up black baseball jacket. But even with his once-green dreadlocks tamed to a short black business cut, Billie Joe Armstrong--yes, the snaggle-toothed MTV ragamuffin from megaplatinum neo-punkers, Green Day--is as easy to spot as Michael Bolton at a Rogaine convention. Although the kids want to leap up from their seats and race over for an autograph or a jittery hello, they don't dare. Instead, they're forced to deal with their seething emotions as if they were eating post-tonsillectomy ice cream: a lot of numb gulping and a quick pain chaser. This is the blessing of being Billie Joe Armstrong. Alas, it's also his curse. By the time you read this, the irascible little rocker will have turned 24. And exactly two years ago, he and his wacky bandmates--drummer Tré Cool and bassist Mike Dirnt--lolled around the trashy basement flat they shared, getting stoned and sneering at the idea that Dookie--their just-released "sellout" on big-time Reprise--would ever amount to more than a nice drink coaster. Fame? They were more preoccupied with their bong collection, stacks of rock 'n' roll bubblegum cards, and a thriving sea monkey tank displayed prominently on a window-sill. Most of their furniture had springs poking through--they didn't care. Armstrong regularly picked boogers from his gold-ringed nostril and then flick them onto the scary shag carpet--what did he have to worry about? Too bad he couldn't have foreseen the all-too-near future. Green Day happened to be in the right place at the right time. The three-chord slam-a-rama Dookie--a pop-edged return to decade-old punk ethics--became the surprise hit of '94, going on to sell over 11 million copies. Armstrong, accustomed to frenetic club performances, began translating the group's infectious energy to larger and larger venues. Demand continued to grow at a staggering pace; Green Day fought back. They turned a satellite MTV Video Awards performance into a "spit-cam" fest by urging the crowd to gob any camera lens it could ("[The cameramen] tried to make it look like it was cool, but it wasn't"). Last October, Armstrong and company issued their 32-minute follow up, Insomniac, almost as an afterthought, with little promotion, a visually offensive video (for "Geek Stink Breath") and--at least initially--a strict no-interview policy. Simultaneously, they ditched their high-powered Cahn-Man management team and are now virtually managing themselves. Along the way, Armstrong married his long-time sweetheart Adrienne and last March fathered a son, Joey. In typical down-to-earth fashion, the couple spent their honeymoon a few blocks from home at Berkeley's prestigious Claremont Hotel, not on some exotic island. Beginning to see the problem here? How does a street-smart kid from humble beginnings skyrocket to world-class notoriety and yet--with his music in millions of homes and his privacy suddenly a right that needs defending--still adhere to the simple ideals, the simple lifestyle that spawned him? Is "successful punk" an oxymoron? Insomniac provided few clues--it was more of the same slacker-ennui sentiment, more defeated, disenfranchised grousing set to speedy, memorable hooks. Or, as Armstrong barks in the aptly-dubbed "Walking Contradiction," "My wallet's fat and so is my head...I'm a victim of a Catch-22." And that, in essence, was the topic this tortured artist wanted to discuss at the diner. The old "be careful what you wish for" adage. The classic "problem with success is finding someone to enjoy it with you" truism. Armstrong, who takes occasional sips from a vanilla milkshake, but mostly stares morosely at the floor, seems to be dealing with superstardom in a relatively normal way. Don't be fooled by the steady stream of negative vitriol that follows; he's analyzing it, breaking it down, figuring out ways to disconnect his kinetic career. Or at least turn down the volume for awhile.

RIP: We know what's going right. But what's going wrong?

BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG: Lots of things, really. Actually, when I came here today, I said I didn't wanna talk about anything good, because I don't really have anything good to talk about. Goin' on tour pretty soon--don't really wanna go. Just because I've been kinda torn. I wanna stick around at home. I don't like playing arenas, and I realized I didn't know what I was getting myself into on the last tour, but I went into it being positive and getting excited about it. But I didn't realize that I was the kind of person to whom it's too much of an event and not really a personal thing anymore. And I started to realize how much I liked being the background music to this scene at the club. And now it's.... I dunno. People expect so much. It's cool and stuff, and it can be a lot of fun, a really good experience. But when you play that many arenas.... The first time we ever played those big kinds of shows at the Shoreline (Amphitheater in Mountain View, California), there was weirdness--we were playing for a lot of f?!kin' people. And I hate to say it, but sometimes it just feels like another gig. We played every day, 50 gigs this last leg, and it just wears on ya. There's all these people, and they think "Alright. I paid my $15--you better impress the f?!kin' shit outta me right now!" And I realized that for Joey, the rock and roll touring life is not a good atmosphere for a kid. I tried to make it to where it would be, bringing lots of his toys out. But there are no familiar surroundings for him. And he likes all the attention--people come up and say hello to him every day, people who are on tour with us. But he doesn't have his own room or a home to go to every day. So, no more touring for Joey.

RIP: Turned on Regis and Kathie Lee this morning to find their gossip columnist dishing dirt on Green Day. How Insomniac didn't do nearly as well as predicted, how it was a disappointment to the label. A failure, supposedly.

BJA: Well, it's like, we didn't set up this record. We didn't. We didn't do any promotion beforehand, we completely quit doing interviews, and basically we just wanted to go on into it. We weren't even sure if we wanted to do a video. And then when we did a video, it got yanked from daytime rotation because people were getting grossed-out by it. So I think we did alienate a lot of people. So that was expected, that it wasn't going to sell a lot of records.

RIP: NOFX have taken it one step further. They refuse to talk to press, make videos, pander potential singles to radio. They don't want to get any bigger.

BJA: I dunno, maybe I'm just getting jaded or something. But I just got cable again and I can't stand anything. Six years ago you could hear something that was different and know that it was different. So it'd be "alternative" or whatever. But now it's like you get this Joan...Osborne? With the ring in her nose, waving the alternative rock flag, when she's just...not, ya know? And I'm thinking, I hate all this music that's coming out now--the past year was just hell for music. But people are buying it, so then I'm thinking, Maybe they're the ones that are good and I'm the one who sucks? I just don't know if I really wanna be involved in the rock world anymore at all. Period. I don't necessarily have anything against a big record company or people who what to join up with a big record company. It really is right for some people, but more and more, I don't think that I'm really meant to. And I hate to sound like that, because I don't like taking things for granted. I don't like to talk about my problems when there's some kid struggling in his garage somewhere saying "F?!k him! He's just taking it for granted. Shit, I wish I could do something like that, but I'm just stuck here in Biloxi, Mississippi, and I can't even get a gig." I'm so confused right now.

RIP: It must be odd to know that, with all those millions of albums sold, drunken frat boys are probably staggering around to your music right now. Your audience grew far beyond your control.

BJA: Oh, totally! We became what we hated. Which is, the people I despised in high school--and now--are buying our records. We initially became a trend, so there was no way I expected to sell as many records with Insomniac as with Dookie. That's one of the biggest-selling records of the decade. We get slagged by the punk rockers, and it's like, I don't blame them. If you draw that much attention to yourself, that's what you're gonna get--attention--and it's not personal anymore.

RIP: Ever think about giving it all up?

BJA: There isn't a day goes by in the past year and a half that I haven't thought about quitting. I went to this party on New Year's Eve, and this band Juke, and another band, the Tantrums, played in a friend of mine's backyard. And a lot of my old friends showed up, and everybody was just dancing. And I was dancing, and getting really muddy, and I was having a great time. I can't remember the last time I sat down and listened to a record from beginning to end and felt this incredible spine-chilling music. And it's because I haven't been able to go out and watch bands play at my free will. I'm not gonna live in a closet, I'm not gonna vegetate myself.

RIP: But it has to be difficult, when tons of kids know your face. You're on your way to Michael Jackson-dom, where you have to wear a disguise in public.

BJA: If you think about the Beatles, at that time all people had to go by were the photographs on the records and every now and then a television appearance. So when they'd come to town, people would just flip out--it became this huge public event every single time. Whereas now, everything is so saturated kids don't even have to leave their home to go to a show anymore. They can sit in the comfort of their living room, and your favorite rock star is gonna be entertaining you while you sit down and have your microwave burrito.

RIP: The Milwaukee cops weren't pleased with aspects of Green Day's Milwaukee show last November. Why were you arrested?

BJA: I dropped the pick and--actually, I even forgot about it--I just mooned the crowd, which is pretty harmless compared to what I've done before. And I wasn't even thinking about it--I just went out and started playing again. Then I went backstage and was hanging out with Adrienne, and this guy Jimmy who does security for us goes "Come on--there's a car waiting for you outside right now. You've gotta get out of here!" I said "What's wrong?" and he said he didn't even know. So we get in the car and all of a sudden about ten cops come walking over, fully surrounding the car. So the guy puts the cuffs on me, throws me in the car, and I get tossed in the holding tank for two, three hours. I wasn't in the bullpen--I was in with the other ones, the not-so-bad ones. They made me take all my jewelry out. And my shoestrings, so I wouldn't hang myself or something. I dunno. I just don't know how to fit into rock music anymore. I don't know what I like about it anymore. I don't like anything about it anymore, to tell you the truth. To tell you the real truth, I'm a pretty miserable person right now. I'm totally depressed, and my wife can vouch for that because she's around me. In fact, she's the only person who's really around me. I dunno, the whole thing with the mainstreaming of punk rock. I just feel lost in the whole thing...I don't really know...I don't wanna...I dunno...It's miserable, it really is. It's f?!ked up.

RIP: For every original voice that comes along, there will be countless mad signing dashes for any and all sound-alike artists, with no thought given to the artist's longevity. Just throw the record out quickly and hope it sticks.

BJA: The thing is, a lot of musicians have gotten so comfortable with this big so-called "Revolution in Rock Music" over the past decade. First it was like, "F?!k the corporations! F?!k the corporations!" And then people just sorta got cozy with that, and forgot that these bands are getting lost in the shuffle. And I'm talking about the ones that never get noticed at all and just get kinda bitter. The 15 minutes of fame is getting shorter and shorter. And now music is totally going backwards--the first half of this decade, there were a few things going on that were interesting. It wasn't my favorite kind of music, but it had a sensibility about it. If you think about Nirvana and Pearl Jam and that whole Seattle scene, and even the Offspring--there was this thing going on that was more honest, in a lot of ways. It wasn't like, beer, drugs and pussy, like what went on through the '80s with all the hair bands. But now what we've got is Hootie & the Blowfish....

RIP: Who are probably a lot like you. They seem like nice, regular guys who--through no real fault of their own--are suddenly assimilated into pop culture.

BJA: Yeah, but that's the problem, is that they are nice regular guys. And they're totally comfortable with that, and they sort of put that out, to where they don't really have...I dunno, there's a certain amount of attitude that, say, someone like Cobain or Vedder has that they don't have. But it's becoming way not...real anymore or something. Maybe not real to me. It's just turning back into what it was in the '80s. It's like, "Hey, everyone! We're Huey Lewis and the News!" I dunno. Maybe nobody knows what the f?!k I'm talking about anymore.

