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stolethekey · 3 years

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i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

hello! this is for the (final!) @b99fandomevents—i can’t believe how far these two (and this show) have come, and i’m gonna miss them so much. i got to write this for @amydancepants-peralta, who wanted a fic where jake and amy have a disatrous first date, and then amy decides to transfer to chicago—jake has three days to convince her to stay.

enjoy! (you can also read this on ao3.)

It’s their first date, and it’s a disaster.

Neither of them has said anything in the ten minutes since they’ve sat down. Jake buries his nose into the menu, hoping that he looks occupied enough with choosing an entrée to excuse the heavy silence that has settled over the table. A few feet away, in the other side of the booth, Amy does the same thing.

A young man in a pressed suit and tie approaches their table, a small, nervous smile on his face. “Are you all ready to order?”

“Yes!” Amy nearly leaps at the chance to talk to someone who is not Jake. Jake tries not to feel too hurt by the desperate excitement in her voice. “I’ll take the chicken piccata, please.”

Jake lingers around the chicken parmesan but ends up going with a steak, because he’s determined to show Amy and maybe himself that he can eat like an adult. They pass their silk-embossed menus to the waiter, sip their waters, and suddenly it’s too quiet again.

“You got a haircut,” Jake notices, wringing his hands nervously under the table.

“It looks nice.”

“Thanks.”

There is a beat of silence that stretches just a little too long, and then Jake says, “This is awkward.”

Amy chokes out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Another moment passes. Jake swallows the non-existent saliva in his mouth. Their waiter, mercifully, returns with their food a few minutes later. Jake doesn’t want him to leave. He does, of course, and then they’re left in that terrible silence again.

Jake makes it through half his steak before speaking again. “Should we, um, just get really drunk?”

Amy grimaces, reaching for her water. “I don’t think so.” Her voice is quiet, almost defeated. “If we can’t do this sober, what’s the point?”

Something twists uncomfortably in Jake’s stomach, but he stabs his fork into his a piece of broccoli anyway. - It’s the day after their first date, and Amy asks for a transfer.

Jake learns about this through a wail from the evidence lockup that he hears from a good twenty yards away. He bursts through the door, frantic, to find Charles curled in a ball on the ground, rocking back and forth.

Charles gets out the details in between sobs, or at least enough details that Jake gets most of the picture. Amy put in a transfer to Chicago, it’s been granted on account of an emergency vacancy that needs to be filled, and she has three days left at the Nine-Nine.

“Three days,” Charles gasps, tears streaming out of his eyes. “Three days, you have to convince her to stay, Jake, you have to—”

“Hold on,” Jake says desperately, watching Charles dab at his face with a completely saturated tissue. “Let me get you another box of Kleenex.”

He opens the door to leave and runs straight into the source of Charles’s despair, in the flesh.

“Oh,” says Amy.

Jake closes the door behind him before Charles can see her and have a heart attack, then crosses his arms. “Is it true? Are you leaving?”

Amy has the grace to look self-conscious, shuffling her feet and shoving her hands in her pockets. She nods, and Jake feels strangely like the walls are swimming around him.

It just makes sense, she says. She has family there, and New York is too crowded, too expensive, and maybe Chicago is a better place to live anyway.

“Is this because of me?” Jake demands. “Because of…you know…our date?”

“No, of course not.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it.

Jake scoffs before stalking past her into the bullpen, ignoring her half-hearted call of his name. He blinks back the hot, furious tears forming in his eyes, and internally he starts a calendar. - On Day One, Jake calls in sick to work.

He responds to the “r u ok??” texts from Charles, Rosa, Gina, and Terry with a copy-and-pasted “I’m ok. Just feeling gross.” He ignores the ones that mention Amy. He also pretends like he doesn’t notice that Amy hasn’t sent him anything.

The morning is spent mindlessly scrolling through his social media beneath his blankets, with no regard for time or his grumbling stomach.

At noon, Charles posts a picture of the squad from Halloween with the caption “Gonna miss my favorite Halloween-hater. #SayonaraSantiago.” Jake decides he’s had enough Instagram for the day and finally hauls himself out of bed.

He orders a pizza, then turns his phone off and the TV on. Inadvertently, the pizza becomes both lunch and dinner and one Die Hard movie becomes a marathon—and before he knows it, the sky outside his apartment is dark.

“Well, that was productive,” Jake mutters, brushing the pizza crumbs off his lap before standing up to toss his trash into the garbage.

On Day Two, they aren’t talking to each other.

Amy looks up almost timidly as he walks out of the elevator, then waits until he reached his desk to let out a small, hesitant “Hi.”

Jake grabs the file waiting for him on his desk and walks out of the bullpen without looking at her.

So, strictly speaking, this is mostly his fault.

That fact does not do anything to quell the mixture of anger and hurt writhing in his stomach. He spends the day furiously completing paperwork in an empty interrogation room, jabbing his pen so furiously into the paper that he rips a hole in an I-918 and has to start over.

At noon, Rosa stops by with a turkey sub, which she drops wordlessly on the desk in front of him before sliding back out the door.

At five, he has completed more paperwork than he has in the last month combined. He drops the stack of files on Terry’s desk, forces a smile, and says, “Finally caught up on all those forms you’ve been hounding me about.”

Terry, his eyes piercing and slightly concerned, does not laugh. “Dismissed.”

It’s Day Three, and Holt has had enough.

He assigns Jake and Amy to label evidence in the lockup together, much to Jake’s chagrin. Amy turns and speeds off without a word. Jake turns towards Holt with a big, reproachful protest on the tip of his tongue but is cut off by Holt’s raised eyebrows and stern expression.

“Peralta, you need to get over yourself.”

“What?”

“You need to get over yourself,” Holt repeats. “Your partner of six years is leaving tomorrow, and you haven’t spoken to her in three days.”

Jake snorts, crossing his arms defensively. “Yeah, well, she’s leaving because of me, so—”

“I’m not sure that matters,” Holt says, not unkindly. “If you let her leave like this, you might never get the chance to talk to her again.”

Jake stares at the ground, furiously attempting to dig a hole in the ground with his toe.

“I know you don’t want this to be the way things end.” Holt’s voice is gentle, and Jake can’t bring himself to look up. “It would be unwise to let your pride get in the way of your last chance to save your friendship.”

“Whatever,” Jake mutters irritably, but something uncomfortable has begun to form in his gut. “Gimme that Sharpie so I can go write case numbers on a bunch of ziplock bags.”

Jake does not, in fact, get over himself—at least not for the first few hours. He chooses to instead label evidence in the same furious silence that has occupied his past three days, pretending he doesn’t see the furtive, almost timid glances Amy throws his way every few minutes.

Then he walks to a bodega for lunch and realizes mid-chew that this is Amy’s last lunch at the Nine-Nine, and the uncomfortable thing in his stomach grows a lot bigger.

He finally swallows his pride on his walk back to the precinct, and when he re-enters the evidence lockup the thing in his stomach has started feeling a lot more like guilt.

Amy walks in a few minutes after him, tossing a balled-up sandwich wrapper into the trash, and notices that he’s watching her. “You have something to say to me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Jake says quickly. “I do.”

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, and Jake’s heart sinks a little.

“I—uh—I’m sorry,” Jake says. “For how I reacted, and for icing you out the past few days. It was immature of me, and stupid, and I should’ve been an adult about it, but—well, I guess we both know I suck at that sometimes.”

Amy snorts, but her expression has softened slightly. “Thank you.”

“And I’m gonna make it up to you,” Jake continues, almost determinedly. “We’re gonna make this the best day you’ve ever had at the Nine-Nine.”

Amy laughs slightly. “I don’t think that’s possible, given the amount of work we have left.”

“Who cares?” Jake shrugs. “The best part of work has always been the people anyway.”

And for all the organizational skills Jake may lack, he sure knows how to delegate. All it takes is a couple text messages to a new, Amy-less precinct group chat and the rest of the Nine-Nine is off. Gina cashes in on a favor and gets Shaw’s to close its doors for the evening. Rosa makes a last-minute motorcycle trip to a local party store and uses a sizable amount of cash and her surprising aesthetic skill to acquire a large box of decorations. Charles says, “leave the food to me,” and no one is brave enough to question him about it.

Jake stays with Amy on the floor of the evidence lockup. They talk and laugh as they work, reminiscing about their years at the Nine-Nine and the particularly memorable perps they’ve brought in.

There’s also a supercut of the stuff that wasn’t work at all—the precinct parties, Charles saving Thanksgiving, the Boyle-Linetti wedding. There are the Halloween heists, the Jimmy Jabs, and there’s the Bet, with a capital B. Neither of them mentions the last one, but Jake is definitely thinking about it.

“Remember that time Terry tried to do the full bullpen and almost knocked a tooth out?” Amy asks, grinning widely. “I thought Sharon was gonna pull him out of the force immediately.”

“You have no faith,” Jake says, shaking his head. “I knew she’d let him stay.”

“You did not.” Amy points at him, narrowing her eyes. “You were so scared when she came to pick him up.”

“I was not—”

“So scared. I’ve never seen a grown man visibly tremble like that, but—”

“God, shut up.” Jake throws a balled-up piece of tape at her, and she laughs. It’s a real one, this time, one that’s bright and infectious.

They let it fade into a gentle silence, one that’s more comfortable than the ones of the past few days.

There’s a beat, and then Jake says, “Don’t go to Chicago.”

He expects Amy to be surprised by this change of subject—to recoil and give an affronted, “what?”

Instead, she sighs, long and slow, and closes the manila folder in front of her. “Jake—”

“I mean, I know it’s your decision, and I respect that,” Jake says quickly. “And if you truly meant what you said to me earlier, about how it’s important to be near your family and it’s a better place for you to live and you’ve grown out of New York—if that’s really the reason you’re leaving, then that’s fine. Just tell me, and I’ll shut up about it and we can just have a big blowout goodbye party and you can leave.”

Amy picks at the edge of her boot and says nothing.

“But if it’s not—if you’re leaving because of what happened on our date—I don’t want to be the reason you give this up, Amy. I know how much you love it here, and this place loves you too. Captain Holt is a phenomenal mentor to you, we both know that, and you might not get that in Chicago—you’ve done so much good work here that I know you’re proud of, and I can’t be the reason you don’t have that anymore.”

Amy looks at him, her eyes a stormy mix of unreadable emotions, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Look,” Jake says, splaying out his hands in front of him. “That date was kind of a disaster, we both know that. And I think it’s because we were both trying too hard, because we cared too much. Because we’re friends, Amy, and that’s what’s most important to me.”

He takes a deep breath, then says, “I don’t care if we never date. I don’t care if I never get to hug you, or kiss you, or do any of the things I’ve so desperately wanted to do. I just can’t lose your friendship. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had, and an even better friend, and I would be more than happy to just be friends with you for the rest of my life. God knows it’s more than I deserve.”

“You deserve plenty,” Amy says softly.

Jake swallows the way that makes his chest flutter. “I’m just saying—I’m laying my cards all out on the table, here. I want you to stay, and I respect it if you don’t want that. But please don’t let me be the reason for you leaving.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Amy gives him a small, wistful smile that says everything Jake needs to hear.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Party at Shaw’s it is, then.”

Amy slaps the last label on a duffle bag, checks her watch, and stands. “I’m actually taking off early—I need to clear up some stuff at City Hall before I leave. I’ll meet you there?”

“Oh,” Jake says, a little dumbfounded.

Amy notices his expression and shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s not—I mean, this has been settled for days, Holt knows, I was always leaving at three today. So it’s not, like, spontaneous, you know. I would’ve told you earlier, but—"

“I was being an ass. Yeah.”

Amy gives him that little sad smile again, and Jake wants to kick a wall. “I’ll see you at the bar,” she says, almost gently.

Jake forces a smile and nods. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.” - When he pushes through the doors of his favorite bar a few hours later, Jake is expecting loud music, streamers, and—if Gina’s Instagram stories were credible—possibly Mario Lopez. Instead, the bar is completely empty.

There are no balloons, no decorations—the only set table is in the middle of the floor, and on it sits a pizza, two salads, and two glasses of water.

“What—what is this?” Jake mutters, mostly to himself.

“A dinner between two friends,” Amy says, emerging from behind the bar. She gives him a small, slightly nervous smile. “And if it goes well, a second date.”

Jake blinks.

“You were right,” Amy tells him, carrying a bottle of wine and two wine glasses to the table. “Our friendship is the most important thing, here, and it means a lot to both of us. I mean, that’s why we were trying so hard in the first place, right? Neither of us wanted it to fail.”

Jake nods in silent assent, not trusting whatever his mouth would say if he let it.

“But it did fail. Miserably.”

“Uh-huh,” Jake says, somewhat stupidly.

“So the worst thing that could happen has already happened, and we’ve gotten through it. And I think—I think, now, having gone through the past few days, we know enough to give it another shot. As long as we set very clear boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” Jake repeats. “Boundaries are good.”

“Yeah,” says Amy with a slightly amused smile. “So, we’re friends. Really good friends. And that’s what we have to protect, above anything. So this is not necessarily a date. It’s a dinner, and we’re a pair of very good friends who are gonna eat it. And if we want to, afterwards, we can decide to call it a date.”

“Can you do that?” Jake asks. “Label something a date after it’s already happened?”

“Who cares?” Amy smirks. “Since when have you followed rules?”

Jake swallows and shrugs.

“Anyway, if it’s awkward, or weird, then we move past it. It’s a slightly awkward moment between friends that doesn’t have to mean anything. No more silent treatment, no more rash decisions, just two friends who are still friends afterwards. Got it?”

“Afterwards,” Jake says slowly. “So—Chicago—”

“Yeah, I’m not going,” Amy says, her eyes sparkling. “That was a dumb thing I did to avoid this guy I went on a terrible date with.”

A broad grin starts to make its way across Jake’s face. “He sounds like he sucks.”

Amy laughs, then pulls out a chair and points at it. “So—pizza?”

The grin on Jake’s face softens into something smaller, something gentler. “Definitely.”

They each take a slice, then a bite, and Jake will never admit it—but it’s the best Meat Supreme he’s ever tasted.

#b99 summer 2021 fic exchange #this one was fun i hope u guys like it!#i can't believe this show is almost over #i'm gonna miss it very much #my fics #my b99 fics #jake peralta x amy santiago #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #b99

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weaverofthreads · 3 years

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On the process of writing a novel...

Ok, so this began as a DM to a very dear friend who had said they were super excited to work on a novel of theirs that they'd abandoned for years, but they felt a bit lost when looking at the project again. They had "too many characters, too many intrigues" and they didn't "know how to create order" for all their ideas. They didn't know "what to keep, what to remove, what to change" and wanted to know if I had any tips.

I began to reply in messages and then realised I needed to make a whole post out of it, so here it is! All 3k words of it. This is for you, darling! I hope it helps.

Things I found extremely helpful when planning my novel for NaNoWriMo this year, after also taking some time off from it.

Most of this comes from Alicia Lidwina’s Four-Part article on her NaNoWriMo prep process, and setting up a writer’s notebook, for 2018. You can find the link to the first part here and I highly recommend you check out the whole series of articles for a more in-depth read.

Content of this ‘essay’:

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials

Project 'Stats' & Overview

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

Things to Consider, and Important Bullet Points

Get to Know Your Characters

Chronological Order

Tangential and Preceding Events

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, Sub Plot Ideas

List of Locations

Scenes

Chapter Outline

NaNo Plan

Additional Notes and Tips for Writing

Ok. Let's begin.

First of all, I'm not saying that this is the only way to write or organise a novel. It can be tackled in as many ways as there are writers in the universe. This is just the method I used to get my ideas crystallised and organised.

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials.

Take your preparation seriously. I bought a cheap but still nice A4 sketchbook with blank paper for maybe £2 at the local hobby store, and used it solely for the purposes of being my Novel Notebook. It doesn’t have to be a pretty, perfect, Aesthetic(TM) journal at all. Its function is to act as a route-guide through the process.

I bought a cute sticker from Etsy and used it as the front cover design so that I liked the book and that it felt a little bit special, without being too intimidating to put a mark in. Then I left the very first page blank, and opened it to the first double page. On the left, I wrote ‘Contents’ and then moved on to the right and wrote ‘Project Stats and Overview’.

I used a pen that was comfortable to write with, which for me was important. I’m a very tactile person, and having nice paper and pens (not necessarily fancy), made the process feel good.

Project Stats and Overview

This is the bare bones of the book, and includes details such as:

Project Working Title: (in my case it’s Weaver of Threads)

Targeted Wordcount: (to give yourself an idea of the scope, but it’s not necessary. For me it’s 50-100k)

Genre: (for me, fantasy)

Series: (will it be one book or more? For me, probably more than one, and at least two).

Inspiration: (here you can jot down all sorts of things which inspire your world and your writing, and it can be anything. In my case, I began with “density and lore, and feeling of being grounded in a real world from LOTR and Tolkien.” And I went on to include other writers and novels in the fantasy genre, as well as elements from our own world, such as Mongolian herding communities and way of life, the history of the Persian Empire, and Renaissance Florence!).

Project Timeline: Give yourself a structure, and be realistic. If you know you’re a slow writer who’s prone to distractions, be generous, but if you’re someone who responds well to short deadlines, tighten the time frame up a bit. I said “November 2020 - November 2021 for the whole manuscript” because I know I’m a procrastinator who gets dejected if they shoot past intense deadlines….

Editing Deadline: December 2021-January 2022. I know I can edit fairly quickly, so I made this one much shorter.

Main Requirements Prior to Starting: What do you need to get sorted before you can get going? It could be purchasing a laptop or figuring out a magic system. In my case, it was the latter.

What Happens in your novel?: This is not ‘what do your characters do?’, but what, in one sentence, actually happens in the book. For Fellowship of the Ring, you could say ‘a diverse group of people assemble and set off together with the goal of destroying the Ring’. LOADS more stuff actually takes place, obviously, but that’s probably the key thing that happens in that book. So, write the same thing for yours. I’m not going to tell you what happens in mine, because that would spoil it :).

That took up the first A4 page of my writer’s notebook, and after that, I moved on to Mood and Key Imagery.

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

On the left hand side of the page, I wrote down the words and concepts that sprang to mind when I thought of the novel itself. These were in no particular order or placement — just a random cloud of ideas in a rough column on the left hand side of the page — and they included: history, mystery, love, friendship, betrayal, nostalgic, homesick, sense of belonging, sense of place, searching, closeness, secrets… etc. etc.

Then on the right hand side, I wrote down five key words that I wanted to associate with the novel. These would form the ‘visual aesthetic’ in the background of my mind, and could be very easily expressed with a moodboard.

This same process (writing down words and creating a moodboard) could be achieved on a website like Pinterest. Take your time with it, find the right visual clues that really match the essence of your story, and create a final mood board with a limited number of panels that will be your novel’s ‘true north’ when it comes to feelings. If you're artistically inclined too, you could draw sketches of things relevant to your world too.

While this stage is really important for solidifying the feeling and mood of the novel, don’t get stuck here and spend forever procrastinating on Pinterest or whatever. Once you’ve crystallised that ambiance, it’s time to move on. It’s also perfectly fine to come back to this at a later stage if you find yourself running out of inspiration or drifting a bit. Daydreaming, drawing, mood-board-ing are all great ways to work on your novel on days when you don’t feel like writing.

Things to Consider:

Alicia Lidwina asked herself some questions which helped me get past the ‘block’ that I’d created when thinking about the novel, and those were:

What scares me about this story? (in my case it was the scope of it - it was easy for me to get lost in over-thinking tiny details and get too overwhelmed to handle the big picture)

What will readers take away from it? (in my case, I hoped that it was a sense of friendship, people from desperate cultures finding common ground, and a sense of being grounded in a real, tangible world.

What is its selling point? (essentially, why would an agent/publisher choose yours over the next one in the pile?). Don’t be bashful about this. This is your notebook, so if you’re proud of a feature or aspect of the story, write it down. In my case, there is no ‘Big Bad come to destroy the world’, no Chosen One who is the only one who can stop it. There is an antagonist, but it’s on a personal scale, and that’s the selling point. It’s about two people going on a personal journey to uncover a lost piece of knowledge that’s arguably not all that world-changing on its own, but which means the world to them.

What will be the three biggest issues in writing the first draft? Identify the three biggest roadblocks, and then take a bulldozer to them. For me, it was time management, getting mentally stuck, and the sheer darned effort of it becoming overwhelming!

Important Bullet Points

These are five key facts about your novel, distilled from the sections above. They include: What’s at the heart of the story? How long is the story? What’s the narrative focus of the story? What are the maximum number of main characters? And the maximum number of supporting characters (this obviously doesn’t mean you can’t have other, less important characters too!)?

Relationship between the two main characters is forefront

50-100k words

The novel’s focus is on the characters’ main goal (had to be more vague here so I didn't give it away)

2 main characters

3 supporting characters

If you find you’ve got too many main characters (not necessarily a bad thing to have a lot of characters - look at A Song of Ice and Fire after all!), then figure out whose story you want to tell here. You can always write another story with other characters in a connected novel, or a sequel. You don’t have to tell everything all at the same time.

Speaking of characters…

…Get to Know Your Main Characters:

Here you can write character sheets for each of your main characters and cast. There are hundreds of these templates available on the internet, asking questions like ‘how would your character react to [insert event]?’ etc. to get to know your character. If this isn’t your thing (it isn’t mine) then at least write down some useful information about them. Rough height and weight, hair, eye and skin colour, general temperament, and any other defining physical or mental traits.

Next came the Chronological Order

This does not have to represent the final order of the novel’s structure, nor the order in which you write the manuscript, but you need to know what happened within the timeline, and when, in order to be really clear when you’re telling the story. You can write the manuscript out of order, and you can tell the story with flashbacks or in a different order, but you need to have the underlying chronology securely in place so that your writing makes sense and so that you don’t confuse yourself or the readers in the process.

Preceding and Tangential Events

These don’t need to be in the novel itself, but it may be important to define the sequence of events that also led up to the moment where we pick up your story, and what is happening elsewhere so that you can be sure of these too. In my case, I defined the events that concerned one of the supporting characters’ lives so that I knew how and why they were at the point they are in the story. It relates directly to - and heavily influences - the events of the novel, so I needed to have this person’s history nailed down as well, even though I don't tell it all explicitly in the book (because that would be unnecessary and a bit dull).

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, and Sub-Plot Ideas (plus writing a synopsis)

Alicia Lidwina defined the story premise helpfully with the following formula:

Story Premise = Main Character + Desire + Obstacle

Pick a different colour for each of these components, and write a short paragraph to explain them in the context of the novel. Alicia Lidwina used the following:

[Main Character] “Harry, an orphan who didn’t know that he’s a wizard, [Desire] got invited into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and wanted to live his school life to its fullest, [Obstacle] but a certain Dark Lord who killed his parents is trying to rise into powers again and kill him in revenge.

Do this for your novel, and keep it really short.

Plot Definition: This is even shorter than that! It’s a single sentence!! It’s most closely tied to the desire of the character, and lies at the heart of the story. It’s most likely a distilled version of the ‘what happens in the story’ from the Project Stats page, so check that to see what you wrote there.

Sub Plot Ideas

Five bullet points (no more) for things that are happening concurrently and which are related in some way to the main story. For me, Kae and Tomas are doing their research, so that’s the main theme, but beneath that there are a few other related incidents.

Writing a Synopsis - developed out of the points in this section, and includes:

Who the main character is

What the stakes are (the story premise is your guideline)

What the main plot line is

How the MC resolves the problem in the main plot line

How the book ends.

List of Locations

Start with the main ones and add to it as you go on. Write a little bit of information about them so that you have something to refer back to. I also drew a big old map which I found very helpful and also really fun to do.

List of Scenes

It’s very important to map out every single scene that happens in the novel. Use your timeline to help with this, but remember a scene is not necessarily a chapter. You can have more than one scene within a chapter, but try not to have too many.

I used small post-it notes (sticky notes) and wrote down things like “M joins K’s clan at the fire and K learns about magic” and “K studies at Citadel, intro to Citadel, magic, and characters” as separate scenes. Once you’ve written down everything that is going to happen (this will take some time! Get a drink and some snacks ready, and go slow), you can stick them into your notebook in the order you’d like to tell the story. Some chapters may have just one scene, while others may have two or three. I didn’t have more than two in any of my chapters, and actually ended up splitting some scenes that I’d made too vague in this section into more chapters. It doesn’t have to be set in stone, but it will form a road map.

Additions and Notes:

I left a section of the Scene Outline bit of the notebook blank for things to add in as I went along. I haven’t used it yet, but I might.

Chapter Outline

I arranged the scenes into the chapters already by sticking them in order, but you could do a chapter outline separately after this. It’s up to you.

NaNoWriMo plan:

I did this back in October, and wrote down the main goal for nanoprep, which was to finish the background info. Breaking that down further, I listed - magic (how does it work exactly), geography, and politics.

After that, it was just a case of writing the 1667 words a day. *spoilers, I got distracted and didn’t do NaNo this year* . What I should have done, was break it up into chunks and write down my goals so that I had something tangible to use as a road map, and I will be doing that now for the novel as I take it up again outside of NaNo. Having check boxes and manageable goals really works for me. Find what will work for you, and if it turns out not to, adapt!

Some final pointers and tips:

Set regular goals for yourself. Whether you work by saying ‘I’ll write 1000 words a day’ or ‘I’ll write something every day’, make a structure for yourself. If you slip and miss a day, week, or month (I didn’t meet NaNo this year because I chose to work on another project instead *slaps forehead*), don’t beat yourself up. Writing is a craft and it takes a long time and a lot of discipline to master a craft.

Your first draft does not have to be good. At all. Your first draft is just words on paper. A first draft is the block of marble taken from the quarry, and subsequent edits and reworking is the process of carving the sculpture itself. The editing that is done by the publisher or the professional you employ to edit it for you later, is the final polishing. Don’t be demoralised if the block of marble seems very rough when it first lands in your studio. That’s ok!

Take regular breaks. Writing is hard work, and most people can’t concentrate on something successfully for longer than 55 min's, and if you’re doing that, you’re already doing really well. Personally, I’m at 15-20 on a good day. Write in little sprints of ten minutes or so, and then get up and stretch, look out the window, maybe leave the room, come back in with a fresh approach.

Stretch your hands, and wear wrist braces when you work. Seriously. I gave myself tendinitis on my first major project, and couldn’t use either hand properly for weeks. The ones I have are these, and they allow me to work safely for much longer.

Keep hydrated. Have a bottle of water on the desk in front of you between your arms as you type and sip it, otherwise you’ll forget. 2 litres a day is usually recommended, but know your body and drink accordingly.

Treat yourself. Whether that’s something as simple as a decadent hot chocolate after your first chapter/chunk/sprint is done, or a new notebook or a pen or that sticker set you wanted on Etsy or literally anything nice, reward yourself for the hard work you’ve put in, with tangible things you can look at or experience and say ‘I have that because I did the work’. It’ll help with your sense of achievement, especially if the project is a long one.