BJA: I get so irritated by people. I think I'm more bitter than I've ever been in my whole life, to tell you the honest truth. I think Insomniac is much more of a bitter record than Dookie. And I think the older people get, the more they kinda get angry. I think a lot of people feel like they get cheated by lief somehow--no-one is ever completely satisfied. There's maybe a few. But I mean, I'm in a place where I don't really wanna be. It's like, sometimes I feel like we're losing our passion for playing music. And that's the f?!ked-up thing, when you lose passion for what you love, then it's like, Is this marriage headed for divorce or what?

RIP: Theoretically, you can fight back a couple of ways. Like Cobain, you could make a record almost calculated to offend all the bandwagon-jumpers. Or take as much time off as you'd like. Who says you can't go live on a desert island for two years?

BJA: That'd be nice. I'm just not enjoying life right now. I'm really not. I'm so cluttered, I can't even speak. Yeah, I do feel like I'm getting old, and I'm kinda bitter about that. I'm not excited about being onstage anymore, and I was really trying to convince myself that I was. Really. Before we did this last U.S. tour, every time I did an interview--I don't know if you read the last Rolling Stone piece--I was like "Yeah! I'm excited! I wanna play these arenas!" and stuff. And then just every night, it started sucking, it felt like a routine or something. It felt almost choreographed in a lot of ways. And I was yelling "f?!k you!" to people, but I didn't know who I was yelling "f?!k you" to anymore.

RIP: Last time we spoke, you said you went out of your way to change every single show, make each one different.

BJA: Well, I think it's just the stress of getting up in front of all those people all the time, every day. It's like, "Do I really feel like downing another f?!cking pot of coffee and a bottle of wine before I walk onstage to do this again? Just to get myself ready to go?" You know, for all those people. And every night I always do something different and stupid. But at the same time, it'd be really cool to just say "F?!k you!" to people and like, walk off. And then they'd get it. It's like, "I'm really telling you to f?!k off this time! Time to pack up and go home." It'd just be so nice to start from scratch again.

RIP: In many ways you can. That's the music-making system trying to program your behavior. And obviously you've broken quite a few rules already--you don't even have to be talking to me right now, actually....

BJA: Oh no. I really wanted to do this interview, just because the last interviews that I've done, I've been miserable, and I was pretending not to be. I really was, I was lying. Not to the reader, not to the person I was doing the interview. But I was lying to myself, convincing myself that I was really happy with how everything is going.

RIP: So you always knew what you wanted, and now you've got it, in spades. You're having trouble figuring out what's next?

BJA: I didn't even know what I wanted back then. I really didn't. I didn't know if I wanted to be huge, totally successful. I never knew that. I was struggling so hard even to sign that f?!king contract--when I was sitting there, I was contemplating, "Should I just run outta here right now? Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?" A lot of people say, "You're totally disillusioned with what money can do for people," but money never meant shit to me. There's something very passionate to me, very romantic, about living on the street in a lot of ways. Just because I really like my lifestyle back then. I was totally content, in retrospect. A lot of it has to do with the fame. I dunno, I'm trying to talk right now and just totally stuttering.

RIP: It's not like you chose music--it chose you, and you can't help it.

BJA: Yeah, it's cool when people really get it. But what a lot of people don't understand is that we're a band that's been around a lot longer than people know. And that's the thing. The difference between this and what happened between Kerplunk and Dookie--in a year, I got married, I had a kid, and I sold 11 million records worldwide. That can do something to ya, ya know?

BJA: Sometimes I think it'd be cool to just hang out with my friends, drink beer, smoke cigarettes. The more I think about it, the more I'd be really happy with that. I don't think that we're feeling quite like a band anymore--that's one problem we have. There was this certain rock 'n' roll underdog think that we always had--we always drove for something, always drove from town to town in a small van. And you know, I f?!kin' like touring like that--it's like culture shock, really, driving around in a van, setting up my amp when I get there, and playing. That's rock 'n' roll, that's what it started out as. A bunch of sweaty pigs in some tiny f?!kin' bar having a hootenanny, that's what punk rock was to me, that's what drove me to it. I love rock music in its simples, rawest form. And I think we're the only band, really, that plays rock 'n' roll.

RIP: Has all this put a strain on your old friendships? Do your pals treat you a little differently now?

BJA: When I come up to friends I haven't talked to in a while, there's a weirdness. And the ones who are really close to me don't really bring up anything, but that thing is still there; it's still in the air. And sometimes I'll just not say anything the whole time we're hanging out. I'll be totally quiet, because the only thing I'll have to talk about is my band, and I get so sick of talking about my band and myself. So I'll just be quiet, since that's the only thing there is to me, except for my son and my wife.

RIP: Pretty soon, you'll be boring everyone with slide shows--"There we are at Yosemite!"

BJA: Ha! Adrienne was telling me the other day, "When you were in there dancing with all your friends, while the band was playing, you were so happy because you were so in your element." And I've even gone as far as saying we're not a punk band anymore. But no matter what, that's still gonna stick with me forever, because I love the music, I love the energy of a new band coming out that creates this sense of urgency about 'em. I'll never be able to kick that habit. I love hangin' out with my friends who have small fanzines--kids just writing their guts out about whatever the hell's bothering 'em, and putting it on a Xerox machine and then handing it out for a quarter apiece at shows or at a party. All I wanna do is just try and work it out. I was sitting there the other day, counting all the records that the Replacements put out, stuff like that, Dan thinking how [Paul] Westerberg totally came across to his audience and did everything, everything that the wanted to do in music. He wasn't extremely successful for it, but the guy has influenced people, and a lot of 'em don't even know that they are influenced by him. All I wanna do is just write good songs and stick to it. I wanna develop--not being experimental--but go into different styles, go across my boundaries of the two-and-a-half minute punk song with a three-and-a-half minute jazz song, or maybe get into a little bit of swing or rockabilly.

RIP: With such staggering success, you could walk into Reprise and tell 'em you're doing an album of saxophone solos and they'd allow you that creative luxury.

BJA: Well, I never wanna be that experimental. I don't wanna get into synthesizers and shit like that. The thing that was cool for me with Insomniac was that I think we definitely set a foundation for ourselves, because we put out our hardest record to date, totally in-your-face all the way through, and now we're able to go anywhere we want. We can do that now--we do have that going for us. That is, if people are still interested. Which is kinda weird for me to say....

RIP: Your craft will always remain the most important thing of all, even if you're just writing for your own amusement.

BJA: Yeah. No matter what, I'm gonna be writing songs for the rest of my life. I mean, I already have a shitload of new songs right now. But I just wanna do some other things with it. We've sold a million of Insomniac so far. But I definitely want to be respected as a musician. Well, more as a songwriter than as a musician. I wanna be f?!kin' normal, is what I wanna be. The thing is, I've seen so many freaks and so many weirdos and crazy punk rockers and drunks and junkies. But for a lot of those people being weird is easy. It's so easy to be strange--the hard thing is to try to be normal. There's no such thing as normal, ya know.

RIP: How's your mom feel about all this?

BJA: She's kinda worried about me. She doesn't know what to think of everything. We have a hard time communicating with each other, just because I don't like to talk about it that much. So she feels like she has to walk on eggshells around me all the time.

RIP: You buy her anything cool once the money started rolling in?

BJA: Nah--she doesn't want anything. I've asked her. She's been living in the same house for over 20 years, and she's content living there. But I did give her a trip--she went to Hawaii, her and her boyfriend. And I think travelling is really good--if you paid for someone to travel, so they can go and explore and see some things they've never seen before. But I think that's probably where I get it from. I get so content with not having much. And then you get all this stuff, all this attention, and you don't really know what to do with it. You don't know how to channel it.

RIP: Most outrageous thing you've bought for yourself?

BJA: I got my car primered! And one thing I did do was build a home studio. So I've been recording all my friends' bands for free. I produced this band called Dead and Gone, and Social Unrest, Fetish and the Criminals. And I have this side-project called Pinhead Gunpowder--nothing's up with it right now, but we played at the beginning of '94 a few times. RIP: Sounds like you've got more than enough pressure valves to let off the steam. Still, do you worry about death?

BJA: Yeah, I do. But I have too many reasons to stick around. One is my son and my wife. And I don't feel like I'm finished yet. I'm not done, ya know? And the beauty of it is that death is forever and your problems aren't. And that's why I'm talking about my bad shit, because you vent that, you get it off your chest and you can move on to something else. There's gotta be a positive side to all this--so you just sort of try and dig it out. Get rid of all the bad--out with the bad air, in with the good air.

RIP: You said about Green Day that you think your "bandwagon is coming to a close and all that's gonna be left is just a band. Hopefully." So then will you start writing happy songs?

BJA: I thought about writing a totally sarcastic song called "I'm So Goddamn Happy," just talking about how happy I am. Actually, I'd like to put out a double record--I'd like to put out tons of music. But I never wanna become an egomaniac. I just wanna keep things down to earth, so I think it's really important for us to take a long break after all this stuff. We just put out two records back to back, one year after another, and now we can sit back and work on ourselves as people again. So we don't parody ourselves. And it's so hard to be a father and a musician at the same time. If I get into one thing and I pay close attention to it, like if I'm with Joey and I start neglecting my music, then I feel like I should play more often. So I start playing my music, and then I'm going, "Am I neglecting Joey?" So it becomes hard to do everything at the same time.

BJA: I wanna create a very mellow and sound atmosphere for him, because I don't wanna make any mistakes for him--I want him to be able to make his own mistakes. And even when it comes to swearing--I don't cuss in front of my kid. I'd rather him get it from some dirty-mouthed kid at school. Then at least I'd know, I could go "Thank God--my kid is in a real world and he's learning these things from his surroundings." That'd be a good thing. Because the best things you ever learn are the things you learn in kindergarten.

Finally, after more than an hour worth of gut-spilling, Armstrong suddenly observes four brace-faced girls, each no more than 12 years old, idling over by the cash register. They're there on the pretext of getting change. In reality, they just want to ogle punk icon and pin-up darling Billie Joe, stare at those caterpillar eyebrows and chiselled cheekbones up close. Another oh-my-gawd event. "I gotta go--it's gettin' weird," the reluctant rocker whispers, literally leaping up from the booth. "I can feel eyeballs all over me already...." And as fast as that, he's gone. "Was that...was that...B-B-B-B-Billie Joe?" stammers one swooner. "No," says the waitress, with a subtle smile. "That was just some guy who usually eats here alone, nobody famous at all. You know, just an average guy." A little white lie to herd the young 'uns out. But nevertheless the truth.

#i know it wasn't healthy for him #but i miss when he would use interviews as free therapy #the discussion about how he hates playing bigger shows is interesting #obviously he figured it out because i think he genuinely likes playing arenas/stadiums now #i wonder how he did that #like did he get tips from other rock stars #or did he just work thru his emotional baggage about selling out #article #interview #articles

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lovelylogans · 5 years

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gettin’ twitty with it

The Library Ghost (aka The Grey Lady, Gray Lady, Librarian Ghost, the Librarian) was the ghost of librarian Eleanor Twitty and the very first ghost that the Ghostbusters encountered. She appears to be a very odd reader as she likes to stack books up in the air.