Join a local writer’s group for feedback. With the current Covid-19 chaos, this is probably not possible right now, but getting constructive feedback on your work from someone who hasn’t been cocooned in the project in the way you are, but who respects you as a writer and wants to help you grow, will be invaluable. It’s too easy to exist in a little isolated bubble and think you’re doing ok, when in reality you could be creating bad habits which will be difficult to break later. By these, I mean things like ‘filler words’ you don’t realise you use, or other pit-falls it’s easy to tumble into when you can’t see the wood for the trees…It’s intimidating, and it might take some courage to work up and do, but I promise it’ll help you grow. You don’t have to do what the people suggest, but it’s great to get outside opinions all the same.

Submit work to writing competitions. This will help with showing agents and publishers later down the line that you’re not only committed, but hopefully talented, and will help you to push yourself. Use the world of your novel for the setting, and get to know it by writing short stories on the competition’s theme set there.

Read. Read the writers you admire, and read them ‘actively’ - figure out exactly what it is about ‘that’ sentence that made you shiver, and use the same techniques in your own work (don’t plagiarise, obviously, but if it was alliteration that made the sentence work so well, use it yourself! Perhaps it was the metre of the line? Great, now you know a rhythm that will drive a sentence forward or slow it down etc.)

Enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying what you’re doing, it’ll show in the work. Take a step back if you start floundering, and ‘interview’ yourself about why it’s not fun any more. Refer back to the sections in the notebook that helped to clarify the plot/process, and see if you’ve wandered away from them. Make yourself answer questions like: ‘What is the main reason I don’t want to do this?’ ‘What is the character’s motivation?’ ‘Should I scrap this section?’ (don’t delete it, but cut and paste it into another ‘scraps’ document, and then start afresh from the last place you were happy with. Nothing is wasted - it all goes into building the world and getting to know the characters, even if it doesn’t get explicitly told in the finished product, so don’t be afraid to do that last bit).

Good luck!

I hope you found this helpful, and if you have any questions or things you’d like to add to this, please feel free to send me an ask here on Tumblr.

If you’re a new writer hoping to get an agent or publisher, you might also find this post on ‘talking to a published author’ helpful or interesting.

If you would like to keep up to date with my own novel’s progress, you can follow me here on Tumblr, as well as on my writing Instagram @rnpeacock

#writing #writeblr #writing process #how to write a novel #novel writing #nanowrimo #national novel writing month #writing a book #writing advice #author #authors on tumblr #how to structure a book #long post

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smutty-ki113r · 3 years

Note

Hiya! I saw your blog and was interested in asking for a romantic matchup! You can involve nsfw if you would like.

My name is Ronan, my nickname is Ro, my most used pronouns are she/her/he/him. My sexuality is demi-sexual meaning I don’t get sexual attractions to people unless I have formed a strong emotional connection with said person. My zodiac is Scorpio (that’s pretty much all I know about that lmao) also my personality is ISTP-T

Starting with my mental trash I have a VERY low self esteem. I never liked the way I look and probably never will. I suffer from chronic depression that’s pretty much taken over my life. I have a very hard time with social cues and can come off as an asshole most of the time and I’m extremely blunt. People tend to think I’m cute since I’m fairly small; I’m a 5’3 Nordic female with thicker thighs. I am absolutely OBSESSED with The Legend of Zelda franchise, it’s been apart of my life for as long as I can remember. I’m pretty musical; I play bass, drums, and sing. I also voice act so that’s really fun. Not gonna lie I say I have a huge ego but really I just hate everyone. Having depression I mostly lock myself in my room and work on my art.

How I look: I have black/brown hair in a boy cut. I have big round hazel eyes, my face is round with slightly chubby cheeks and freckles. I want to get my lip pierced but sadly have not gotten to that yet.. My fashion sense is kinda everywhere but I typically go for the cottage core aesthetic. I love muted nature ish colors, I think they look so pretty. I love to go on long walks and sit alone at my local park. I find being alone outside very calming. When I’m not outside or in my room I’m mostly playing video games with my friends and kicking their ass. Believe it or not I used to do boxing but now I just lift weights and workout some. I have a long history of physical illnesses that really render my body kinda useless so I always try to strengthen myself up however I can. I spent most of my childhood in the hospital due to these illnesses. I have been homeschooled my whole school years but I taught myself German, Japanese, and computer science. I actually have a job around it. I’m terrible at explaining my feelings and asking for help so telling people I love them is a huge chore for me. A lot of the time you can find me alone singing to myself with my eyes closed daydreaming.

I love to read. My friends say I’m really boring but whatever. OH I’ve always wanted to be a DJ. I know its a really weird dream but it just looks so cool. Nobody ever expects the sick quiet girl to want to be a DJ. Speaking of shy I’m a huge introvert if you couldn’t figure that out already. I’m extremely shy, don’t talk to me I’ll run away or you’ll be enveloped in my Zelda talk. I have amazingly crazy music taste (according to my mom) I listen to mostly heavy metal and Corpse Husband.

NSFW: Huge HUGE brat. You want me to do something? Yeah fuck you. I’m a huge sub you can pretty much do anything to me. I have a big daddy kink like please let me call you daddy UGH. Also praise but degrade me at the same time? Please thanks. I’m also a pillow princess. Um um ddlg yes thanks.

I match you with…..💖BEN_DROWNED💖

NSFW bellow~

OK OK I KNOW I KNOW, DON’T @ me for picking Benny boy for you Ro. I just think it’s the right fit. Let me start off with the whole depression thing, BEN relates to locking himself in his room and hyperfixating on something. At least you’ll have a gaming buddy to get you through it. Plus, he’s a very competitive guy. Get him to not cheat and you will have fun for hours. Not to mention you sound a bit like Jeff in the way that you can come off as rude. BEN and Jeff are pretty good friends, so you’ll make a wonderful partner for BEN.

Voice acting? BEN will love that, he’ll try to get you to do different characters from his video games or even anime characters. He loves your chubby cheeks, likes to squish them and make them puckered and then give you kisses. It’s quite adorable. Zelda talk? Yeah you don’t need to worry about him running off about that.

BEN will be obsessed with the cottage core, probably likes those little white flowy dresses. Maybe one day wear those elf ears and surprise him, I think he’d think it’s cute. You should definetly do his makeup, put that holographic glitter on his cheeks and some hair clips in his hair- maybe a skirt if he feels up to it.

BEN is very understanding about your illnesses, in fact he would be super impressed that you even lift weights. And is so so supportive about you wanting to be a DJ. He gets excited and calls over Jeff to show him. He’s not very shy about saying I love you, maybe the first time but after it’s constant affection.

For the smut! He can get rough sometimes, loves the daddy kink. He’s the type to soak all that up like a sponge. Praises you for taking his cock so well but will call you pathetic for making those noises. Probably wants you to wrap your thighs around his head and suck your clit for hours, he likes to feel you cum.

Ok Ok I hope you enjoyed that! I love how you have a big ego and then- low self esteem, sounds like me. I literally hate myself so much and then… holy shit I’m the hottest person alive. I know what depression is like, those thoughts just wrap around your throat and choke the life out of you, and it’s not even fast. It’s every day just heavier and heavier, dragging you down and making you feel horrible. I mostly lock myself in my room too, but writing helps me through it. I love love love your hair, boy cuts are so cool. And get that lip piercing! IT WOULD LOOK AWESOME. I love that you’re talented in music, I wish I was musically inclined. Scorpios are so cool, like I said, my best friend is one and so I LOVE YOU GUYS.

I am so incredibly proud of you, homeschool and then the illness stuff must be so hard but you are so strong for going through it. You don’t deserve it but sometimes life works that way. It’s ok to be shy and introverted. For the record, I think you would make an awesome DJ. DO it, I believe in you, so should you. I mean we all have our passions, work hard enough and I promise you’ll get there. I used to write a lot about my feelings and nobody ever read it, but I continued and look where I am now! Im so proud of myself for having this account, and you for being ALIVE. Thats all you need to do, you don’t need to be cool, or popular or skinny to be an amazing person.

Ro, I swear you are an awesome person. I can clearly see it, and I promise one day you’ll look in the mirror and think the same. If your friends say you’re boring they aren’t your friends. They sort of suck because reading is so cool. Without readers I couldn’t be a writer now could I? I believe in you. I know you can do it. Lifting weights is so badass I couldn’t even- I can barely do 5 pound weights man. Ya know I believe that the people who go through the most pain and sadness are the ones who will be the happiest in the end. The universe has to give us back what we lost, there is balance in everything and pain is only temporary. Everything is temporary. So I promise it’ll be ok man, and hey, you’re valid. I see you ro, and I know that you’ll make great places someday.

#ben drowned #creepypasta #ben drowned x y/n #ben drowned creepypasta #Ben drowned x you #📯#♠️

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hotforharrison · 5 years

Text

Heart’s Desires ch 1

Series Masterlist --> Chapter 2

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield/Reader

Summary: In a desperate moment, you make Harrison an offer he can’t refuse.

Word Count: 2,239

Warnings: Language and sexual content that is not actually smut.

A/N: It was supposed to be a oneshot, inspired by a dream I had. That obviously didn’t happen. It has been upgraded from oneshot to a mini-series.

Seeing the world had always been on your bucket list, but you’d never made it farther than a couple of states over. Time, and your youth, were passing by at an alarming rate. You knew your life needed to change, and soon, while you still had the chance to enjoy it.

You’d been browsing your options for a change online for a few months. Nothing struck you as something you could see yourself doing, temporarily or permanently. You toyed with the idea of teaching English internationally, but you didn’t want to be completely alone across the world from everything and everyone you knew.

When an online friend from London brought up that her company was opening a new location near her and hiring over 100 people in your field, you jumped at the chance to apply. You wouldn’t be alone, and you wouldn’t have to worry about not speaking the local language.

You assumed there would be thousands of more qualified, more local applicants and didn’t expect anything to come of it. However, after a lengthy interview process, they hired you with a start date in four months, after the facility was opened. You’d never been more excited, and simultaneously overwhelmed.

Your life quickly started to drastically change. A few very busy months later that included packing up what you could of your life and moving it across the Atlantic Ocean, you were settling into your new apartment with your online friend turned roommate. She was fortunately as lovely as she had been online, and it looked like she would be a great roommate.

You gave yourself two full weeks to relax and sightsee before you started your new job and day-to-day living in London. Things were definitely looking up for you.

London was really a beautiful city, and you thoroughly enjoyed exploring, both with your roommate and alone. After an enjoyable afternoon perusing the Camden Market by yourself, you were waiting in line at a Starbucks, mostly for the familiarity. There were no decisions there. You already knew your Starbucks order by heart.

The person standing behind you bumped into you hard, almost making you fall. You immediately turned around to see who it was, and if they were hurt, when you saw him. He looked exactly like Harrison Osterfield. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to bump into you,” he told you, looking at you with striking blue eyes.

He also sounded like Harrison, from his Instagram stories and YouTube videos. Your mouth dropped open, and you were having trouble forming words. Could it really be him? He did live in London after all.

“Everything alright?” he asked, concern evident across his face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I just… you look like someone,” you eventually said, rather than outright ask.

He seemed amused. “And who do I look like?”

“Uh, Harrison Osterfield? You’ve probably never heard of him. Sadly, most people haven’t, which is really a shame,” you responded.

“That might be because I am Harrison Osterfield,” he commented.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled. “This is probably, I mean I was wondering.” You paused and took a deep breath. “Would you like to hang out with me sometime? Don’t feel obligated or anything. I mean I’m some random girl from Starbucks who you know absolutely nothing about, and I, uh, yeah, I probably shouldn’t have opened my mouth, but I can’t take that back, and now here we are.”

“You mean like a date?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Yes? That is, if you’d be interested at all, and if you’re not seeing anyone. I wouldn’t want to step on any toes,” you quickly added, feeling your face blushing deeply. “God, I’m really bad at this.”

He chuckled. “I’m not seeing anyone, and don’t worry, it’s endearing. I don’t mind cute girls getting flustered over me. Anyway, I’m free for the rest of the day. You’re obviously not from around here. Have you been to the British Museum yet?”

You were surprised he said you were ‘cute,’ considering all the gorgeous girls he probably sees daily and has a chance with. You were completely shocked that he agreed to spend time with you, on an actual date, in his own words.

“You’re right. I’m definitely not from around here. I actually just moved to London a few days ago. The British Museum was on my sightseeing list before I start my new job,” you told him.

He smiled at you brightly. “Looks like we have a date, then!”

-----

You’d spent the last 45 minutes walking around the British Museum and looking at exhibits. It was a great museum. The exhibits were interesting, but Harrison was distracting you from fully appreciating them because you’d been crushing on him for ages, and you were actually on a date with him.

You occasionally chatted quietly with him between exhibits, which was pleasant enough. You would’ve liked to talk more, but you were feeling rather awkward. Regardless of the unbeatable company you were in, you were kind of bored and really wanted to be somewhere else with him. He seemed to be bored, too, but too nice to say anything.

You had a sinking feeling that your once in a lifetime date wasn’t going to end with plans for a repeat performance, or an invite back home for the night, and god, you wanted that invite, more than just about anything.

Since he hadn’t, you decided to bring it up. “I hate to ask, but are you having fun?”

He turned to look at you. “Honestly?”

You nodded.

“Not really. I’m sorry, love,” he told you, moving a hand to your arm to squeeze it comfortingly.