-The Ghostbusters Wiki

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: uh, ghosts, murder mention

pairings: platonic lamp

words: 1,093

notes: so, this is for the 13 days of halloween prompt over at @sanderssidescelebrations! today’s prompt is ghost!side! it’s basically “ghostbusters-library-ghost-but-nice,” or at least that’s how it started.

Virgil's got a pretty good gig going.

He's technically an archival assistant in the depths of the library, but since the actual archival experts don't trust him to do actual, important, time-consuming work, and people so rarely need the archives of the library, most of the time, he gets paid to sit there and do homework and frown disapprovingly at people who come down into the depths of the library for an excuse to talk noisily, as if it's not still a library. That doesn't happen very often, though.

Virgil watches dispassionately as the latest gaggle of shouting college students sprint away, leaving behind the book that had suddenly flown off the table and hit one of the display skeletons hard enough to decapitate it. Virgil waits until the screaming's and the loud thumping of fleeing footsteps has quieted.

"Did you have to take the skeleton's head off his shoulders?"

The familiar, silvery, translucent form appeared, sending the pages of open books ruffling in the breeze, and a chill down Virgil's spine, and goosebumps sprouting over his skin. Really, he's used to it at this point, his body just hasn’t gotten used to the regular appearances from the paranormal yet, somehow.

"I thought it fittingly dramatic," Logan says, adjusting his tie—old-fashioned and way too thick, to Virgil, but probably quite fashionable when Logan was alive.

"Was it, ah. Overkill?"

"Maybe a bit," Virgil says.

"I used the phrase correctly?"

"You sure did, Lo, good job," Virgil says, and moves to reattach the skeleton's head.

Really, the fact that the library's haunted was half the reason that he'd applied to work in the library in the first place. And sure, the first time Logan had appeared, Virgil nearly had a heart attack and ran out of the library and had one of the worst panic attacks he'd had in years, but, well. The pay was nice, and he got free coffee from the much-less-haunted café upstairs, and the ghosts really weren't very troublesome at all, after Logan had appeared and apologized for making a fuss and that they hadn't known he'd worked there—apparently they didn't bother the librarians. Logan's pretty boring, ghost-wise.

"Was that a pun?" Patton asks brightly, poking his colorless, curly head around a corner. Patton's pretty cheery, ghost-wise.

"Absolutely not!"

"It kinda sounded like a pun, Logan," Virgil says, trying to stifle his smile—he ends up pretending like he's making sure that the skeleton's head is soundly attached, so that Logan won't see him smiling.

"It was my turn to scare off the noisy ones," Roman sulks. Roman's pretty... surprisingly normal, ghost-wise. Which is a weird way to describe not only a ghost, and also specifically Roman. Like, yeah, sure, he's definitely overdramatic and kind of annoying sometimes, but he's the most recent ghost, and therefore much more like Virgil in terms of, like, ability to understand pop culture references. The fact that he'd been murdered in a prince costume on his way back from a drama rehearsal kind of highlights that.

"Now, kids," Patton says, despite the fact that he's technically the youngest, in terms of how long he'd been alive, but he is the oldest, in terms of ghost-ness, so. "There'll be plenty of noisy people, you don't have to fight over scaring them."

Roman and Logan begin grumbling at each other, but quietly enough that Patton won’t lecture them again—Virgil can get how tensions will probably rise when you’re stuck in the same place for basically forever or until your soul moves on to the next plane, so they tend to pick their battles.

“So,” Patton says, propping his head on his hand, leaning forward. “How was your weekend? Didya do anything fun?”

Virgil’s weekend of being an absolute cave gremlin and not leaving his room until he needed to eat—watching Netflix, curling up under too-big blankets, eating probably way too much pasta than was good for him—and timing his ventures out into the kitchen so that he didn’t see any people flash through his head.

“Uh,” Virgil says. “Not really.”

And then Virgil feels bad, because Patton slumps, just for a moment, before he brightens again—the librarians are really the ghosts’ only source of outside world news, since they can’t leave the library—or, at least, they haven’t been able to figure out how to get them to leave yet.

“But I’m going out to dinner with some friends tomorrow,” Virgil says hastily, and Patton brightens again.

Well, he can. He’ll text some people and get together for dinner so it won’t be like he’s lied to Patton.

“Oh, tell me how it goes!” Patton says eagerly. “You work on Wednesday, right?”

Virgil nods, and Logan glances over.

“You mentioned you had a quiz today, last time, how did it go?”

“Pretty okay, I think,” Virgil says cautiously. “The formula thing you taught me helped a ton, that was, like, half the quiz.”

“Good,” Logan says. “Did you bring the paper you mentioned?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says, and digs around in his backpack. Logan had been studying to be a professor, before he died, so that means he’s basically set study-wise for sciences for life. Logan takes the paper eagerly, ready to edit.

“And the—” Roman starts.

“On it,” Virgil says, unlocking his phone and accessing the latest single that Roman’s been counting down the days for the start of. “Ready?”

“Everyone shut up!” Roman declares passionately, and Logan glowers at him briefly over his glasses frames before he turns his attention back to Virgil’s paper. “Okay, now you can hit play.”

Virgil does, and Roman sits with his eyes closed, listening closely, and by the time it loops back around, Patton’s already wiggling awkwardly along—he’d died before dancing outside of waltzes and foxtrots were popular, but he’s learned enough from Roman, who’s already rocking along, arms in the air, swaying happily.

“Logan, the paper can wait!” Roman commands. “Dance party! It’s dance party time!”

“Oh, no,” both Virgil and Logan chorus.

“Yes yes yes!” Patton says happily, clapping his hands. “C’mon, V, let’s dance!”

Patton takes his hand, which kind of feels like his hand got doused in ice water, and Virgil sighs, standing, as if Patton could actually pull him to his feet.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “fine,” and then starts to awkwardly sway along as Roman manages to distract Logan from the paper at last, already singing absently, missing most of the words that he’ll probably memorize as the single loops throughout the entirety of Virgil’s shift.

Like he said—it’s a pretty good gig.

#my post #text #my fic #sanders sides spooky month 2019

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draggingwriter · 4 years

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Ay, Freelancing

Been doing some freelancing for more than a month now and it’s been a tiny roller-coaster ride. At the moment I have 2 clients from Upwork and I’m part of the writing roster of Yonipp.

Funny thing is, I’ve been recalled by my office so I’ll be returning to my job. So, I don’t how I’m going to handle all these writing jobs. I guess I’ll cross the bridge when I get there.

As I got into this new gig in my life, I got some few realizations. This freelancing wasn’t easy as I thought it will be. And I feel sorry to my sister whom I keep pushing to do it. I mean, talent and skill is one thing, but there are others more who have the same amount of talent and skill. So, your selling skills will be really tested in this endeavor. Once I got into this thing, it was one of the most nerve-wracking feeling ever. You may think I exaggerate, but I’ve been working in the corporate world for more than 10 years, so this is all new to me.

So, anyway, realizations.

Beginnings are hard. Do you remember when you created a new account in a social media platform (like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc.)? It’s something you kind of enjoy doing. Because after all you’re telling everyone online that you are this type or kind of person. It’s easy to write about your interests and description and wait for friends and even strangers to add or follow you. But I felt that it was quite different when I signed up in those freelancing sites. This is more than just jotting down your interests because this time you will need to show potential clients your capability.

And this is where it gets hard because just like applying for a job in the real world, waiting for a client to accept your bid or deal can leave you anxious. I had to submit numerous bids and deals hoping to God that at least one client will take me. I guess this is also a game of luck. Because there is a lot more who are in the same page as I am. And it really is up to the client if they like your bid or not. I learn not to get disheartened, though, if I wasn’t able to get that particular deal. Because, honestly, I cannot afford to sulk. Buuuuut, once a client hires you, it feels like an accomplishment. And from that point, the work begins.

I write slow. And one of the many reasons why it takes too long for me to finish my WIP. I thought because since I don’t give myself deadline for my writing project, I take my time with the writing process. Not to mention, I seemed to have either a short attention span or I get distracted easily. The routine is, after writing some few sentences, I do something else (whether a chore or something unimportant).

So, it has been extra challenging doing all the content writing jobs. Just last week I had three articles which overlapped. You can just imagine how hard I pushed myself to make my pacing a bit faster from what I used to. I did meet the deadline, thank God. But after that ordeal, I felt drained. There was a feeling of relief but at the end of all that, I don’t want to do some writing even for just a short time. Makes me wonder if I can program my mind to will my body so I can quicken up my pace. Because simply knowing that I had a deadline to beat, I’ve never typed or written anything that fast. But, I guess, I can improve this through practice.

It’s hard to write about something you don’t know. Okay, I guess this should be expected, right? When I signed up for this content writing thing, I knew at the back of my head that majority of the things I’m going to write are things that I haven’t given the time of the day. Like when I was asked to write about designing and developing a website. That was too technical for me. I can’t even program both my WordPress and Tumblr account into a more personalized blog site. You know, just settling for the free themes that they provided. When I had to do research about that topic, I really thought I was studying for an exam for an IT course. Hmm, come to think of it, I haven’t written anything that, you know, I’m familiar with.

I guess this is how it is. Regardless of the niche I identify myself with, it’s not always that I’m going to write something I’m really comfortable with. So I cannot really choose what to write especially at this point. And it’s challenging because I got so used to writing basically what’s on my mind, that getting out of that comfort zone was incredibly hard. When I first wrote for a wedding blog, I thought that was a struggle. But when I started to get assignments since last month, it made the wedding blog gig a walk in the park.

I’m not complaining if that’s the impression you’re getting. It’s just that this content writing gig is pushing me hard from my usual routine. Unless maybe I make a name for myself, then I guess I can write anything and get paid. That’s a bit too far in the future, I guess. So, for now, I must enjoy the learning process and take advantage of these new discoveries.

The agony of waiting for the next assignment or projects. So, since I know the rate I’m going with all the writing assignments, I know for a fact that I will not be able to work on so many projects. And that’s okay because I don’t want to be overwhelmed with so many projects. No sense to multi-task as well because as much as possible I don’t want to compromise quality of work. Anyway, a couple of clients is totally bearable.

However, I never realized how anxious and worried I can get every time I finished a project and wait for the next one. I always have this thought that maybe that the client is not satisfied with my work and doesn’t want me anymore. But the voice of reason will remind me that maybe there is just no available project at that moment. What do I do then? I go look for other clients to fill in the gaps. I actually cannot afford to be not working because I’m not earning that much yet. So, I’m hunting for potential clients because I need to survive.

When I haven’t heard anything from my first client, I really thought that I was being let go. It wasn’t until two weeks after that he replied with a new assignment. And my paranoid self, finally let a sigh of relief.

And this is one of the things that’s going to be hard in freelancing especially in the early stages. Not unless I build a reputation or get into a non-beginner level, I guess it will always be a long wait for me.