“Before you go, I very much don’t want this to be over yet, and, well...” You swallowed heavily and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “what if I told you after we leave here that you could do anything, and I mean anything, to me that your heart desires?”

“Really now?” He smirked. “My opinion could be swayed. You have absolutely no idea what you just agreed to.”

“But I take it I’m going to find out?” you guessed, hopeful that your time with him wasn’t coming to an end.

“Very soon.” His fingers trailed their way to your hand and ran across your palm teasingly, sending a wave of tingling down your arm and intensifying the dull ache that had been between your thighs since you met him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

You followed him silently, wondering what you’d gotten yourself into, simultaneously excited and nervous. Your mission was accomplished, though. Your date wasn’t over, hopefully not by a long shot, and you got that invite back home.

And, really, what could he be into that was that scary? Online he seemed to be nothing but a sweetheart, and there had been nothing in person that had indicated anything different.

----

Harrison took you to a large brownstone house well away from the hustle and bustle of downtown London. He descended the steps at the side of the house until he reached the entrance to what you assumed was a basement apartment. He fumbled through the keys on his keyring before he found the one he was looking for and unlocked the door, ushering you inside.

The apartment was rather barren and looked barely used. Maybe he was just away a lot? “Not to judge or anything, but I expected your place to be more...homey.”

“It is,” he said. “This isn’t where I live.”

“Oh, so you just take girls here...for privacy?” you guessed.

“Sort of. You’ll see.” He led you by the hand down a hallway to a room, opening the door and turning on the light.

The room was quite large and had a variety of furniture that you could place as something used in BDSM. It wasn’t anything you were familiar with. You hadn’t even read Fifty Shades of Grey or seen any of the movies when they came out. Now, you kind of wished you had.

The only thing you could definitely identify was a four-poster against the far wall, metal slats across the top and some restraints hanging on the side. It had no bedding, only a fitted sheet and pillows. The corners had restraints attached. That seemed pretty straightforward. The rest, not so much.

“Go ahead, look around,” he encouraged.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at, to be honest,” you told him.

“I can take you on a tour, and then you can let me know what you think. We’ll start with something basic.” He led you to a black padded bench that looked kind of like a saw horse with two small attachments for what you assumed were knees and arms. The top had a half circle shaped, more heavily padded neck rest. “That’s a bondage bench. I use it to position and restrain a sub for spanking, or fucking, or whatever else I’m in the mood for.”

“Okay,” you said quietly. That didn’t sound particularly terrifying. Not really anything you’d fantasized about in the past, but you weren’t opposed.

You glanced over at the second nearest piece of furniture. There was a swing hanging from the ceiling near it with a larger piece of leather, what looked to be support straps at its sides, and four cuffs attached by a chain at each corner.

“That’s a sex sling. It’s easier to move a sub around and eat her, or fuck her, or play with her mid-air,” he explained.

“Okay,” you repeated. That also didn’t sound scary, as long as the sling was securely attached to the ceiling, and it seemed to be.

“Anything you’re particularly curious about?” he asked.

You looked at a metal device that was I-shaped with a long bar coming from the front, ending in a circle. The other end had a shorter bar attached to a machine with a thin metal rod protruding from it. “What’s that?”

He chuckled. “That of all things? That’s the slave driver. It’s a fucking machine with restraints. Your neck goes there.” He pointed at the circle. “Your wrists and ankles are restrained at either end with cuffs. And a toy fitted for the machine attaches to this.” He gestured at the thin metal rod. “I can show you the attachments, if you like.”

That was more overwhelming, and sounded like it would be embarrassing, but it didn’t make you want to run away. You took that as a positive.

You followed him as he walked over to a set of drawers near the bed and opened a middle drawer, urging you to come closer. “There’s several different sizes of dildos, a couple of double penetrating dildos, and some plugs.”

You looked at them, some startlingly large. Your experience with sex toys was rather limited, but you weren’t turned off by it. You picked up the smallest dildo and ran your fingers over the soft silicone for a few moments, enjoying the feel of the material against your skin, then put it back in its place.

“So, after a small preview, are you scared?” he asked.

“I’m...nervous, but curious,” you replied, before adding, “and still really, really turned on. That might be more you than the things in this room, though.”

He chuckled. “So you’ve never done anything kinky before?”

You shook your head. “God, this is embarrassing, but I’ll be honest. I can count the number of sexual experiences I’ve had with other people on one hand, and the most adventurous out of all of them was trying to have sex in the backseat of a car. Keyword ‘trying.’ It didn’t really work.”

“Poor girl, so neglected. If you want, I can change that. I promise that I’d take such good care of you. Only the best for my subs,” he promised. “And don’t be embarrassed. I have an innocence kink, and you don’t even have to pretend to be innocent. Works out well for both of us.”

You swallowed heavily, not entirely sure what you were getting yourself into, but your arousal hadn’t ebbed the tiniest bit in the face of all the possibilities. “I think I’d like to at least try, but I’ll leave what I’m trying up to you.”

He grinned. “That’s the answer I was hoping for. I like options and giving them to my subs, or potential subs in the case of you. Would you like to jump right in and play in here right now, or get to know me a bit better and maybe try some tamer things first in the actual bedroom where I take my partners to sleep? With your lack of experience, it’d be less intimidating. I really don’t get off on making my subs afraid.”

You considered your options. “I think I’d like the actual bedroom first. It’s, well, it’s been a while, and I don’t want it to be too much, in the bad way.”

“We can do that. So, you want me to ease you in gently?” he asked.

“Please,” you confirmed.

He took your hand in his and squeezed it. “It will be my pleasure, pretty girl. Are you ready to go to the bedroom, or do you want to look around more in here?”

Your desperation for him made that easy. “Definitely the bedroom.”

The promise of what was to come sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

Tag list:

@bewitched-haz @adayasgeorgia @moorehollandplz @thollandss@dasexydevitt13 @imagine-lovebug @robbinholland @strang-ersclub @hollandisapuppy @goldenpeaxh @legendsofwholock @superheroesaremytea @tomblrholland @niiight-dreamerrrr @spidermanffh3000 @devildisguiseasangel @theyy-lovemo @eeyore101247 @angelhaz11 @i-love-scott-mccall @jinx4karma @definitely-not-black-cat @lizzyosterfield @screamsbytom

#harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield reader #harrison osterfield reader insert #harrison osterfield you

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burnouts3s3 · 4 years

Text

Maria-sama Ga Miteru, a blu-ray review

(Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit unprofessional blog post written by an unprofessional blog poster. All purported facts and statement are little more than the subjective, biased opinion of said blog poster. In other words, don’t take anything I say too seriously.) Just the facts 'Cause you're in a Hurry! Manufacturer’s Suggested Retail Price (MSRP): 99 USD How much I paid: 69.99 USD, the Pre Order price Animation Studio: DEEN Original Localizer: Nozomi Entertainment Licensed and Localized Currently by: Sentai Filmworks Audio: Japanese Audio with Subtitles Number of Episodes: 39 Episodes and 5 OVAs equaling a run time of 1237 Minutes. Length per Episode: 25 Minutes on average. 21 Without Intro and Ending song. Length per OVA: 50 Minutes on Average Number of Discs: 8 Blu Ray Discs Episodes per Disc: Seasons 1, 2 and 4: Episodes 1 through 9 on the 1st Blu-ray Disc. Episodes 10 through 13 on the 2nd Blu-ray disc as well as “Don’t Let Mother Maria Know”, funny ‘outtakes’ of the characters in Chibi From. Season 3: OVAs 1 – 3 on 1st Blu-ray Disc. OVAs 4-5 on 2nd Blu-Ray Disc. Aspect Ratio: 4:3 for Seasons 1 and 2. 16:9 for Seasons 3 and 4. Are there plans for a DVD release?: A DVD release of the series exists from Nozomi Entertainment. Does this come a digital voucher to redeem?: No. This only has the Blu-ray discs. Also on: HiDive, Sentai Filmwork’s Streaming Service. Bonus Features: Clean Opening Animation, Clean Closing Animation and “Don’t tell Mother Maria”, ‘outtakes’ of the characters in chibi form. Notable Localization Changes: Onee-sama, a popular phrase Yumi addresses Sachiko with, has been translated into “Dear Sister” (which is more or less the same thing). Honorfics such as –san or –sama have been omitted in the subs or changed. (For example, when a character refers to Sachiko as Sachiko-sama, the subs translate it into “Lady Sachiko”). Make of that as you will. My Personal Biases: I actually reviewed Marimite a long time ago on this site. I still hold fond memories of the show to this day.

My Verdict: A long running staple of the Shoujo genre and said to have kickstarted the Yuri trend that gave us Kannazuki no Miko, Strawberry Panic, Aoi Hana and Sasameki Koto, Maria-sama Ga Miteru still holds up to this very day. And thanks to Sentai Filmwork’s ability to print it on Blu-ray, now even newcomers can enjoy the quiet campus of Lilian Academy. Buy it! Maria Sama Ga Miteru, a blu ray review

“The Maidens who assemble in Mother Maria’s Garden have such angelic smiles that today, too, they pass through the tall gate. Their pure bodies and minds are wrapped in dark colored school uniforms. The pleats on their skirts shouldn’t be noticeable. Their while sailor collars should always be tidy. Walking slowly is preferred here. St. Lilian’s Academy is a Garden for Maidens.”

youtube

Our Protagonist, Yumi Fukuzawa, is a freshman in St. Lillian Girls’ academy, an all-girls Catholic School. One day, while praying in front of the Virgin Mary, Mother Maria, someone comes up to her. It is none other than the school’s idol, Sachiko Ogasawara. While Sachiko fixes Yumi’s collar, Yumi’s friend, Tsutako, takes a photograph and blackmails Yumi to get the scoop. While Yumi goes to the Yamayuri council, which acts as the governing body for the school, Sachiko storms out of the room and trips on top of her. Sachiko attempts to make Yumi her petite Souer. Through the Souer system, upperclass girls can make a lowerclass girl their ‘sister’ by handing them a Rosary. If the underclass girl accepts, they become partners and look after each other until graduation. While seemingly innocent at first, the system can lead to all sorts of conflicts and misunderstandings but also joy and laughter. This is the story of how Yumi first accepts Sachiko’s Rosary and ends when she eventually bestows that rosary to another. I really love Yumi as a character. While she does act as the ‘ordinary outsider’ meant to be the audience Point of view character, there’s a charm to Yumi. She’s actually very quick on her feet, eager to help and very kind and friendly. She does make mistakes but there’s a very human quality and the small moments where she shines (initially rejecting Sachiko’s rosary, practicing her routine to impress the graduating Seniors, helping out during the school festivals, standing up to some rich snobs) that really makes her shine. (Though I will give some credit to Yumi as she manages to possess proper hand eye coordination and inner ear balance that her successors Himeko Kurusugawa and Nagisa Aoi seem to lack.) In some ways, Sachiko was the inspiration that lead to the creations of such characters such as Shizuru Fujino from My-Hime, Chikane Himemiya from Kannazuki no Miko and Shizuma Hanazono from Strawberry Panic. On the surface, Sachiko is a cold, stern and almost unbendable force of nature, bent on getting her way. However, slowly but surely, Yumi melts the icy exterior to find the human underneath. (It also helps that Sachiko occasionally is the butt of the joke at times, such as, being her first time at a fast food restaurant, she remembers to order correctly and pay the server, but forgets to pick up the food). Among my favorite characters is the adorably lovable Satou Sei, a senior of the school and the canon lesbian of the show. Sei is often flirtatious but also very humorous to boot. There’s a sort of fandom clash as many people ship Sei and Yumi together and Shimako and Sachiko together. (There’s the implication that if Sei had not picked Shimako to be her petite seour, she would have picked Yumi and Sachiko is jealous of that fact since she wanted to give Shimako her rosary first, but Shimako refused her). Rounding out the cast are Rei and Yoshino, a Kendo Senior and her sickly cousin who might switch the idea of a tomboy on its head and Touko, Sachiko’s cousin who’s prickly exterior might hide someone much more vulnerable and Noriko, a girl who might share a love of Buddhist statues the Shimako does. A lot of people cite Maria Watches Over Us (or Marimite for short) as the revitalization of the Class S genre, which focuses on romantic friendships between school girls. A lot of people have pointed out that the genre has had its fair share of negative stereotypes and doesn’t exactly portray a healthy or realistic relationships for young queer women. But, I’ve always stated I would rather have a problematic show that affects me emotionally over a well-meaning show that has a good social message but leaves me cold. Of course, the show is self-aware of its genre roots and occasionally pokes fun at it. (At one point, Yoshino does the ‘rich girl laugh’ with another person and all it does is draw unwanted attention from passerbys). If there’s definitely a weak spot to the series, it’s definitely the animation. Panning shots and freeze frames are all present here, but the direction is solid enough where you’re enjoying it even when you notice the stitches and seems. (It’s an early 2000’s show centering about the school lives of ordinary girls. What were you expecting, Darling in the Franxx?) Granted, Season 3 is when the animation quality (as well as the aspect ratio) picks up but even the older seasons are passable and enjoyable to watch. What sells the show isn’t necessarily the animation, but character interactions with one another. Those looking for Women Love Women relationships probably aren’t going to find it here, but it did lead to the inspiration for other works to tackle. Each movement, each subtle touch or facial reaction or slip of the tongue feels weighty. You can tell there’s so much more being said than what’s on the screen and the characters missing or picking up on those subtleties really is the highlight. Season 3 is where the show changes format from a half hour episodic series to an hour long OVA (Original Video Animation) format and they play out more like self-contained movies than a series of over-arching episodes. And yes, the blu-rays also include “Don’t let Mother Maria Know.”. These are a series of humorous shorts included with the original DVD releases that contain cartoonized versions of the characters engaging in very silly behavior and outtakes.

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After Nozomi Entertainment sold the rights off, Sentai Filmworks bought them and did a pretty good job localizing the show. The show contains no English Dub, but translates the Japanese text to pretty close to its original source material. One thing to note is the lack of honorfics. Honorfics are titles one refers to when addressing another person, like –san meaning Mr. or Ms. in English. “Onee-sama” is translated to “Dear Sister” while “Sachiko-sama” is translated to “Lady Sachiko”. (Though for some reason, Kashiwagi’s nickname for Sachiko, Sacchan, is kept in). CAVEAT: There’s the implication that Maria Watches Over Us feels dated in its depictions of girls’ relationships and class differences and promotes not quite so healthy relationships. But, had it not been for Studio DEEN and the characters of Yumi and Sachiko, we might have never gotten Himeko and Chikane or Shizuru and Natsuki or Fumi and Akira or Kazama and Sumika or Kase and Yamada or Touko and Yuu. Hell, even Flip Flappers did a parody of Marimite for an episode. With Nozomi Entertainment selling off the rights (as well as Seasons 2 and 3 DVDs being sold for outrageous prices), Sentai Filmworks has done the anime community a service by preserving this work and making it available to Western audiences. So, it all but depresses me to know that this great work will go unnoticed while the inevitable fans order the next Umaru merchandise instead. If you have enough of an attention span to watch a show that doesn’t have constant explosions, fanservice or attack names being shouted out, it’s definitely worth a look see. Of course, speaking as someone who binge watches Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure during his off hours, I enjoyed every bit I had with Maria-sama ga Miteru.

Verdict: Buy it!

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#maria sama ga miteru #maria watches over us #sentai filmworks #hidive #yumi fukuzawa #sachiko #Ogasawara #sachiko ogasawara #touko #satou sei #sei satou #lilian #yuri #lgbt #review #anime

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kpop-pick-me-up · 5 years

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NCT OT21 profiles and background

It's a bit of a mess because it's mainly my notes and such, but I hope y'all enjoy and look forward to the story!

SM: one of the four main leading districts of mafias. They're made up of buisness men and political leaders who take money from mafias within their control and keeps quiet. Because they "bought" certain mafia groups after an incident in the early 2000s, they have final say in where and how the groups function. NCT and SM have a rocky relationship though. NCT doesn't believe important figures in Korea should be supporting mafias and everything they do, so they often lie and go on fake missions to appease them. In reality NCT as a whole is like the Robin hood of the mafias. Intercepting missions from other groups that affect civilians and innocents. They try to take down companies and people who use and mistreat people and society. So Taeyong's father's company, oil companies, other major cooperations, politicians, other mafia groups, and SM themselves.

WAYV:

A new specialized unit for Chinese affairs

NCT127: Based primarily in Seoul as an easy way to stay in the center of society and to keep an eye on other mafias. This unit handles most of the English Business with the US and Canada. Currently trying to make progress within European countries

NCT U:

Interchangeable mission specialized unit. Usually handles smaller missions in South korea, only occasionally leaves the country.

NCT DREAM: group of runaways who became mafia trainees. Mark got involved with the mafia first and then Haechan found out and tagged along. In this story they are already in training, however in the prequel it will start them off as runaways.

WAYV member profiles

Kun~

Rank and skills: underboss, combat, communications.

Description: trained under Taeyong for a while until SM created the WAYV unit. Became leader of WAYV. Is very collected and in control, much stricter than Taeyong but not mean. Very good in close and midrange combat, and oversees all deals and connections in Chinese affairs.

Win-win~

Rank and skills: Combat, second hand to WAYV boss, training.

Description: Win-win excels in all forms of combat. Long distance, mid range, and close hand to hand. He trained and worked the longest out of all WAYV members as he was apart of NCT 127 before SM placed him in WAYV. Trains new and pre existing members daily in combat and shooting ranges. Helps oversee combat tests and check ins with Johnny when he is staying in the base complex in South Korea. He may seem sweet, reserved and quiet, but is one of the most dangerous members when on their bad side. Can take down people twice his size in a matter of seconds. Is in a relationship with Yuta.

Ten:

Rank and skills: intelligence, smart with computers.

Description: Always stayed at home base as the eyes, ears and brains of the operations. Never left the bunker on a mission so he isn't a known member of the mafia. Has been a part of the mafia for quite some time and treats it like a day job. Is quite casual about it and seems to the naked eye to take his job lightly, but you'd be a fool to actually believe that. He is one of the best hackers in South Korea and can find any information he needs to find within the hour. With ways in and out of large corporations such as taeyong's father's security company and Doyoung's company he has unlimited access to anything he pleases. When not on missions he and other computer intelligence members just keep their eyes on their territories, making sure no one is causing trouble.

Xiojun~

Rank and skills: not an actual member but low-key is

Description: Goes to school with Hendery and helps on missions sometimes by covering for them and assisting them when they need somewhere to crash or hide after a mission. He knows about the mafia but chose himself not to be a part of it because he "doesn't want that life"......but he's always looking forward to the next time he can help and accepts almost too eagerly.

Hendery~

Rank and skills: New trainee, combat, communications intelligence- helps keep the groups communication with each other fluid and constant during missons.

Description: A new member to the mafia who got involved when he was doing I science project at a university involving radio waves, and was so good he accidentally intercepted transmission between two members on a long distance nearby drug deal. Newer to field work but trained well and has a solid base, and is a fast learner and quick on his feet. Works with Ten a lot since they're both newer to field work.

Yang Yang~

Rank and skills: undecided trainee

Description: Yang yang shows promise in many areas of the mafia. He is fluent in many languages so international affairs may be where he goes off to, but he is also good with computers and intelligence, and catches on to physical training quickly. A well rounded member that has yet to decide his place.

Lucas~

Rank and skills: COMBAT, security, spy.

Description: Lucas is young but loves what he does, even if he is a bit new to the job. He's quite hard to read and sporadic. He is very well trained in hand to hand combat and comes second to WinWin in it. He is another member that may take his work a little too lightly sometimes but when it comes down to it he is devoted and skilled. One of the few spys of NCT. Is an impeccable spy, Because he is so sporadic and versatile he can easily adapt to changes in surroundings and has naturally great social skills. Is one of the spies who can be places in both long and short term spy missions and keep up with all of his many aliases on a whim. One second he's _____, a online student studying sports, another he's a barista at a local starbucks as a boy with big dreams making his way up. Has a HUge crush on Jungwoo.

NCT 127/U/DREAM

Taeyong~

Rank and skills: leader

Description: is a great strong leader but not a dictator. Chooses others to make up a council when making decisions. Trusts others opinions. Quite a caring and loyal member, and Because of that he isn't afraid to kill if he must. Went into the buisness to spite his father's government security firm, with whom he works a day job at. This helps to ease suspicion from the government on some members, and gives insight to how close they are to catching mafia members. Is a very well rounded member and trained hard to be so.

Johnny:

Rank and skills: intelligence- sub unit weapons and supplies. Field work- background work to stay unnoticed, international affairs.

Description: creates, designs, and tests all their weapons and gear. Always styles field workers outfits and designs their new tools. Day job as an at home mechanic, dog walker, and pizza delivery boy. Currently taking courses in mechanics and clothing design. Mentors Mark and Jaemin on a regular basis.

Doyoung~

Rank and skills: domestic and international relations

Description: higher up in South Korean trading company, finds gateways and transmission routes for weapons, traded goods and drugs. Mainly at home work but if he goes out in the field he uses long distance preplaced weapons (explosives), can use a sniper but isn't the absolute best.

Yuta~

Rank and skills: intelligence: sub division- training and dectective work, sniper.

Description: works days job as police officer.

Often taken to border meetings, negotiations and other such jobs but as a "body guard" who is disguised. Sadly, she nce he works in the police department he can't be seen by rivals or else his cover is blown. Does negotiations and torture at the base house. It's notoriously known that those who see NCT's second hand interrogator don't live to tell the tale. Is the best with a sniper, is equal to WinWin. Teases him about it and often and asks him out on cheesy sniper practicing dates. He thinks it's cute and smooth but Lord help him, WinWin just goes with it because he loves him.

Jungwoo~

Rank and skills: Torture, communications and average combat.

Description: good with words, but low-key sadistic. Uses his bright charming atmosphere to decieve people and lure them into a false sense of security. Knows exactly how to manipulate a conversation to get the outcome he likes with internal and external factors depending on the human. Relys on Yuta, Taeil's observation skills to get the nitty gritty details about his targets.

Taeil~

Rank and skills: combat, observation, domestic relations

Description: as the oldest member he is well rounded in all subjects and knows his way around. He may seem a rather laissez-faire individual to those who don't know any better, but don't underestimate him. He's strong and good at what he does. He's good in hand to hand combat as well as close range weapons. Since he's been in this business for a while he knows his way around and has fine tuned his observe skills so that by the end of a single meeting he can learn a person's habits, body language, skills, and weaknesses just from watching them and putting them through little unnoticeable tests with factors he can control. I.e, how they react to slow internet, (tests their patience) do they play with their pen or are fidgety? (Usually means hand to hand combat or sniper, they either can't sit still and need to move and they fight the best like that, or being so in control in the moment a sniper is in their hands that its the only thing that grounds them) and so on so forth. Speaks for Doyoung or Yuta when they can't be seen during certain meetings.

Jaehyun~

Rank and skills: intelligence, spy.

Description: jaehyun is another well rounded member. However like Lucas, he works extremely well with people and has charms for days. He got involved with mafia way back when NCT first started when he was starting a new job at the city hall and overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. He is used as a chess piece in NCTs main goal. Jaehyun is slowly climbing the latter up the political system and is currently running to become a mayor/governor (idk what they have in SK but they got these now in this book lmao) and will eventually run for a higher position in the government.

Mark~

Rank and skills: new member, trains under Johnny, Taeyong, and Doyoung.

Description: Is newer to the mafia but almost has a designated rank as Johnny's right hand man, who works with international affairs and buisness. Goes on all sorts of missons to get accustomed to different situations and jobs, as Johnny and Taeyong hope to make all young new members well rounded, protected, strong and quick on their feet. Puts hard work I every job he's given even if it sometimes feels like it's too much.

Haechan~

Rank and skills: new member, trains under jungwoo, Taeil, Jaehyun, and Yuta.

Description: is a sly young member who shows great promise in communications. Works with older members to build a base in combat and to learn the ways of the best interrogators and communication ranks in the group. Is attached to Mark and other younger members as they are a close knit group.

Renjun~

Rank and skills: new member, trains under WinWin, and Ten.

Description: already has a natural talent in communications, but shines brightest when he's in the world of tech. Once his training is complete he will become a full time computer intelligence operative with Ten Johnny and Yuta.

Jeno~

Rank and skills: new member, trains under Taeil, Taeyong, Doyoung and WinWin.

Description: trains to be a field combat expert. Wants to know his way around both long distance and short range combat and ve the best he can be. Trains hard and never misses a lesson, this poor baby lives to help and pushes with all his might through the rigorous training.

Jaemin~

Rank and skills: new member, trains under Johnny.

Description: another member who will be based mainly at home. He wishes to keep some aspects of a normal life so he never does field work. Trains to be Johnny's right hand man when it comes to design, mechanics and tech. Loves to design new stuff and fix things (and to bug Jeno).

Chenle~

Rank and skills: new member, trains under Jaehyun, Yuta, Doyoung and WinWin

Description: wishes to become a master of long distance combat (explosives and snipers), and gain communications experience. Has many training sessions with Jisung, not that he's complaining.

Jisung~

Rank and skills: new member trains under Winwin, Ten, Taeyong, and Doyoung.

Description: is the youngest out of them all and still doesn't quite know where he wants to go and where his skills will be best placed. Currently just gets basic training in a bit of everything but shows promise in both tech and physical performance.