For now I’m in “freelancing limbo.” No projects yet from clients, but that’s okay because at the moment, I’m just starting with this new task in our office. And it’s insane. I don’t think I’ll be able to focus with so many things to do. But, I also don’t think I’m going to stop the freelancing for now. We’ll see.

Maybe, I’m going to regret this or maybe not. But one thing I know for sure is that, it was such an experience. (And I finally have a portfolio.)

Original post: https://readwritebabble.wordpress.com/2020/08/04/ay-freelancing/

#content writing #article writing #freelance #freelance writing #writing community #Writer struggles #aspiring writer

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devinsfm · 4 years

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joe keery. cis male. he/him. ／ jack devin just pulled up blasting video killed the radio star by the buggles — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty - four year old radio show host, i’ve heard they’re really impulsive, but that they make up for it by being so captivating. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say obscure vintage horror comics, blurry photographs of mysterious figures in the woods, and vivid descriptions of spine - chilling tales . here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( sam, 23, est, she/her )

hey there, demons ! *ba tum tss* i’m sam and i never do this, but i really felt like it was time for a change, so i drew lots of inspiration from some of my favorite ocs and i love what i’ve come up with ! character info is under the cut and please feel free to message me if you would like to plot !

i. stats

𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢: jackson willard devin

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰: jack, spooky guy, the night watchman

𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫: salem, massachusetts

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥: ocotber 31st, 1995

𝔷𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔞𝔠: scorpio

𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: demisexual

𝔬𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: host of the graveyard shift, a radio program airing every weeknight from 12am to 5am

𝔭𝔬𝔰. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: captivating, witty, resolute.

𝔫𝔢𝔤. 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔰: impulsive, gauche, naive.

ii. history

jackson willard “jack” devin was born on halloween day ( yes, really ) in salem massachusetts ( yes, really ). his mother stayed home with him as he was growing up while his father is a boston cop turned sheriff of the county and he’s an only child.

outside of the popular tourist spots, his hometown has a very close - knit, stuck in the 80s vibe. it’s the sort of place where everyone knows everyone for their entire lives because no one ever leaves and no one new ever moves in. phone and internet signals are nearly impossible to come by, so the local arcade and the video store still have quite a booming business in the year 2020. jack grew up in a not - so - typical small town suburban gothic environment, his dad’s income being just enough for them to get by every month.

he was an energetic kid who cycled through all sorts of interests, trying out everything from little league ( disaster ) to music lessons ( not as much of a disaster, but he wound up getting bored of it ). nothing seemed to really stick until he got his first horror comic : a vintage issue of tales from the crypt with tattered, yellowing pages. he was five years old and paid five cents for it at an elderly neighbor’s yard sale and from that moment on he was hooked. it started with the comics, but he quickly expanded his horizons to movies, books, and television in the genre of horror.

he got intro drawing and that was the only thing besides his newfound interest in horror that he could sit still for. at first he would just try to re - draw the panels in his comic books, but soon he was drawing anything and everything that caught his interest and he was getting good. he was being homeschooled by his mother at the time, but once friends and family and, well, everyone took notice of his skill, they were encouraging his parents to nurture his talent.

his parents fought about it. his dad didn’t see the value in his skill and wanted him to instead focus on academics, aspiring towards his son one day becoming a lawyer or a businessman or even following in his footsteps. jack never wanted that for himself. he was homeschooled by his mom up until then and she believed in him. it was with her blessing that he would go to a real school for the first time at the age of fourteen, starting off his freshman year at a high school that was a thirty minute train ride away in boston and catered exclusively to youth who demonstrated an exceptional talent in some area of the fine arts.

jack did well in school, but his grades probably would have been a lot better still if he didn’t start purposely acting out as his relationship with his dad got worse and worse. he started skipping classes, getting caught trespassing in cemeteries at 2am, and smoking a lot of weed.

when it came time for college, jack planned to attend art school. he swears he did. he looked a few schools on the west coast to get away from his dad for a few years yikes and planned to apply, but on the deadline date he got so high that he forgot to submit his portfolios. yes, really.

he loaded up his van ( a turquiose monstrosity he painted to look like the mystery machine ) and headed out to california anyway after telling his parents that he would be attending UCLA. of course, they quickly found it that it was a lie and his dad was furious. the two got into a huge fight over the phone and things were said. the result is that jack and his father haven’t spoken to each other ever since.

he did lots of odd jobs while he was on the road and basically lived in his van, which didn’t change right away when he decided to settle in LA, but he eventually got a job fetching coffee for the late night employees at a local radio station.

it was the typical, cliché story : the regular late night host called out of work at the last minute, there was no one else around and they were going to be on air in ten seconds. jack was thrown in front of the microphone and told to think fast !

he did, and the listeners loved him for it. whether it was his ramblings about horror movies or his thick boston accent or his reckless use of swear words on live radio, he turned out to be a massive hit. the successful night earned him a gig as an occasional substitute deejay, and with each broadcast he grew more and more popular, and about two years ago he was finally given his own program.

the graveyard shift is a radio program that airs every weeknight from 12am - 5am in the los angeles area and on apps such as iheartradio. jack hosts the show as his ( thinly veiled ) alter ego the night watchmen and discusses topics such as the paranormal, conspiracy theories, and all things horror. it’s one of the most popular programs of the time slot in the country.

it’s something that he never expected or picturing himself doing, but now he can’t imagine doing anything else. he’s become really passionate about revitalizing the field and bringing radio into the 21st century. he signed a HUGE contract with the studio when his show first started and now he’s a quite well known radio personality in the area and across the country.

iii. extras

huge stoner. high as fuck 90% of the time, and the other 10% of the time he’s probably still high, just not as fuck.

well known for his on air antics. he’ll light a joint in the middle of his radio show, he’ll prank call a friend and broadcast it to the entire city, he’ll curse in every single sentence and skate by on the after hours excuse when he’s reprimanded for it. he’s so outlandish and bizarre and like nothing that’s ever been heard on the radio before, and it just draws people in.

he often seems shy in person, but it’s more like he’s just a little socially awkward, something which also shines through in occasional non - malicious but blunt remarks and general lack of regard for what people think of him. he really just...doesn’t care.

genuinely seems to believe it’s either halloween day and / or the year 1986 at any given moment as that’s about as recent as his pop culture references get. he’s never heard of the k*rdashians, he doesn’t know what the mcu is, and the phrase yeet means absolutely nothing to him. mention any of it to him and he’ll just stare blankly bc he honestly doesn’t have a clue.

HOWEVER, he did start the area 51 meme from last summer. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

still draws. especially if he has to still for a stretch of time, then he’ll take out his latest sketchbook ( he goes through a lot of them ) and start doodling. he’s still quite good, mostly in his favored comic - esque style.

BIG CHAOTIC ENERGY and ZERO IMPULSE CONTROL

a chatterbox with friends but don’t be fooled...he’s been giving his own dad the silent treatment for almost seven ( 7 ) years now. it’s his preferred method of expressing anger towards someone because he isn’t really a fan of confrontation, but he’s maybe a liiiittle bit stubborn.

most of the time he’s a really easygoing person, a good friend and very loyal to the people he cares about. well - meaning, not the best at advice but he’s more likely to try and cheer a person up anyway.

he has a pet pied ball python named the crypt keeper ( tkc for short ) who he sometimes just carries with him because he likes to just chill wrapped around jack’s hand and arm.

iv. wanted connections

maternal or paternal cousins ( their grandparents probably live in boston or new england but otherwise anything goes for this )

close friends

friends

guests on his radio show

fans / haters of his radio show

people who don’t like him / find him annoying

exes ( 1 - 2, can be on good or bad terms )

“casually dating” but it might get real complicated soon - allie james

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with stuff, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

#excess:intro #drugs tw #i decided that i needed something new but i just ''created'' this ''new character'' instead #countdown until i mess up his name has officially begun

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ankkalinna · 4 years

Text

My Duck Comics Secret Santa2019 Gift for @paperino-protection-squad who wanted Tamers of Nonhuman Threats and X-Mickey crossover and some stuff about Donald’s different identities. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4600

Donald had been in a bad mood ever since he woke up, and hearing the voice of the person he hadn't really thought of in years really didn't make his trip to the grocery store any better.

”Donald! Hey, it is you!”

Donald turned towards the mouse. ”Hey. It is you.”

He shuffled in place a bit, awkwardly regretting the blatant unenthusiasm in his tone. ”So. Long time no see.”

”Yeah.” Mickey nodded.

An awkward silence fell.

”We should do lunch sometime,” Mickey said. ”To catch up.”

Before Donald could reply he continued: ”Why not right now, actually?” He looked at his watch. ”I'm free. Do you have anything?”

Donald did not. He was, as one might say, between jobs at the moment.

But telling Mickey that...

He paid attention to the mouse's suit. It wasn't expensive, nothing that made it look like he was trying to overcompensate, or that he was throwing money away.

It was neat, well put together. Paired with a nice watch that implied he had a bit of an extra money to get himself something nice. Not too expensive. Then again, Donald's idea of expensive was 'I could not justify spending money on this when there are three sets of school supplies to buy'

The mouse had always radiated self-confidence and had this annoying successful aura to him...

He is probably doing well, Donald thought bitterly.

Out loud he said: ”Sorry, I'm really really busy now.”

He couldn't help adding: ”An important career... thing. A thing. Yeah. I got opportunities. Bye.”

…

Donald woke up to an alarm.

He struggled up. ”Not now Uncle Scroo-”

Wait.

That sound was his TNT alarm.

He pulled it out of his closet. It had been a long time. He even sometimes forgot he had this gig. His life was so full of being The Duck Avenger, and Doubleduck, and Scrooge's slave, and a parent-

But this job had a big difference compared to all of those.

It paid.

And it paid well.

Donald saluted the image on screen. ”What's up I'm awake!”

…

In half an hour Donald had dragged Fethry out of bed, shaken him awake with a ”The world needs us!” and gotten him into the TNT headquarters for briefing.

”Welcome, Agents,” The Head started. ”We have measured outstanding levels of extradimensional portal radiation somewhere around or near Duckburg.” He pointed at the image on screen. ”We have reason to believe this person is involved-”

”I just ran into him!” Donald pointed at the screen at the file image of Mickey Mouse. ”Now that you mention it he was maybe acting a bit odd.”

”I'm sure it's fine,” Fethry said. ”And what do you mean portal radiation anyway? It's all fine...”

”Really?” Katrina Kolik said, ignoring Fethry and focusing her attention on Donald. ”Maybe it'd be for the best if you tried to dig up some more information.”

Donald saluted. This sounded like an easy job.

”Okay,” he said.

It might even be nice, seeing an old friend and reminiscing a bit.

…

Donald smiled at the mouse sitting in front of him in the small cafe. ”So, it's nice to meet up like this-” He took a sip from his latte. He wasn't sure why he had suggested an overpriced coffee shop.

It had felt like something Mickey would fit in, he supposed.

”And so lately I have been doing more work at the paper, writing a column on bee-keeping,” Mickey said. ”Of course I keep being pulled back in but at the moment I really would prefer a more stress-free life with everything going on. Maybe I will return to being a police consultant at some point.”