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botslayer · 5 years

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The questions raised in MK11′s story mode:

So here's everything as it came up in order, in my mind just as I was thinking of things, SUPER heavy spoilers ahead, I just want the fan consensus, please help a confused fan get his bearings, why does everyone praise this story mode when I'm just seeing more holes than a cheese grater? 1. If Gods are immune to Kronika's time tampering, How does she stop Shinnok's blood, which was still pouring from his neck, from flowing on that table? I know this one may be a bit nitpicky but that's just a little one that sticks out and is very visually present. 2. Where do the Kollector's people come from? Probably Outworld but pulling yet another species from thin air for that realm is kinda cheap, okay? 3. Why does everyone from the past look so different from how they did in MK9? It's like jarringly different, especially when Kung Lao JUST supposedly beat down the deadly alliance, something that is only established to happen in the reboot timeline. So what happened there? (Other cosmetic changes would take too long to point out individually, so I won't.) 4. Follow up, there must be a pretty big time gap for Johnny, Sonya, and Jax, because Jax has his mech arms but in the MK2 ark of MK9, he had to be rushed out of Outworld because Ermac blew his real arms off. 5. Follow up 2, why does Jax seem to have deaged? In MK9 he looked to be about thirty+ Whereas here he looks like a really big Twenty-something, his arms are even different. So what happened there? 6. Why does Dark Raiden vanish? The game throws out the explanation that "Immortals" operate on a different timescale, more or less, but if he's unaffected by other time distortions, how was he pulled forward in the first place? 7. Why aren't more people from either side, including Smoke, Quan Chi, Shang Tsung, Reptile, Ermac, Goro, Mileena, and Kintaro, ALL OF WHOM (Save for Smoke) are Loyal to Shao Kahn, not also summoned into the arena? And "She can only summon people who are still alive" isn't a workable answer because of Baraka, Skarlet and Shao Kahn himself. She later says that she's finding people not happy with the course of history, but I doubt two of the most ambitious characters in the series (The Deadly alliance) would be all that happy about being dead. Nor, I'd wager, would Kintaro or Goro, form the prideful warrior race of dragon people? 8. Why is future Erron Black completely mute? Yeah. In every scene he's in (a few different ones in the coliseum) he never says anything but past Erron has loads of dialogue. 9. How does Raiden know about there being other Temporal nonsense going on elsewhere in not just the realm he's in, but Earthrealm? I know he's Earthrealm's protector but how in the high heaven does he know? 10.As a Little one: How is it that past Johnny is sitting on the other side of the room looking at his nails and then is immediately walking by Sonya and Jax with future Johnny? She was looking in kind of the same direction but how quickly did this guy get up to pull that off? 11.Raiden says he's been getting the premonitions for "MONTHS" But MK9 established pretty roundly that he only got them night one of the 10th tournament. Now, by the time of the MK2 ark in MK9, no more than a week or two could have passed, at least as presented, so how does that make any sense? (I will elaborate if asked but this is already long enough) 12. Why does past Jade have an English accent and why does Revenant Jade not? (Other voice inconsistencies from within this trilogy would take to long to point out, so again, this is just persistent for all of them.) 13. The Cyber Lin Kuei (Who I will call "Tekunin" from here on out because I just like that better) are still a thing, Kronika pulled Sektor into the present too, I can buy that. But why not also try and recruit another realm like Seido? Imagine having Hotaru and the help of his forces. It'd make for some cool scenes, especially at the end when all the Oni are fighting Raiden's army, it'd make things a lot more chaotic, which would look cooler. Why not Chaos realmers? Zaterrans? Vampires? Centaurs? Kytinn? She brought the Tarkatans back completely so how hard would any of these other virtually extinct armies be harder to bring back and sway to her side in comparison? What about the Red Dragon? 14. Raiden apparently knows some of the history of this altered timeline which just makes me wonder how much he could realistically be briefed on, especially when he reacts with shock when he finds out that Sub-zero is friends with Hanzo Hasashi. And yes, the Cyber Initiative was a thing in MK9 but Sektor wasn't the grandmaster when that was going on or when Raiden and co were pulled from time. So what does he know and not know? And why did no one think "That crazy fire ninja is on our side" Was worthwhile info? 15. Why isn't Noob just the past one? He straight up says that he survived the soulnado, not that he's a different version. He never showed up live in the comics so it makes zero sense for him to have full stop survived. 16. How does ripping out two bundles of wire "Reformat" anything? 17. Future Kano references the idea of the Black Dragon being on top of "Not just the black market, Every market." What does that even mean? Is there gonna be a black dragon funded super corporation? That'd be cool, TBH. Shame that's never elaborated on. 18. When Kronika freezes time, is it only local? Or does it hit an entire Realm? Because in the scene where she's talking with Future Jax, and come to think of it, the one with Shinnok's head, What the hell is her bubble of influence? 19. Jade mentions Sheeva "Respecting Kitana's opinion more than anyone else's." Where, At all, in either timeline was that ever represented? Because up to now, if memory serves, their only real interactions were Sheeva telling Kitana to suck it up and die with honor in MK9. 20. What up with Jade's Retcon into being Kotal's girl? It's just kinda weird. 21. When and how did Revenant jade learn to control giant bugs? 22. What is Cetrion even the god of? Raiden, and later Kitana, mention she's a god of Virtue but why then is she able to control the Earth? "Elder god" Maybe but Raiden in the OG timeline got that title at the end of MK 4, then stepped down and he was no more powerful for it but that seems to be what happened with Cetrion, IDK. 23. How far back did Kronika have to pull Past Kano and Kabal from? Because Kabal is still apparently working for the black dragon, whatever age she got him from, but he still has his post-burn super speed. 24. What was the point of blowing Sektor up other than to just lose a major power player for your own side? 25. (Ultimate nitpick on this one) Why is Skarlet and one line from Baraka speaking Tarkatan the only ones that get subtitles? Why not just either A. Say it in English, which they seem to understand enough of, or B. Just not add these translations if they aren't translating the rest of the Tarkatan speech we see? What is the point? "So we understand it." I think you're underestimating people's ability to get the concept of "They said a thing, they did a thing, that must be what was said." 26. In the fight with the Tarkatans, How did Liu Kang and Kung Lao have the time to change back into monk clothes? Where was Kung Lao keeping his hat? 27. What the hell was Shao's last name? at a time "Kahn" was probably just the answer until it became retconned to mean "Emperor of Outworld." But what was his full name? I'm honestly curious, less of a nitpick, more of a "Hm." 28. Why does Future Kano feel a hit to the gut? I understand Johnny's Scar in one way or another, but a hit to the gut, painful as it is, especially when he's showing no sign of feeling any of Past Kano's minor injuries, shouldn't feel like anything after 25ish years. 29. Why does Future Kano have a delayed reaction to "Death by Missing hunk of brain?" The wound instantly manifests but he stands and seems to try to talk for a few seconds before collapsing into sand. Wouldn't it make more sense for him to rot into nothing really fast? Then again, Time travel is always a nightmare in any media that attempts to talk about it. 30. How does Revenant Kabal mistake Past Jax for Future Jax? 31. When Scorpion saves Hanzo, why didn't he just split D'vorah's skull with one strike? Two in a pinch? If he's putting enough force behind it to cut her stabby limbs off, or just generally be a useful assassin, why not just go for the neck even? (This one was answered on a reddit post I made, so whatever) 32. Why doesn't Scorpion just surrender when he goes to the Fire Gardens? Wouldn't it be best to just sit down inoffensively and wait for people to show up? Even if Sub-Zero wants to fight, he could just put his hands up and start disarming himself, Not beat the Holy Snot out of Sub-Zero. 33. If Kronika can just appear out of thin air, freeze all the humans in a given location, and pluck one from the ground, why not just use one of her minions like Geras or Cetrion to help kill them all while they're frozen? 34. Kronika mentions "Playing out all possible Scenarios." How many resets have you done, lady? Millions, I'd wager. How has your utter defeat not come up at least one other time? 35. Where are revenant Nightwolf, Sindel, Smoke, and Stryker during all of this? I find it deathly strange that Kronika couldn't find a use for FOUR undead super warriors. At least three and a bloke with military and police backgrounds that make things like strategy a bit easier, probably. 36.Kronika just MAKES a massive battleship or two, so what was the point of Cetrion building the bridge or asking Kharon to help in the first place? Just make a boat. Barring that, D'vorah mentioned that all she had to do was render Kharon unable to help Raiden's forces during Kharon's introduction. Why not just kidnap him, load him onto a boat, tie him to an anchor, and then just drop him in the blood sea? Rather than this "Slowly torture" BS. 37. How does Future Jax yeet himself onto the upper deck of one of the ferries? 38. Frost says that Raiden "Ignored her, her entire life." Since when is she the Tsundere of the MK universe? Or more seriously: Is this a line that only makes sense when you read the comics? 39. Why would the Tekunin be rigged to Frost's brainwaves? One good conk upside the noggin, or stab, shot, what have you, and what? Do they all drop dead? 40. Why does Past Kang live through having his own soul stolen, something that is always instantly fatal throughout the series? 41. How does Revenant Liu Kang yeet himself off a small boat and onto one of the ferries full stop?

And that's everything, any answers are appreciated. Am I being nitpicky with a few of these? Probably, Do I care? Not so much. I’m just getting sick of people praising this story when THIS MANY holes are present.

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script-a-world · 5 years

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Hey I have a question about creating countries that are made up of islands, but not have seafood as a staple and vegetarianism is the norm among religious adherents and even among common people vegetarianism isn't unheard of. How can that make sense?

Tex: I don’t know how far back you want to look in order to find an island culture that doesn’t eat seafood or any other type of meat, but for the sake of context I’ll be throwing some darts around the map and see what island cultures typically eat.

I’ll start with Pacific Islanders and list a few of the cultures from the Pacific Ocean:

Polynesian region, composed of peoples such as the Samoans, Māori, Tahitians, Native Hawaiians, and Tongans

Micronesian region, composed of peoples such as the Carolinians, Chamorros, Chuukese, and Nauruans

Melanesian region, composed of peoples such as the Papuans, Moluccans, the Austronesian descendants in Vanuatu, and at a stretch the Torres Strait Islanders of Australia

These groups are roughly divided into two ethnolinguistic groups: the Austronesian peoples who speak Oceanic languages, and the Papuan peoples who speak the Papuan languages. For the most part, both groups are from Southeast Asia (the Papuan first wave was from the Malay Archipelago), and their linguistic origins reflect that.

It should be noted that none of these people ultimately originated from these island regions - they all came from part of a continent that was close to the Pacific Ocean. Ye olde ages ago did their ancestors decide to strike out and immigrate to new areas, and their diet adapted accordingly. Religions that ban the eating of things like shellfish and animals are a comparatively recent phenomenon, because it meant abstaining from an easily-accessible food source.

I’m going to momentarily branch off and list some island cultures of the Atlantic Ocean so my examples are a little more balanced:

Northern: Faroe Islands (Danish, sort of), Iceland, Baffin Island (Canada)

Eastern: Azores (Portugal), Canary Islands (Spain), Madeira (Portugal), São Tomé and Príncipe (Gulf of Guinea)

Western: Barbados of the Lesser Antilles, Prince Edward Island (Canada, a traditional island of the Miꞌkmaq), and Cuba (native lands of the Guanahatabey, Taíno, and Ciboney)

Antarctic region: Tierra del Fuego (Chile, native land to the Yaghan),

Many of these islands were close to nearby continents, and often traded with each other for resources, so there is cultural precedent of eating things other than marine life. A couple examples would be the Taíno, and the Kalinago peoples, both of whom originate from South America. The Yaghan “traveled by canoes between islands to collect food: the men hunted sea lions, while the women dove to collect shellfish”, so still ate some form of meat.

For a couple of Atlantic island examples that did not have indigenous people: the sailors who visited Ascension Island hunted the local birds and turtles for food, and those whole lived on Saint Helena imported livestock, fruit trees, and vegetables for the purpose of colonization.

Many, if not all, of these Atlantic islanders also ate meat of some sort, be it livestock from a continent, birds, fish, or shellfish. Historically speaking, meat of any sort was a cheaply-obtained food in terms of net caloric gain compared to net calories spent obtaining said food.

While the over-consumption of anything is bad, and red meats in particular are often touted as lending an increased risk for cardiovascular diseases - which a 2016 meta-analysis noted frequently occurred with a lifestyle risk factor (Citation 1) - red meat in moderation is fairly healthy (Citation 2, Citation 3). There is evidence that diet affects the activation of different alleles (phys.org), which is indicative of a population’s change toward agriculture (Citation 4), though in particular an overconsumption of carbohydrates can result in metabolic inflammation and obesity (ScienceDaily).

Humans are omnivorous by default, and require 20 amino acids in order to be healthy. The nine that the human body cannot produce must be consumed from an outside source - MedicalNewsToday does an excellent job of breaking this down and informing readers of viable sources of each of these essential amino acids. Unfortunately for those who might have abstained from meat before the invention of supplements, the healthiest diet for them was made with the addition of dairy products (Citation 5, eggs (The Incredible Egg, Citation 6), and fish (Seafood Health Facts 1, Seafood Health Facts 2, Citation 7)

As I don’t know the level of technology your countries, I cannot make the assumption that non-meat amino acids can be created and distributed to your populace in a relatively inexpensive manner. The nutrient density of meat vs non-meat foods is debatable (Citation 8), so I would hesitate to forgo meat entirely in a culture without some reason as to why an otherwise viable source of nutrition cannot be used.

Human nutrition is plainly a complex topic with many sub-specialities, and would take any one of us a very long time to adequately explain even a portion of it, especially in conjunction with anthropological factors such as geographic origin and developed cultural norms. I’ve added some more things to peruse in the Further Reading section below, but please be aware that all of this only starts to scratch the surface of what you’ve asked. If you would like to return with more precise questions, we’d be more than happy to try answering them.

Citations

PDF - Song M, Fung TT, Hu FB, et al. Association of Animal and Plant Protein Intake With All-Cause and Cause-Specific Mortality. JAMA Intern Med. 2016;176(10):1453–1463. doi:10.1001/jamainternmed.2016.4182

PDF - McAfee, Alison J., et al. "Red meat consumption: An overview of the risks and benefits." Meat science 84.1 (2010): 1-13.

PDF - Wyness, Laura. "The role of red meat in the diet: nutrition and health benefits." Proceedings of the Nutrition Society 75.3 (2016): 227-232.

PDF - Ye, Kaixiong, et al. "Dietary adaptation of FADS genes in Europe varied across time and geography." Nature ecology & evolution 1.7 (2017): 0167.

PDF - Rafiq, Saima et al. “Chemical Composition, Nitrogen Fractions and Amino Acids Profile of Milk from Different Animal Species.” Asian-Australasian journal of animal sciences vol. 29,7 (2015): 1022-8. doi:10.5713/ajas.15.0452

PDF - Hoffman, Jay R., and Michael J. Falvo. "Protein–which is best?." Journal of sports science & medicine 3.3 (2004): 118.

PDF - Ralston, Nicholas VC. "Selenium health benefit values as seafood safety criteria." EcoHealth 5.4 (2008): 442-455.