”A-ha.” Donald lifted his drink to his beak and pretended to drink. The cup was tiny and he was dreading the bill already. He had to make this one cup last for as long as possible.

”I remember you being a reporter too?” Mickey asked.

”Not in a while,” Donald sighed. ”Uncle Scrooge outsourced his clickbait journalism to some trained ferrets. I was shining coins for him but-”

He hesitated. He had fallen asleep at the job after a hard night's work patrolling the city as the Duck Avenger. A row had happened. Donald couldn't remember if he had been once more sacked or if he had quit. Not that it mattered. He'd grovel back there at some point anyway.

Not that Mickey would have to know any of that.

”I had other opportunities, so I quit.”

That was basically true anyway. His work as the Duck Avenger took a lot out of him and without having to get up for work he had been putting even more hours in crime fighting.

Mickey leaned in. ”An exciting job?”

”Nothing big,” Donald said. ”I can't talk about it much. Because uh- I still don't know if it will actually happen.”

But he seemed a bit... Impressed.

Donald smiled, feeling a bit better.

Now then-

”So, I don't know how much I should be talking about this gig I got,” Donald said. ”I had to sign a non disclosure agreement. It's big.”

He had technically signed a contract for TNT. Or less signed anything and more had his biometric data scanner into the system with the implication that if he let anything slip the Organization would 'deal with him' presumably in a way that'd include being teleported into space.

”Say no more. I get it.”

Donald frowned, hoping Mickey would have been a bit more curious and tried to dig up more information out of him. Probably he didn't think it was actually anything cool. Nothing that could measure up to his interesting life.

”Yeah it must be pretty important job you do. With the police and stuff,” Donald said.

”Like I said, not in a while. I'm taking it easy now. Anyway, I'm good at keeping secrets, so if you want to talk-”

Donald was just trying to think how to approach the subject or try to find out anything when he was interrupted.

”Hello!” Fethry popped up from behind a potted plant and patted Donald's shoulder. ”Here you are, my dear colleague. Have you taken a good look at the charts?”

Donald stared at Fethry. And the obviously fake beard he was wearing.

Fethry winked.

”No,” Donald told him. ”Anyway I was bu-”

Fethry pulled up a chair and joined the two. ”Say no more, pardner!”

He winked at Donald again, batting his eyelashes at him. Donald glared.

”Nice to meet you...” Mickey said.

”Doctor... George.” Fethry shook his hand. ”I'm Donald's colleague. Nice ta meet ya'll mah dude.”

So now he was also doing an accent of some kind. Great.

”Yes and I'm sure Mister George is very busy!” Donald said.

”Nono, not at all.”

”So?” Mickey asked. ”Is this Doctor George from your new job?”

Donald got up.

”Yes. And he was just leaving.” Deciding Fethry would not take the clue he took his arm. ”In fact we are leaving.”

…

”What was that about?” Donald asked.

”I thought I'd help you,” Fethry said. ”To sneakily get information out of him. I once saw this documentary on interrogation. The trick is to spot things called 'micro expressions'”

He poked Donald's bill.

”For example right now your macro-expressions are saying 'I am angry' but your micro expressions are saying 'wow cool.”

”And tell me, is being dressed as a hobo santa part of the process?”

”I told you what I was doing! I was getting a whole bad cop good cop thing going on!”

”You told me? When?”

Fethry looked at him like he was pulling his leg. ”Just now. Come on I used Morse code.”

He winked again. ”See? Come on now Don, we have a system. I think I explained it to you.”

”You were... blinking Morse code at me..?”

Fethry patted his back. ”I knew you'd catch on! Eventually. It's great this connection we have. Almost makes it okay I have to keep quiet about the secret mission Katrina Kolik gave m-”

He slapped his hand over his mouth.

Donald gave him a glare. ”A what?”

Fethry fidgeted. ”Nothing!”

Donald took hold of his shoulders and shook him. ”What did she give you? Some assignment I'm not part of?”

Fethry glanced around. He leaned in conspiratorially.

”Top Secret.”

”Fethry...”

Donald crossed his arms.

”Okay so. Remember when we were kids and we used to climb this tree and that one time you threw my favourite hat on the roof?”

Fethry looked at Donald expectantly.

Donald stared at him. ”I have no idea what you are talking about.”

A relieved smile spread on Fethry's face. ”That was a test! I had to test it was really you. Of course you never threw my hat onto the roof you wouldn't be mean like that-”

”Fethry I am losing my patience here!”

Fethry looked around and slapped his fake moustache on Donald.

”Here, wear this just in case as I explain. So, the TNT organization maybe thought, just a bit, that you might have been replaced with a clone or be unreliable for some other reason.”

”What?”

”Shhh!” Fethry shushed him. ”Apparently Mickey got involved in something weird. And not just him. Someone else you know-”

”Who?”

”The Duck Avenger.”

…

Donald never had done something like this before.

He was very good at compartmentalization. He just had to.

He was Donald Duck.

A single parent, minimum wage worker, the nephew of the world's richest man, a boyfriend, a rockstar, a reporter, a Caballero, a superhero, a tamer of nonhuman threats...

And the top agent of The Agency.

He usually did his best to keep all of the different facets of his life far apart.

But TNT was looking into the Duck Avenger and Donald Duck's connection with him.

Boundaries were starting to break.

He had to know what was going on.

So Donald locked himself into his closet and pulled out his Agent Phone. The one he only ever took from its lock box for Agency missions.

The mechanical voice spoke out. ”Please identify yourself.”

Donald stood a bit straighter and spoke into the device, slipping into this role. ”Agent Doubleduck.”

”Scanning. Please hold still.”

After the face and fingerprint scan the phone opened.

”Welcome, Agent Doubleduck. Please state your inquiry.”

”I need to get into the TNT organization database.”

”Scanning. Please stand by.”

”Hurry up...”

Finally the files from the TNT mainframe were pulled up on the tiny screen.

”As we cannot be certain of the level of personal involvement Agent Duck has with Mr Mouse it is recommended Agent D.Duck is not informed of the details and instead is let to interact with Mr Mouse under supervision from Agent F.Duck while our other Agents track down the anomaly- I knew it!”

With shaking hands Donald clicked the folder.

He sighed in relief. Apparently they weren't aware he was the Duck Avenger. The document focused on his superhero persona as a separate entity.

And they weren't even all that interested in him as a person it seemed. Apart from a few cases where he had interacted with otherwordly threats TNT didn't seem to much consider the Duck Avenger. Not their jurisdiction.

Except-

The file mentioned Fantomius. It seemed TNT was very interested in the connection between the two.

Donald clicked on his file.

”Warning. Security level insufficient.”

Donald frowned.

Giving up on that he pulled up the details on the latest briefings instead.

Contact 'M' has informed us about the possibility of a Level Omega threat.

Donald skipped the paragraph that got into the technical details he had no hope of understanding. It was big and spooky just like everything TNT dealt with (also apparently 'adularescencent'). He skimmed over the report until something caught his eye.

Fantomius's aka John Quackett's connection to the painting 'Land of the impossible' must be investigated further.

Land of the impossible... Donald had seen that phrase before-

“Doubleduck? What are you doing?”

Donald bit his bill. He had been careless.

The image of Kay K filled the screen of his phone. “You better have a good explanation for this.”

Donald looked her in the eye. “I do.”

“Is it Agency business?”

Donald had a feeling she already knew the answer. “No.”

“I should report you trying to use the Agency resources for personal reasons.”

Donald looked her in the eye. “You should. But I am asking you not to. This had nothing to do with the Agency.”

Kay examined his face. Eventually she nodded. “I'll pretend I didn't see anything. Be more careful this time, Agent Doubleduck.”

The image cut off. Donald sighed in relief.

A hand grasped his shoulder.

Donald let out a surprised quack before his secret agent instincts caught up with him and he pinned the other figure to the wall.

He stared at the intruder.

”Fethry?”

”Hey, you never told me you were a secret agent!” Fethry sounded hurt.

Donald let go.

”Sorry. I really need to go.”

”Well me too actually I'm still busy with things like distracting you-”

Fethry slammed his hands over his bill.

Donald sighed. ”TNT told you?”

Fethry shook his head. ”No but I can't tell you who. It's a secret.” He mimed zipping up his beak. ”I promised.”

Donald was about to call him out as a terrible liar. Of course it was TNT. But he wasn't too keen on bringing it up again when he himself had been caught up in a compromising position.

Deciding he could explain it away later as a job he had gotten from Uncle Scrooge, Donald pushed it away from his mind for now.

”It's okay. You stay here and keep up the good work of distracting me.”

Fethry gave him a look.

Donald smiled. ”I'll be fine.”

He opened the closet door. As he did so it only then occurred to him the door had been locked and somehow Fethry had gotten in anyway.

No time to think about that.

…

The Duck Avenger stared at the familiar ruined manor. Villa Rosa. It had been so long...

He shook his head. No time to dwell in nostalgia.

He jumped to the ruins. Once this mansion had belonged to the gentleman thief. Now it lay in ruin. (Thanks Gladstone)

The Duck Avenger had returned there for a few times. He had thought he had solved all of the mansion's mysteries.

He wasn't alone.

The Duck Avenger hid in the shadows as two TNT agents walked past.

One of them pulled out a scanner. “I lost the trace again. I don't think it's nearby.”

The other one examined a crumbling wall before kicking it. “Let's keep at it.”

The Duck Avenger frowned. They better not destroy the mansion any further.

He shook his head. At least it seemed like he was on the right track. TNT knew Fantomius had hidden something supernatural nearby and had decided to keep their Agent Donald out of it.

A smile played on his bill. Unlike those guys he had a pretty good idea where to actually look.

He returned to his car and pulled out his scanner. He should have done this sooner. Done a thorough search. Well, no time like the present.

He turned the scanner Gyro had made him on and watched as an image was drawn onto the screen.

If he remembered correctly, large parts of the mansion were hidden underground...

But those were pretty thoroughly searched. But if he had been Fantomius he would have had other hideouts nearby.

He pulled up the satellite image. He had come to Villa Rosa before but this time he had more information.

Remembering the 'Land of the Impossible' had been mentioned in Fantomius's diary he had re-read it. And yes, the last entry mentioned Land of the Impossible, something Donald had previously assumed referred to maybe an another country John and Dolly had fled to once their situation had turned too dangerous in Duckburg.

But with the knowledge he now had it all made so much more sense.

The details mentioned in the last entry were not veiled references to their new home across the globe.

It was instructions for finding something much closer to Villa Rosa.

Duck Avenger moved swiftly through the night.

The mansion grounds had been searched both by him and uncle Scrooge in search of Fantomius's secrets (and treasures) before. Most of what Dolly and John had stolen had never resurfaced, and Duck Avenger knew there had been some other secret vault for stolen artwork. A hidden gallery. Both he and Scrooge had searched it before but had found nothing.

But if he was right the diary was pointing him towards the countryside surrounding the mansion.

Eventually he spotted an overgrown well and landed his car. He looked down. According to the scanner the well was surprisingly large. The Duck Avenger set his rope onto the ledge and started to descend into the darkness only lighted up by his belt-buckle lamp.

There was a sudden snap and he plummeted down-

And landed in a puddle.

He struggled to the dry land. He looked up, the night sky visible from the well. Had his rope cut off accidentally..?

He dried up his cape, surveying his environment. It seemed the bottom of the well was attached to a large room with a door on the other side.

He moved there and opened up the door.

And barely managed to avoid the net coming down.

Duck Avenger nudged the decrepit old net with his foot. Traps.

So he was on the right track.

He opened the door and gasped at the collection in front of him.

So this was where Fantomius had collected his loot. The paintings and statues were arranged in the vault- no, a private gallery.

So, where was the painting he was looking for?

When he saw it he knew immediately he had found it.

The Duck Avenger had never considered himself an art critic. If he saw a portrait that looked realistic it was Good Art as far a he was concerned.

But as he looked into the painting he felt... He supposed it was like seeing something for the first time.

The artwork was rough and definitely not realistic.

But the winding mountains and forests that were painted with merely the implication of a brush seemed so much like something more. Like it was a twisted mirror of the world itself. Even the colours on it seemed to shift in the light, as if alive.

He tore away his gaze and turned the frame around. On the back there was an envelope.

And in the envelope, a letter.

To whom it may concern.

I fear everything has its end and our adventures as the Phantom Thief and his dashing partner in crime are not different. Now after our identities have been leaked I fear it's best for us to go. So, we will put everything in order, leave my inheritance as Fantomius behind, and step into the new unexplored world.

-John&Dolly

The Duck Avenger examined the painting.

Had they really-

”Donald!”

The Duck Avenger turned to see Mickey.

”What are you doing here?”

And how did he know?

Mickey took a step forward. ”You don't know how dangerous that thing is! Please quietly set it down-”

”Why would I?”

Duck Avenger suddenly had the strongest feeling he was being watched.

Swiftly moving the painting under his arm he pulled out his Freeze-gun and pointed it at the mouse.

”Did you come alone?”

Mickey hesitated.

”Please, Donald. That painting is a gateway to a different world, it has been active lately, and we don't know if-”

Duck Avenger could feel the energy radiating from the painting before he saw the portal open.

It was as if the reality itself shifted, the painted landscape stretching out until the chamber surrounding them was indistinguishable from the artwork.

”Donald!”

He was tackled into the dusty floor just before the insect-like leg could spear him.

Duck Avenger recovered fast, pushed Mickey away, and aimed his Freeze-gun.

But he hesitated. Would it work?

No time to wonder. He had to act before whatever that was could get through the painting. He pulled the trigger.

The creature did not freeze.

Instead it let out a screech that made both him and the mouse fall down.

Duck Avenger could see more of the spider-like monster emergence. It turned its hungry eyes to him.

”Hey! Over here!” someone called.

The gaze of the monster left the Duck Avenger and he took the chance to kick at the creature.

“Go for the eyes! It's a Shadowland Arachnobeast they don't like it when you poke them in the eye!”

The Duck Avenger acted fast and threw his Freeze-Gun at the eyes.

As it connected, the monster wailed.

It retreated back into the painting, reality bent back into the shape.

And then it was over.

Duck Avenger turned to the tall figure who had come to their aid.

A figure who seemed to be some kind of a hairy beast man.

Mickey lifted his hands up.

”So, I think everyone here owes someone an explanation.”

…

Mickey sat next to Donald. ”So.”

Donald nodded. ”So.” He finished putting away his Duck Avenger costume in the trunk of his car. If he was going to Car-can memory erase Mickey he had to appear just the normal old Donald Duck.

”Have you been involved in this kinda stuff for long?” Mickey asked finally.

Donald shrugged. ”I keep busy.”

Mickey patted his shoulder. ”Don't worry buddy I will keep this a secret.”

Donald looked him to the eye.

”I know you will.”

He thought back to the Car-can in his pocket. It would be easy...

But no.

”So, are you planning to wipe his memory?”

Donald turned around to face the tall hairy creature. ”No!”

Mickey gave him a look.

”I did maybe think of it,” Donald admitted. “-but I decided... Maybe not.”

Donald eyed the tall man. ”Anyway, I don't think we have been introduced. Are you related to that Archeologist guy Mickey hangs out with sometimes?”

”The name's Pipwolf.” He offered a hand.

Donald shook it.

”I'm a werewolf.” He tapped his nose. “That's how I helped Mickey here track you down. Scent. I was looking into this missing portal painting stuff and asked for my good friend Mickey for help.”

“The only lead he had was this Fantomius guy who had likely stolen the painting from the previous owner,” Mickey said. “And Duck Avenger who Pipwolf suspected was a rogue occupant from the Land of the Impossible. He asked my help in tracking him down and some research pointed me to his 'best friend'”

Donald nodded. “Me.”

Something dawned on him. “So you didn't run into me in Duckburg by accident?”

“No,” Mickey admitted.

Pipwolf sighed. ”This will be such a mess. I want to give Manny my report and then head off as far away as possible. I mean, she likes her bureaucracy... Two unaccompanied guests? Who have been loose in the Land of the Impossible for decades?”

”Poor guys,” Mickey said. ”You don't know the kinds of creatures there are, Donald. Two unprepared people? I fear they didn't stand a ghost of a chance.”

”I wouldn't be too sure of it,” Donald grinned.

Mickey gave him a look. ”Maybe you're right. And yes. Maybe you do know what it's like...”

Pipwolf clapped his hands. ”Anyway! I will head off. And no it's not just because I want to avoid Manny. I have a real reason. I need to check up on a Guest. He keeps wandering off. Nice duck though.”

And then, before Donald had time to ask more questions, he was gone.

”Let me guess, Pipwolf headed off before I could ask him to explain what was going on.”

Both Mickey and Donald turned to face the speaker.

She turned out to be an albino mouse.

Accompanied by Katrina Kolik and The Head of TNT.

Donald quickly saluted.

”At ease, Agent,” Katrina said. ”I want you to meet Manny. She is something of a colleague.”

”Oh?”

The albino mouse nodded. ”Even in our world, the Land of the Impossible, there needs to be rules. And people who enforce them and take care of...” She eyed Donald. ”Problems.”

Donald gave her his most innocent look.

”He won't be a problem,” Mickey said.

”We will vouch for him,” Katrina stated briskly.

Manny reached out her hand. “The painting.”

Donald looked at Katrina.

She nodded. “It's her jurisdiction. Better give it to her.”

Donald did so. Manny examined the painting.

“Ah yes. Just like I thought. It's a stable two-way portal. It seems some creatures wandered to the other end in my world and activated the portal.”

“Something tried to get through,” Mickey said. “Luckily it was too big to fit.”

“I see. By the way,” Manny turned to face Mickey. “How did you find this so fast?”

Mickey shrugged. “Donald here had a hunch.”

“Good job, Agent Duck,” Katrina said. “Although I wonder how exactly. I could swear that was classified information.”

“Uh. I was lucky?” He couldn't help adding: “I did sort of hear you thought I was unreliable.”

The Head of TNT looked embarrassed. “Maybe we jumped into conclusions. We got a tip from our contact in the Land of the Impossible here.”

“Perhaps I could have been more specific,” Manny admitted. “Our two organizations tend to avoid stepping on each other's toes. I didn't give out much information since I figured it was none of your business. I told them Mickey had a connection to us and that was all they needed to know.”

“Well, no harm done, eh?” Donald said. “You really should talk more. Communicate.”

Mickey patted his shoulder. “You're right. For starters, you might want to start by telling me what this whole TNT thing is.”

The Head turned to him. “TNT or the Tamers of Nonhuman Threats is an organization dedicated to keeping Earth safe.”

“And you're a member?” Mickey asked.

Donald nodded. “Yeah.”

He sighed. No use trying to keep things secret now. ”I guess saying I live a double life would be underselling it.”

”It's really amazing. That you can do that all. I am barely even involved with detective work and this... And I feel I'm overly stretched a lot... I don't even have custody of my nephews full-time.”

”You don't know the half of it. I have tried so hard to keep everything separate...” Donald sighed.

“That sort of a thing seems to cause more problems than anything,” The Head said. “Perhaps TNT and Manny's people should work together more. Cultivate a healthy working relationship.”

“Sounds good,” Mickey said. “Hey Donald, how about we meet up every now and then and share information?”

He saw Donald's expression. “I'm not going to drag you in into anything new. No new duties, just friendly banter between friends.

Donald wasn't all that certain. He had a suspicion this wouldn't be the last time he'd be dragged into trouble relating to this Land of the Impossible business.

But, he supposed, that was what it was like being Donald Duck.

He sighed. “That would be lovely.”

#donald duck #mickey mouse #fethry duck #fic #hmmm there's quite a lot of characters in minor roles #ducksanta2019 #i hope you enjoy

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antiporn-activist · 5 years

Text

Not my work, found on Facebook

“So I decided to do a little research into the $750/day figure I’d heard a private company was charging the US government per each detained migrant child. I wanted to, with my own eyes and brain, 1. verify this figure was accurate; 2. verify it was indeed a private company instead of a non-profit charging this, if true, as both have managed these detention centers (not that it really matters, ultimately, but stay with me); 3. try to figure out where this per diem sum — more than my monthly mortgage — was going, if not to even buy these tortured children toothbrushes and soap, which are about the cheapest basic necessities on the market, and which no individual has to replace every day.

$750/person A DAY should cover a lot of necessities, right? Right. So where the hell is all this money going? This can’t be true...

Well here’s what I found:

1. Yes, it’s a private company called Comprehensive Health Services (a subsidiary of Caliburn International). CHS operates the largest child migrant detention center, which is in FL and was already getting horrible press — especially from local FL papers — last year. But that didn’t matter, because CHS recently opened up a few more child prisons in TX, as it snagged a new government contract, despite many documented concerns about conditions there.

2. $750/day per child is an accurate sum of CHS’s CLAIMED operating costs, and what our federal tax dollars are paying for. A sum that was agreed to upon award of the contract. In fact, it was actually on the record as $775 last summer.

3. So where is this money going, you wonder, if not to soap and toothbrushes? Yeah, I did too, and it was quite easy to dig up. CHS, via Caliburn, is controlled by the private equity firm DC Capital Partners. For those of you who don’t know how private equity firms work, look it up, or ask me in the comments.

4. While I would not be able to find out vested shareholders in the DCCP portfolio, we do not have to assume they’re making some nice returns on these CHS operations and government contracts that line their pockets instead of covering even basic human needs for children. That’s clear, because why would a private company keep their costs down so low that they completely disregard humanity, even though they say they’re experts in “healthcare?”

PROFIT. FOR THEIR PRIVATE INVESTORS.

5. While I can’t name for you the private investors getting rich off of this humanitarian crisis, I can name for you members of the advisory board of DCCP, which approves everything in the portfolio.

First up: Trump’s former Chief of Staff, John Kelly, who was named to the board LAST MONTH, and photographed riding a golf cart into a CHS child prison. So with his own eyes, he saw the conditions there. And he was cool with it all, because hey, there’s money to be made for his rich investor friends, and maybe even himself! Who knows! Can’t say for sure, so feel free to reasonably assume what you wish. I’m just stating facts here.