PDF - Bohrer, Benjamin M. "Nutrient density and nutritional value of meat products and non-meat foods high in protein." Trends in food science & technology 65 (2017): 103-112.

Further Reading:

Greater Antilles - Wikipedia

Gulf and sea island of the Atlantic Ocean - Wikipedia

List of Caribbean islands - Wikipedia

Amino acid synthesis - Wikipedia

“Microbial production of amino acids and derived chemicals: synthetic biology approaches to strain development.” - PubMed

Lobster history as prison food - Wikipedia

Religious restrictions on the consumption of pork - Wikipedia

Taeniasis/cysticercosis - World Health Organization

“How Dietary Supplements Work” - How Stuff Works

“Risks and side effects of dietary supplements” - American Cancer Society

PDF - ADVERSE EFFECTS OF NUTRACEUTICALS AND DIETARY SUPPLEMENTS by MJJ Ronis et al.

Dietary Supplements - National Institutes of Health (NIH)

“Evolution of tryptophan and its foremost metabolites’ concentrations in milk and fermented dairy products” by Antonella Bertazzo et al.

PDF - Associations of Maternal Vitamin B12 Concentration in Pregnancy With the Risks of Preterm Birth and Low Birth Weight: A Systematic Review and Meta-Analysis of Individual Participant Data by Tormod Rogne et al.

Saphira: A less historical approach would be to analyze why the Vegetarianism is highlighted by Religious pursuit. I would even gamble that the culture was originally focused on seafood, until something changed. Did a new predator enter the seas, making it hard to feed the people? Did they overfish? Who knows.

But something saved them from starvation when the waters rose empty. Things grew on land. Either it was a gift from the Divines that they worship, or a Prophet, or perhaps there’s even a stranger lore more Maoi styled: And so the [Divine] in all their wisdom told [ancient hero] to take the last fish of the sea, and plant it on the highest hill. [Ancient hero] fed their family from the catch, but did not eat the last fish. Hungry and tired, they climbed to the highest peak and planted the fish in the Earth- and the [Divine] blessed his faith and good will. From the fish sprouted the first [main plant food], in such abundance, that [Ancient Hero] ate their fill, and brought down the plenty for the first farmers.Contrived? Yes. Tried and true? You betcha. Consider how the habits and the rituals they serve today serve as tethers, or tangible connections to their heritage, history and culture.

Constablewrites: Writing With Color covered the role of cows in Hinduism here, which might be helpful for framing your thinking. But when religion is negatively impacting the survival of the community, it’s generally more likely that religion sprouts a loophole than that the whole tribe piously starves to death. (See also the Catholic church designating beaver as a fish for purposes of Lent.)

#pylons #island #food #fish #food supply #Anonymous

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maevefiction · 5 years

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Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 51

Nothing will ever prepare you for the birth of your first child. Nothing. Trust me on this. Go ahead and do your research, attend Lamaze classes, dot the i’s and cross the t’s of the fifty line-items that make up what you believe to be a thoroughly comprehensive birth plan…you’ll be informed, and aware. But on that day, when you’re in the midst of it, and immediately after…that is some seriously next-level shit. It’s an other-worldly, out-of-body experience, one in which you’ll feel like you’ve gone straight to the ninth circle of hell and then, with nothing more than the sound of a gasp and a cry, achieved the penultimate goal of spirituality…nirvana.

We’d chosen the Portland Hospital mainly because Dr. Phillips practiced there as a consultant, but also due to the fact that it was a private establishment with state-of-the art technology and a neonatal intensive care unit on-site. Having a midwife was an option, but since I was an ‘older mom’ it felt best to err on the side of caution and deliver with a caregiver in the room who could authorize and perform medical procedures immediately. During our initial tour the guide had mentioned that the likes of Victoria Beckham and the Duchess of York had chosen to give birth in the VIP Deluxe Suites, along with a host of other rich and famous folks. The cost? Approximately $2700 per night, not including medical fees. The perks? A private entrance and exit, catered meals, an extra bed for partners wishing to remain overnight, a lounge area and an en-suite bathroom in addition to the delivery area, which provided for all possible birthing options, including a tub for those who desired an aquatic scenario. With typical medical costs added in we’d be looking at around $30,000, double if I wound up needing a C-section. I balked until we actually saw the VIP rooms…there was no disguising that this was, indeed, a hospital, but the space was bright and airy with light wood floors and furniture, all hints of color varying shades of grey and purple. The lounge was decorated similarly, and the couch and set of chairs would comfortably seat at least six. The bathroom was large, with a purple and white diamond-tiled floor, light-wood cabinets, white marble countertops, a white marble a walk-in shower with a bench, a soaking tub, a higher-than-normal toilet, and a bidet. I’d never seen anything like this associated with a hospital setting, and had been expecting something utilitarian and claustrophobic. This just felt…peaceful, and very much like home. It made me momentarily forget that hey-o, a watermelon sized human will be coming out of your vagina in this very place before you know it, and that’s what sold me on the place, in the end. The tour guide asked us if we’d like the suite redecorated to our tastes, which would add another $40,000 or more to our total, dependent upon said tastes. I said no thank you as politely as possible, deciding right then and there to make a matching donation for whatever our bill total was to a local maternity support organization.

I was wheeled into our suite at 10:32 PM, contractions timing at eight minutes apart. Despite my desire to wait to change into the purple and green tie-dyed delivery gown I’d found online and carefully packed in the go-bag, I was cajoled into donning the Portland’s version so Dr. Phillips could examine me immediately and determine what stage of labor I’d reached. It was cream-colored and patterned with tiny red rosebuds, which did not please me in any way, shape or form. I’d begun to express my displeasure, but as I placed my feet into the bed’s stirrups another contraction began, the pressure starting at my lower back and working its way around to my stomach, fading after forty-five seconds or so. After he’d completed poking and prodding my internal nether region the verdict was rendered – my cervix was approximately fifty percent effaced, dilation at six centimeters. All my vitals were as they should be, so Tom and I were left to our own devices, instructed to let the nurse stationed at the door of our suite know when the strength and duration of my contractions intensified significantly and/or began occurring less than five minutes apart.

At 11:18 PM the nurse, a lovely dark-haired young woman with sky blue eyes named Bridget, knocked twice and entered, our go-bag in hand. As she placed it on the chair nearest the door I noticed that her hair, styled in two long braids, was decorated with both a bright pink and an electric blue bow tied at the bottom of each one…which was, in all honesty, adorable. I sensed that my resistance to the rosebud monstrosity that had been thrust upon me might have given her the impression that I was going to be one of ‘those’ patients, so I quickly dug around in the duffel for my trusty bag of truffles and told her to help herself after saying thank you. She grinned from ear to ear, stating that Lindor truffles were her very favorite. I said me too, showed her my sterile-wrapped gown, and our encounter ended with a gentle high-five. The healing power of chocolate…so grossly underrated.

As soon as the room door closed behind her I untied Rosebud, wriggled out of it, then walked into the bathroom to deposit it in the laundry bin. Tom followed me, still-wrapped tie-dye gown in hand. When I turned around to face him, he gasped, and I paused, head tilted to the right in confusion.

“What? Is there something hanging out of me? I’d like to think I’d feel it if that was the case, and I sure as shit can’t see…”

He shook his head slowly. “No. It’s just…you’re so…so…”

“Enormous?”

“You are not enormous. Do you remember New York? The night we went to DANIEL? You in that red dress, so beautiful, the embodiment of Aphrodite, and I said…”

I nodded, my voice hushed as I recalled his words. “You said the only way you could imagine that I’d ever be more beautiful than I was in that moment is if I was heavily pregnant with our child.”

He smiled softly, expression quickly turning to one of reverent contemplation. “And there you are, standing before me, naked as the day you yourself were born, about to bring our son into this world and I…I…Maude, the love I have for you…my heart is so full I fear it may burst, and my soul, it’s…it’s…free. Soaring. Light surrounds you…it always does…but right now, it’s so radiant, so luminous…it’s almost too intense to gaze upon, but I find myself unable to look away.”

I took a single step toward him, and as I lifted my right foot to take a second my uterus decided it was once again contraction time, but my discomfort level jumped up two notches on Allie Brosh’s Better Pain Scale from the last one, which had been a four, ‘My pain is not fucking around.’ This one was a six, ‘Ow. Okay, my pain is super legit now.’ I couldn’t speak, and it just kept going and going and going. Tom tossed the package onto the sink counter as he strode to my side, offering himself for me to lean on, arms wrapping around me as he whispered in my ear.

“Breathe, my love. Breathe. I’m here. I’ve got you. Breathe. In, then out. In, then out. I’ve got you.”

In, then out. In, then out. He breathed with me, and as instantly as it had begun, it ceased. He released me slowly, kissing me on the forehead as he pulled away. I reached out and took hold of his forearm.

“How long was that? Do you know?”

He nodded. “Around sixty-five seconds by my count. I’m thinking we should get your gown on and have Dr. Phillips come back in. You?”

“Probably not a bad idea. That’s right on the edge between active labor and transition.” I let go of his forearm and he walked back to the counter to retrieve the gown, carefully pulling the plastic apart and removing the bright fabric, then shaking it out to unfold it. He grinned, holding it up in front of himself.

“I don’t know…I’m quite fond of this. Perhaps I should wear it instead?”

“Go for it. I’m fine with staying just the way I am. Everyone’s going to get a good look at my hoo-ha anyway…why bother to get dressed at all?” I was only half kidding…the thought of wearing clothing at this juncture seemed not only unnecessary, but unnatural. He stared at me blankly, and I lifted my arms out to the side. “Come on. Do the deed before I change my mind.”

His brow furrowed. “Maude, if you feel that you’d be more comfortable…”

“I was joking. Mostly. I’m going to wear it for now, and if I want it gone somewhere down the line I’ll just…take it off. Does that sound reasonable? Also, I really, really want an ice-cold Coke. Which is totally unrelated to our current topic of discussion but fuck, I am thirsty.” The gown was a wrap-style with snaps at the shoulders, and as he was leaning in to fasten them my eyes met his. “Thank you. What you said before…I’m so blessed to have you as my partner in this, and in my life.”

He kissed me soundly on the lips, then guided me over to the bed and pushed the call button. Bridget was inside the room before Tom’s finger fully lifted off the button, and he relayed the details of what I’d just experienced. She agreed that Dr. Phillips needed to check me right away, then rushed out the door to track him down. The bed had been lowered so I could heft myself in and out of it without looking like a seal flopping around in the sand, and once I was appropriately situated I turned to Tom, smirking as I attempted what was likely an incredibly sub-par imitation of Loki.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll have that drink now.”

There was an apartment-sized refrigerator in the lounge area, complete with an ice maker, and an adjacent beverage cart contained glassware. I’d peeked inside the fridge earlier and found it stocked with all the things we’d requested…Coke, water, mocha flavored coffee creamer, half-and-half, orange juice, and small containers of chocolate milk. Tom chuckled as he jogged out of my sight, and I could hear ice clinking and the sound of a soda can hissing as the top was popped. He reappeared, beverage in hand, just as Dr. Phillips knocked once and entered the room with Bridget.

“So, Maude, Bridget tells me you’ve had in increase in intensity and duration?”

I nodded, holding out my hands and making a ‘gimmie’ motion to Tom as he walked around to the left side of my bed and handed me the tumbler of Coke. I counted five ice cubes as I brought it to my lips and took a long, enormously satisfying sip. “Mmm, oh, that is SO good. Thank you. Sorry, Dr. Phillips. Super thirsty. Yes to the increase in intensity and duration. Significant, intensity-wise.”

“Well, let’s have a look, then. And remember, if you change your mind about pain management, all you need do is ask, all right?”

Pain management medications were off the table for me, the only exception being an epidural if the need for a C-section arose. Tom had even begrudgingly pinky-sworn that if I wavered, he’d remind me that I wanted to experience holding Henry for the first time stone-cold sober. Repeatedly, if warranted.

“Thanks, Dr. Phillips. I’m still a ‘no’ for that option, though.” Bridget raised the bed, slid the stirrups out from their hiding place and guided my feet into place as I handed my glass back to Tom. Just as Dr. Phillips finished donning his gloves and sat down on the wheelie stool there I was, back at Contraction Central and he got his first glimpse of Trucker Mouth Maude before the pain paralyzed me completely. “Holy shit, what the actual fucking fuck, mother fucker?!”

Tom, who I assumed had set my drink down on the side table, reached out to take my hands in his. “Remember, in, then out. In, then out. In…then out.”

As soon as the pain subsided enough for me to speak, I couldn’t resist squeezing in a witty retort between breaths. “That’s what…got us…into this…in the first place.”

Tom and Dr. Phillips roared with laughter while Bridget blushed several shades darker than the pink of her braid bows, and I leaned back on the bed, not even having realized I’d shifted forward. Dr. Phillips gave me another minute to relax, then resumed his evaluation. As he finished he glanced up at Bridget and nodded, and she nodded in return, then left the room. He stood, walked across the room to remove his gloves and deposit them in the proper receptacle, then returned to stand on the right side of the bed, opposite Tom. His expression was stoic, and just as I’d begun to panic the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile that quickly grew into a giant grin.

“Maude, you’re fully effaced and eight centimeters dilated…which, as I’m sure you’re aware, means that you’re in the transition stage. You may feel the urge to push, and let me know of you do, but it’s best if you’d hold off until you’re at ten centimeters. In the meantime, let’s get you properly set up with some monitoring equipment. Bridget’s gathering the team, and Tom, you’ll need to put on a gown…”

Tom nodded. “Yes sir. I do need to change my clothes first, though.” He squeezed my hands gently. “Will you be all right if I leave you alone?”