Coincidentally, prior to joining Trump in the WH, he was also a paid lobbyist for DCCP. Hmmmm...

6. So next up on the DCCP board: Richard L. Armitage, former U.S. deputy secretary of state; Michael Corbin; former ambassador to the United Arab Emirates; Michael V. Hayden, former director of the Central Intelligence Agency and of the National Security Agency; Donald M. Kerr Jr., former deputy director of science and technology at the CIA; Anthony C. Zinni, former commander-in-chief of the U.S. Central Command and former U.S. Envoy to the Middle East; and Stephen F. Loftus, former director of the Office of the Budget for the United States Navy.

Are y’all seeing any patterns here?

7. Michael Hayden, last June, said on the record he sees “commonality” between Nazi Germany’s separation of children at concentration camps and the Trump administration policy that is forcing children to be separated from their parents at the U.S.-Mexico border.

"I know we’re not Nazi Germany, alright. But there is a commonality there, and a fear on my part ... We have standards we have to live up to,” Hayden told CNN’s “New Day.”

It appears he left those standards at the boardroom door, along with many other individuals that dance with greed and corruption on the line of the private and public sectors COMPLETELY UNCHECKED.

8. Last month, the same month Kelly got his new gig, the government awarded CHS a brand new, hush-hush contract worth $341 million, even though there had been tons of pressure to close it due to its conditions.

THERE WAS NO COMPETITIVE BIDDING FOR THE CONTRACT, and it happened under the radar.

9. Just two months before this, in March, CHS/Caliburn cancelled its IPO after registering with the SEC to sell $100m public shares. The CEO cited “market forces,” yet made it clear the company was thriving and growing.

——————

I’ll leave you to come to your own conclusions about all of this, or do more research. And I’ll post a ton of sources in the comments for those who actually think this administration is “draining the swamp,” or who want to debate the semantics of whether these ”centers” can reasonably be called child concentration camps or not without offending some non-brown people.

And for those of you who think children don’t deserve the most basic human rights because they’re not American: There’s a special place in hell for you, and I imagine hell to be a whole lot like this situation.

For those of you who are cool lining the pockets of private citizens in DC with YOUR tax dollars while dirty, hungry, sick children live imprisoned and stacked in cages without even a dime of your money going to pay for soap and toothbrushes for these kids like it was supposed to: I’m ashamed to share this country with you as legal citizens, and I think you’re disgustingly dumb. We failed you, too, but at least you got to go to school when you were a kid, and didn’t spend childhood dying in a cage.

America, NONE OF THIS IS OK. WAKE UP.”

——————

FRIDAY NIGHT UPDATE (!!)

1. As mentioned upon writing this, I originally posted my sources at the beginning of the comments thread at time of publishing -- before it became a large discussion. For your convenience and further reading, I am now moving my sources here + some extra homework for everyone to do (no particular order):

https://www.bloomberg.com/profile/company/CLBR:US

https://www.miamiherald.com/news/local/immigration/article229744049.html

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/john-kelly-joins-board-of-caliburn-international-company-operating-largest-unaccompanied-migrant-children-shelter/

https://news.littlesis.org/2019/02/13/wall-street-banks-former-defense-officials-looking-to-cash-in-on-child-detentions/?fbclid=IwAR3VPG3U1VqOlHvAus6mZwT5X42YR0946O-9ALtwFh-P-2i8P_ZxLQ8QvwE

https://thehill.com/latino/392727-hayden-sees-commonality-between-zero-tolerance-border-policy-and-nazi-germany?fbclid=IwAR1XcPVz72-f1ju70gdibR-H6-3tI8dOh_9yqfjZtNx-kfQJb6AMuf-gemI

https://www.npr.org/2019/02/13/694175061/florida-shelter-is-scrutinized-for-the-way-it-handles-migrant-children?fbclid=IwAR2Sq1vPOSLs0LPxkI6723lMKipsI12orZWMqxSzw9kqUqqTfM18gpo6xaU

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/06/21/us/migrant-shelters-border-crossing.html

https://heavy.com/news/2019/05/caliburn-international/?fbclid=IwAR1tsUMn2noGPGWEZxdwOlGwwCj-eDjaIR2I2pCNPd6qgehjCKs0lJpIJuQ

https://www.thedailybeast.com/doj-is-investigating-whether-us-payoffs-to-iraqi-officials-opened-the-door-for-isis?fbclid=IwAR2fXGNE328gvAi6bp7mD7SzKYo5wCY-x2lODw4fKDNrssupd-FGcOfmjnY

https://thebaffler.com/latest/retirement-brought-to-you-by-prisons-inc?fbclid=IwAR3STKgqiMOtVUho4QPq21zXRNovBl8_gvKpFdX3rUWahrOuZmBLJ9pO_m0

https://www.floridatoday.com/story/news/local/2018/06/20/cape-canaveral-detention-center/717375002/

https://www.chsmedical.com/compliance

The people have spoken, so hope that helps you all wrap your minds around this in a more complete and credible way. Thank you to all who have participated in civil dialogue and shared this post. Let's keep it constructive, as we do not need to be even more destructive than the current situation.

2. THE POST IS ALREADY PUBLIC + SHAREABLE. Please do not ask me if you can share it -- I made it public, which is why you can see it. You should be able to share the original version. If you can't, refresh your app, run your updates or make sure you aren't still viewing a friend's protected share of the original itself. There is no possible way I can instruct all individuals on how to share it -- but I appreciate all of you who are moved by these words, and want to raise awareness about this distressing situation.

3. Your concern has given me hope. Do your homework. Look into your group investment portfolios, pensions, etc. Know where your money is invested. Call your legislators. Do anything but freak out to the point of being unproductive and histrionic. DO ANYTHING BUT BE AWFUL TO EACH OTHER.

Thank you. We are in this together.

From the Facebook page of Emily Price.

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bespangeled · 5 years

Text

Child Prison Profits

So I decided to do a little research into the $750/day figure I’d heard a private company was charging the US government per each detained migrant child. I wanted to, with my own eyes and brain,

1. verify this figure was accurate

2. verify it was indeed a private company instead of a non-profit charging this, if true, as both have managed these detention centers (not that it really matters, ultimately, but stay with me);

3. try to figure out where this per diem sum — more than my monthly mortgage — was going, if not to even buy these tortured children toothbrushes and soap, which are about the cheapest basic necessities on the market, and which no individual has to replace every day.

$750/person A DAY should cover a lot of necessities, right? Right. So where the hell is all this money going? This can’t be true...

Well here’s what I found:

PROFIT. FOR THEIR PRIVATE INVESTORS.

Coincidentally, prior to joining Trump in the WH, he was also a paid lobbyist for DCCP. Hmmmm...

Are y’all seeing any patterns here?

"I know we’re not Nazi Germany, alright. But there is a commonality there, and a fear on my part ... We have standards we have to live up to,” Hayden told CNN’s “New Day.”

It appears he left those standards at the boardroom door, along with many other individuals that dance with greed and corruption on the line of the private and public sectors COMPLETELY UNCHECKED.

THERE WAS NO COMPETITIVE BIDDING FOR THE CONTRACT, and it happened under the radar.

——————

America, NONE OF THIS IS OK. WAKE UP.

——————

FRIDAY NIGHT UPDATE (!!)

https://www.bloomberg.com/profile/company/CLBR:US https://www.miamiherald.com/…/immigra…/article229744049.html https://www.cbsnews.com/…/john-kelly-joins-board-of-calibu…/ https://news.littlesis.org/…/wall-street-banks-former-def…/… https://thehill.com/…/392727-hayden-sees-commonality-betwee… https://www.npr.org/…/florida-shelter-is-scrutinized-for-th… https://www.nytimes.com/…/migrant-shelters-border-crossing.… https://heavy.com/news/2019/05/caliburn-international/… https://www.thedailybeast.com/doj-is-investigating-whether-… https://thebaffler.com/…/retirement-brought-to-you-by-priso… https://www.floridatoday.com/…/cape-canaveral-de…/717375002/ https://www.chsmedical.com/compliance

Thank you. We are in this together.

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howveryheather · 4 years

Text

good time (the 2010s + me)

10 years of Heather... YESSSSSSS.

I mulled over various drafts of what you’re going to read today.

There was a draft where I summed up everything, literally everything, that happened to me over the last 10 years. The more I read that draft, the more it felt increasingly like a diary entry that did not warrant publishing of any kind.

I had a draft where I was only going to recap the good things that happened to me. That read like I had the world’s worst blinders on.

I weebled, I wobbled, I tried to organize my thoughts using bullet points. None of it worked and all of it sounded like noise, even though I was technically going in order of the last 10 years. So, I’m just going to keep it simple and focus on the basics.

I went on two pivotal journeys in the last 10 years. The first is the start of my writing career and the second was repaying my student loans. Note that the latter half of that sentence is written in past tense. In 2019, after nine years in debt, I paid off all my loans in full!

I want to talk about the loan journey first because it had an expiration date, even though I did used to think I was gonna die with those loans. Rather than sound like a broken record rehashing the story of how I paid everything off again, I want to share two aspects of paying off student debt that nobody talks about online.

The first one is that once it happens, after your debt is paid in full, you’re not rich. You have a little more money every month, but you can’t go out and change your lifestyle radically. If anything, you have to remain in place a little bit longer and remain on a budget. There’s certainly irony in debt repayment. The debt is gone, but you are not exactly free yet. You have to recoup the losses.

The other aspect of student loans is how quickly you forget about it once it’s paid off. And I mean all of it — the emotions and experience associated with loan statements and making monthly payments. I spent years lying in bed unable to sleep at night stressed out about my loans. I never think about it now.

Paying off my debt alone was really difficult, but deep down I think I always knew that this was going to be my journey. My debt was not going to disappear, no matter how much I wished for a genie’s lamp or hoped a dead relative would throw me some bones in a will or I could magically find a spouse to marry who would assume the payments for me. I made a lot of lifestyle sacrifices to get out of debt. I prepared a few years in advance because I knew that what was ahead was going to be miserable. I remained disciplined, I treated my life with a Spartan mentality, and I crawled my way out under the 10-year deadline to freedom. Sometimes that’s what freedom looks like. It’s not a climb or a sprint to a finish line. It’s a crawl.

Onward to writing!

I was still in college at the start of 2010. Back then, I was an extremely green writer with few clips under my belt outside of an internship at the Ventura County Star and a column in The Echo (CLU’s newspaper). As a post graduate, every writing experience I have had has been a combination of good luck, timing, location, and the willingness to push myself and work hard.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to write in the entertainment space. I always loved reading the pop culture section of the USA Today and soaked up my subscriptions to Entertainment Weekly and Premiere Magazine like a sponge. I was determined to break into entertainment however I could, and I got in on the ground floor of BettyConfidential and HelloGiggles as a contributing writer in 2011.

The early 2010s was a short-lived timeline before most of the major media moguls began buying these sites out. I remember this time as one — and everyone who started during this time will say the exact same thing, trust me — where everyone really was each other’s friend in the media space. Content felt fresh. It was new. It was also really kind. There was a lot of room to share your story and experience and receive incredible, positive feedback from readers.

BettyConfidential... What a wonderful group! Was there anything better than waking up at 5 AM the morning after the Golden Globes to email over my best-dressed picks? (Sometimes emailed over the night before, I must admit.) I wrote my heart out in that LA Correspondent gig, covering fashion and celebrity news. It gave me so many opportunities to lead the kind of life most people who move to California never get the chance to have. I had the good fortune to go to red carpet events and awards ceremonies and gifting suites and sit in on movie sets and chat with celebrities (often in more candid spaces than is the norm) that I would never have had otherwise. Betty gave me a much-needed glimpse behind the camera of celebrity and the etiquette for how to be a reporter in this space. My experience at HelloGiggles differed from Betty in that it was much more social media driven. That was definitely the site where you earned your following and found your people in the Twitter space.

Collectively between Betty and HG, my favorite memories were...

1) The first time I went to New York City to cover Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. I went to as many shows as I possibly could in Lincoln Center, took photos with my iPhone, stayed up writing and writing with my photos at the hotel afterwards, and did it all over again the next day for 3-4 days. I also packed very poorly for February 2012 weather. A trench coat and flats in 20 degree weather with snow... but I still looked good!

2) I went to an event celebrating L’Oreal’s 40th anniversary of their “Because I’m Worth It” tagline (an early foreshadowing of my future in writing in advertising). I wrote a nice article about the event, shared the story, and went about my merry way into the rest of my workload. A few weeks later, I received a gift in the mail from their team: a huge gift card to Saks Fifth Avenue! There has never been a Cinderella moment in my life quite like the way I spent this gift card. I went to the Saks Fifth Avenue in Beverly Hills and bought a beautiful designer day dress that I wore everywhere (and still have in my closet).

3) The first time I went to, and covered, the Pillsbury Bake-Off for HelloGiggles. (Look at all that foreshadowing!) The Pillsbury Bake-Off is such a delightful experience and not just because there’s a life-size Pillsbury Doughboy walking around either. The events are held in hotels with convention-sized rooms where one can fit 100 ovens. 100 finalists all bake at the same time and compete for a chance to win a million dollars with their recipe. Bake it like you mean it! I even had dinner one table away from Martha Stewart at the Orlando Bake-Off.

I tried not to decline any opportunities. I made everything work, as much as I could. As far as regrets go, the only event I turned down was an opportunity to go backstage and cover the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. The logistics and timing were really off. There was absolutely no way I could have flown to New York in time for it... but I will always wonder what if!

In a post-Betty and HG world, which is where I was in 2014 when both gigs wrapped, I began pivoting toward a new vertical: advertising. My discussions with Advertising Week began in late 2014 and I started writing for the website in 2015. Initially, this was a situation where I filled in the gaps with whatever content I was asked to write. A lot of it had pop culture tie-ins with Mad Men. (Shout out to my brain for already being a fan of the series and intricately understanding the ins and outs of its characters that tied in with advertising’s heyday!)

The first major series of articles I worked on were sponsored by Adobe, so there was an increased expectation to go above and beyond in the manner I wrote, the amount of research conducted in each article, and understanding the audience. I was ready to meet the challenge and was met with high praise for this hard work. During this time, I also briefly worked in transcription for Flaunt Magazine. I transcribed interviews for one of their writers, which made me feel as though I came a little full circle yet again to entertainment.

In March 2015, I received the opportunity to go to Chicago to the Museum of Broadcast Communications. It was for an event called “A Salute to Advertising’s Greatest Icons” which honored 10 of the greatest brand mascots in advertising. My favorite character, the Pillsbury Doughboy, was one of the honorees. Even more exciting, the creator of the Doughboy Rudy Perz would be in attendance. I immediately asked AW if I could cover the event and they agreed. However, a great tragedy occurred days before the event. Rudy passed away. I was completely crushed. As a lifelong Doughboy fan, I realized I would never get the chance to tell him how much of an impact that character had in my life.

In the 24 hours I spent in Chicago, I got to tour the museum space, meet and spend time in the studio of JoBe Cerny (the voice behind the Doughboy’s giggle!), and attend the event and its dinner. Each menu course was inspired by the 10 brand mascots. It was so much fun! I promptly wrote up the article and gave it to my bosses.

This article sparked the beginning of how I have carved a name out for myself in advertising. Brand mascots. We started discussing how to create content about characters, which I jumped at the chance to write. Before long, I had written so many character-based articles that the content spilled over the website. It required its own platform, PopIcon, which officially launched in 2016.

The greatest joy of my writing career so far has undoubtedly been PopIcon. There is so much to cover that I have gone through stages in writing. The initial stages of introducing the character to the world, the stage of updating everyone on the character’s current events (these critters are more active than you think!), and the historical narrative behind the mascot. There is only so much information a PR person can provide you before you can’t work with a one-sheet condensed timeline anymore. You have to get out there and behave like a journalist, finding creatives to talk to and share their stories. My favorite thing is when someone tells me that they have nothing to say. Then, they launch into a narrative of what life behind the scenes was like animating Lefty from Hamburger Helper or recruiting a voiceover actor for an ad campaign. That’s a lot to say! There is no absolutely story that is too small. Every bit of it is history and it has a place to be shared.

I struggle to pick my favorite PopIcon piece. At any given point, every article I have written has been my favorite. They are all jewels in a crown to me, which is a unique way to view your writing. Really, it’s how I hope every writer views their body of work as it grows and progresses.

However, if you must read anything... try these pieces on for size!

Leo Burnett’s Oral History, As Told By 8 Former Creatives (Part One & Two)

Putting The “Kool” Back In Kool-Aid

How Seth Werner Turned A Cluster Of Grapes Into The California Raisins

Monsters! A Brief History Of The Monster Cereals Icons

Ken Stewart, Creator Of The Coca-Cola Polar Bears, Reflects On Their 25th Anniversary

AW has been responsible for sending me back to New York City. In 2017, I went to New York to attend my first #AWNewYork event. My articles ran in their print publication, I hosted a panel, and I appeared on NASDAQ’s Closing Bell ceremonies live on CNBC and HLN. In 2018, I did the same rounds plus an Icons Gala which I worked on at the same time I was paying off my student loans. The Icons Gala was a massive success and I am so proud of it because it was really tough work. And in 2019, I came back for another #AWNewYork event and celebrated with all my mascot buddies once again.

Outside of PopIcon, I have my hand stuck in a series of freelance honey pots. I always like to keep the wheel rotating, as a means of avoiding stagnation and growing my work. It never ceases to amaze me where the wheel naturally rotates next. I wrote for Brit + Co when I lived in Orange County in 2016. I had a few pieces run on The Drum. I wrote for Ed2010 for two years, which felt like a return to my roots because Ed was the reason I got in with BettyConfidential. I still write with Business Insider, Coin, and Fairygodboss, all outlets I’ve been with for a few years now (minus Coin which started in 2019). Weirdly enough, I was fact checked in an obituary this year in The New York Times.

“Dabble in something new” was my fortune I received from a fortune cookie in the spring of 2019. Good timing. What could I do next that felt new? Where could I start to grow?

I have had my eye on weddings for awhile now, in more ways than one. You can’t help but notice when everyone you know is getting married. You really can’t help it when you’ve been a bridesmaid three times. When I think of the last frontiers of verticals where pure joy exists, it all goes back to basic life rituals. Marriage is one seeped in love, history, and etiquette. I started writing with the aptly-named wedding app Joy a few months ago. Finally, I was able to break into modern wedding editorial.

That has been the last ten years of my writing career, in a nutshell. Upon writing this out, I realized just how lucky and fortunate I am that everything looks so neatly tied together. The gaps have been few and far in between. Regardless of what was going on in my personal life or when things were difficult, doors kept opening for me. And I did everything I could to walk in when it happened.

Doesn’t it look like the land of Oz over here sometimes? It has been 10 years. If you juggled this much writing on top of a full-time job, nonstop for a decade while aging from a twentysomething into your thirties, you would probably run into some issues keeping your self-sustained sausage factory running. It’s not a realistic story if the heroine isn’t facing growing pains.

I am not a perfect writer. I’m never going to act like the Heather cup of tea is for everyone to drink up because it’s not.

I have had countless nights where I have been up late writing, researching, or editing drafts. My interviews with creatives sometimes last for a few hours. I have procrastinated my workload until the last possible minute, leaving me frantically pinned against a wall pushing all the puzzle pieces around until they fit in the eleventh, in the twelfth, hour.

I’ve had my brain switch completely off into a “duhhhhhhhh” setting. In this setting, I shut myself in and watch reruns of TV shows I have already seen before. I have to mentally peace out from the world. This is because operating at eleven every single day takes a lot out of you.

I have been rejected by a few outlets. Totally happens. I have also been told I am overqualified on more than one occasion.

In 2019, I finally seized the opportunity to buy my domain, which was not previously available, and create a space for my work.

I’ve learned a lot about one other person in the last decade: myself.

I know exactly who I am. I’ve hit reset on my life multiple times over the last 10 years, switching jobs, cities, and freelance work. I can reinvent some of me, but I can never leave myself behind. Nor would I ever want to do that. I love myself. She is still a work in progress, but it is progress I will do anything for, even if it means crawling alone for years on end. I do it for her.

Everything is up to timing. In time, everything will be as it is supposed to. That time will be the right time.

If you are ever unsure of what to do next, look to the past for guidance. Everything I loved as a child is coming full circle into my life as an adult.

I think the greatest thing I can do, now and in the next decade, is to continually work at making the younger version of me happy with her adult self. If the 10-year-old version of you could see you now, what would she think? Would she be proud of the person you grew up to become? Certainly I think the younger version of me is probably a little upset I don’t read as many books as I did in my Scholastic book club days (I’m working on it!). But, I do think she would be pleased with the woman I am in 2019. The things I have already accomplished and feathers in my hat. My personality and work ethic. The dreams ahead of me and the goals I still have left to achieve.

While I have no idea where I will go in the next 10 years, I am excited to see everything that comes my way in 2020 and beyond. I will keep writing. I will keep working. And I will continue to keep not telling anyone what I’m doing until it happens. I have found life is a lot more fun when you whip out a good, unconventional “surprise!” on everyone that nobody saw coming.

Keep your pen at the ready. It’s gonna be a good time.

#personal #2010s

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ladyninasayers-ish · 5 years

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So I decided to do a little research into the $750/day figure I’d heard a private company was charging the US government per each detained migrant child. I wanted to, with my own eyes and brain, 1. verify this figure was accurate; 2. verify it was indeed a private company instead of a non-profit charging this, if true, as both have managed these detention centers (not that it really matters, ultimately, but stay with me); 3. try to figure out where this per diem sum — more than my monthly mortgage — was going, if not to even buy these tortured children toothbrushes and soap, which are about the cheapest basic necessities on the market, and which no individual has to replace every day.