I pulled my hands from his, releasing him. “Yep. I’ll be fine. Go. Hustle that bustle.”

He grabbed the go-bag and walked quickly toward the bathroom, managing to be back at my side just in time for another contraction. This one lasted for almost two minutes according to Dr. Phillips, and it was downright beastly, leaving me panting. And thirsty. I turned to Tom to ask for another sip of soda and when I noticed what he was wearing I was completely and totally blown away. Biting my lip, I reached out to touch the ratty old used-to-be-black V-neck, and when I looked up at his face he was smiling, a sweet, bashful smile that evoked within me a whirlwind of emotions. My voice cracked when I finally found the correct words to formulate my question, even though I was relatively certain that I already knew the answer.

“Tom, is that…is that your lucky shirt?”

He placed his hand over mine, and after so many months of bump-stroking the feel of a flat stomach against my palm was oddly foreign. His voice was little more than a whisper. “You remembered.”

“I remember. You were wearing it the day you got the call from Ken, and you were wearing it the first time you saw me when you were jogging on the beach in Hawaii, and now…”

He interrupted, reaching out with his free hand to cup my chin. “I’m wearing it because today is the first time I’m going to see our son.”

Bridget’s arrival with two other staff members in tow cut our moment short, and Tom put his gown on over his lucky shirt and running shorts while I was fitted with sensors to monitor my blood oxygen level, heart rate, contraction strength, as well as Henry’s heart rate. A blood pressure cuff that would automatically inflate in order to take a reading every few minutes was added to the mix as well, and I realized that this was it, I was in the proverbial birthing bed and would remain as such until said birth occurred. As if on cue, my innards clenched and tightened like a vise grip. An alarm sounded on one of the monitors and Dr. Phillips, who’d been engrossed in conversation with the staffers as they were on their way out the door, spun around to investigate. His eyes widened, which of course freaked me right the fuck out. Said freak-out must have been obvious as he immediately held up both hands, palms toward me.

“Nothing to worry about, that one’s to let me know that it’s time to get my ducks in a row. I’ll scrub up straight way, Maude. It would appear that you might be seeing your little one a good bit sooner than I anticipated.”

While Dr. Phillips prepped, Tom jogged back to the bathroom to retrieve the go-bag, then jogged back to me. His voice was measured and calm when he spoke, but despite his best efforts to keep his shit together, his hands were shaking like crazy as he set the bag down and began rifling through its contents.

“Okay, we need music. The Beats pill is in here somewhere, isn’t it? I don’t see it…oh fucking hell, did I forget to put it back after I used it last week? Fuck.”

Dr. Phillips once again took his place on the wheelie stool and I pointed a thumb in Tom’s direction. “Allow me to apologize for his foul mouth as well…mainly because I think it’s partly my fault…”

Tom snorted. “Partly?” He turned toward us, holding the Beats pill in his right hand and raising it up over his head. “Music shall be had, as victory is mine. I just need my…” His face fell. “Shit. Shit shit shit… where’d I put my fucking phone? This is unbelievable. Can’t things go as planned just one fucking time?”

I could feel a tingling sensation, one that I now recognized as an indicator of an impending contraction. This wasn’t something I’d expected, him losing his cool, and I had no idea how to handle it or calm him down. And, it frightened me because though, as always, I hated to admit it…I needed him. Nothing else mattered…not the birth plan itinerary, the lighting, the music…all of that was extraneous bullshit. My words came out considerably harsher than I’d wanted them to, but the pain had begun to creep in and I knew there wasn’t much time to say what had to be said.

“Tom. I don’t need the music. What I do need is…YOU. Oh fuck me, here we go…” I squeezed my eyes shut in order to attempt to fully focus on breathing as I navigated through and away from the pain, barely hearing Dr. Phillips commenting that I was doing an excellent job and to keep with it. I exhaled with a groan, feeling someone first touching, then rubbing my back. The pain was so much more intense…so much worse than I’d expected…that the phrase ‘drawn and quartered’ crossed my mind, and as it waned I flopped back onto the raised head of the bed. The rubbing had ceased, and I wanted it to resume, so I opened my eyes to determine who the appropriate party to screech my demand at happened to be. And there he was, one hand on the left rail, the other holding the bed’s controller. My partner, my love…my Tom. He didn’t notice that I’d opened my eyes at first, so I watched him quietly evaluating the lift and lower options until he looked up and saw me staring back at him. His head tilted slightly to the right, lips pressed together tightly, corners of his mouth turned upward just a fraction. He let go of the rail and reached out to stroke my left cheek, then ran the back of his hand down the side of my neck, voice hushed with repentance.

“Very sorry about that.” I shook my head back and forth slowly, smiling ever-so-softly. “No, that behavior warrants an apology. It was incredibly selfish, and…”

I shook my head again, firmer and faster. “While I appreciate that, allow me to remind you that we’ve never done this before and thus have no fucking idea as to what we’re doing and neither of us like to roll that way, so…” I cringed as the tingling began anew, and he held up the controller.

“May I try something?” I nodded, and as he pushed a button the head of the bed reclined away from me. I frowned until he put the controller back in its place, bent to remove his sneakers and socks, then carefully climbed into the bed behind me, long legs coming to rest to the outside of mine. The stirrups prevented contact from my hips downward, but everywhere else we were touching, and the warmth of his body against me immediately reduced my stress levels by at least half. One arm wrapped around my belly, the other across my upper chest, his chin coming to rest on my left shoulder. “How’s this?”

I leaned my head against his, placing one hand atop the arm cradling my belly. “Exactly right. Thank you.”

Neither of us bothered to inquire of Dr. Phillips whether or not this was a permissible arrangement, me because even if he deemed it not allowed I would have told him to fuck right off. But nicer. Probably. Tom’s reason for not asking, I imagined, was related to his consideration of my anticipated reaction. But there wasn’t an opportunity to debate either way, in the end, because it was contraction time again and I found myself singing those words in my head to the tune of Ace Frehley’s ‘Cold Gin’, featured on his solo album way back in 1974. Strange to be thinking of things you’d absorbed during your stint with a former lover while giving birth to your husband’s child, but we’re just puny humans who have little to no control over how our hard drives are structured. While we were together I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around Norman’s devotion and dedication to his son, but now…hmm, maybe that’s why those wires crossed. Problem resolved, trouble ticket closed. Onward with the pain train, destination push it, push it real good…because despite Tom being right there with me, literally and figuratively holding me up while whispering constant encouragement into my ear, I was relatively certain that if this wasn’t over soon I was going to die. And shortly thereafter, as the pain reached its pinnacle and the contractions seemed infinite in their duration, I found myself pretty close to wishing I would.

Thirty-seven minutes into transition, Dr. Phillips said the magic words…three sentences worth of them, actually, and if I could have reached him, I would have kissed him.

“All right, Maude. Ten centimeters, fully dilated…and with that last one, baby’s officially crowning. Go ahead and start pushing with the next. Would you like us to set up a mirror so you can view the progression?”

I didn’t find that last sentence at all magical, however, and I shook my head back and forth in lieu of screaming ‘no oh my god no do not want’. Tom, however, nodded in the affirmative. Not only did I have no desire to witness my body doing the birth thing, the thought of him seeing it was disconcerting for a variety of reasons. I turned my head toward him.

“If you want to it’s fine, I’ll just, you know, not look… but…you…are you sure about watching this? I mean…it’s…and…” I paused for a second as it dawned on me that the main reason why I didn’t want him to see what was going on down there was because somewhere, deep down in my psyche, I was afraid he’d never be able to look at me the same way again from a sexual standpoint. How could he possibly be okay with eating me out after watching our kid slide out of the same place? I grimaced, preparing to explain myself in front of people who were essentially strangers. “…what’s been seen cannot be unseen, if you catch my drift.”

In lieu of an immediate response he kissed me, running his tongue over my lips, then nudging it into my mouth. He pulled away, smiling and squeezing me gently as he spoke quietly.

“There’s nothing in this world or any other that could ever change what I feel for you.”

I turned my head to face forward again, lifting my right hand and waving at Dr. Phillips and Bridget. “Well, let’s give the man a show, then. I’ll just kick back and, oh, I don’t know…give birth, I guess?”

We all chuckled, and Bridget pulled the mirror out from the right side of the bed’s wooden base, where I assumed it was stored in a hidden slot much like the stirrups had been. It was on a pivot stand at the end of a long, foldable arm, and as she was trying to find an angle wherein Tom could see clearly but was out of my direct line of sight, I felt another contraction ramping up. This one seemed less intense, but the urge to bear down and push was overwhelmingly powerful. Instinctual, truthfully, because everything I’d planned and learned went right out the motherfucking window as my body began calling all the shots. Push. Hold. Short, intermittent breaths. Fingers wrapped around the rails, grasping with the strength of someone dangling over a cliff. And then, a reprieve, as well as kudos from Dr. Phillips.

“Well done, Maude. Well done indeed. Two or three more and baby’s head should be out.”

Between panting breaths, I managed to squeak out an ‘m’kay’. Tom was silent on the matter, and just as I was about to turn my head in his direction the pain was back and I became acutely aware of the pressure on my premium as I strained to expel what was causing it. Push, push, push…hold. Two breaths, then push and hold again. My muscled relaxed, but the pressure remained, flesh stretched to the limit and threatening to give way. Tom’s voice sounded as if he was in another room, even though I could see his arms still wrapped around me.

“It’s the top of his head. I can see him. There he is. My god.”

There were more words, but all I heard was gibberish as the contractions initiated a rapid-fire assault on my pelvic floor. One after another, with barely thirty seconds between them, which wasn’t enough time for me to even consider resting. The stretching eased briefly for one contraction, but with the next it was back and twice as strong, which made me lose my focus and cut my pushing short. When I didn’t push with the one that followed, Dr. Phillips took notice.

“Maude, baby needs you to keep pushing. We’re at the shoulders, and once they’re through, the remainder is much smoother. Rest through one more, then back at it, all right?”

It wasn’t all right…I was exhausted, I was hurting, and I was just…done. So very fucking done. But as I rested as he’d suggested, the phrase ‘baby needs you to keep pushing’ repeated in my head, so I snatched it up and made it my mantra because it was the only thing that mattered…Henry. Birth was the start of my parenting journey, the first step, the first test…and I wasn’t going to let him down. Failure. Is. Not. An. Option, Maude. Unfortunately, though my mind was willing, my body was less so. Three pushes later very little progress had been made, and realized the problem was that I felt like I just couldn’t apply enough force in my current position. I pulled myself forward on the bed rails, Tom moving with me to support my weight, and while that helped, midway through the next contraction my left foot slipped out of the stirrup and a rage tantrum born of frustration ensued.

“FUCK. Fuck me, fuck this, fuck EVERYTHING. Especially those shitty fucking stirrups. I need to have my knees, like…like…closer. To me. FUCKING CLOSER.”

As Bridget quickly began to fidget with the stirrup settings, Tom’s arms unwound from around me. I was just about to yell at him and ask where the fuck he thought he was going when I felt his hands slide up the back of my thighs and come to rest behind my knees. He pulled upward and back, his forearms now in the crooks of my knees to serve as a brace, and his hips shifted so he could lean forward and use his torso in the same fashion. When I glanced at him the expression he wore nearly made me burst into tears…it was a mixture of fear, strength, determination, encouragement and love. So much love. He craned his neck to touch his forehead to mine.

“Is that better?” I nodded, moving both our heads like bobble dolls. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Good. All you need to do is push. I’ll hold you in place, shift you around, whatever you need, all right?” Another nod from me, followed by him moving his head back to a more comfortable position. With the next contraction I bore down, leaning into him as he pulled my knees up and back, the stretching sensation so extreme I felt as if I was ripping in two. And so I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed, a raw, primal sound that I’d had no idea I was capable of making. I screamed again with the one that followed, and the seven after that as well, at which point the pressure dissipated and the pain was reduced to a stinging sensation which caused me to assume that this was it, I’d gone numb because I was finally on my way out and lo and behold, I truly wasn’t even mad at it. I felt Tom shaking and experienced a tinge of sorrow at the fact I was leaving him until he shouted and I realized he was laugh-crying.

“You did it! Maude! You did it! He’s out! He’s here! Open your eyes! Open your eyes!”

Instead of following his directive I froze in disbelief, thinking that this couldn’t possibly be real, that it was actually over, until I heard first a gasp, then a mewling whimper that quickly turned into a hearty cry of displeasure. My eyes flew open and there he was, lying on the soaked padding in the space between my body and the edge of the bed, Bridget’s left arm serving as a safety barrier while her right hand rested on his chest in order to keep him in securely in place. Dr. Phillips first snipped the cord that had tethered us, then gently wiped blood and mucous from his face. His skin was a deep pink, head covered with a thin layer of black hair, eyes still shut, fists balled and shaking as if to protest his introduction to a bright, chilly space away from everything he’d ever known. I reached between my legs for him, feeling Tom’s arms slowly lowering them so my feet were touching the mattress. Just as I was about to make contact I hesitated, unsure of how to position my hands in order to pick him up safely from this angle. Dr. Phillips smiled, patting my right hand with his left.

“You’ll do fine, Maude. One hand behind his head, the other under his bottom from the other side. I’m right here, just in case.”

I could feel Tom unsnapping my gown at the shoulders and adjusting it to bare the upper area of my chest, and as my fingers connected with Henry’s skin I felt…honestly, there’s no way to describe how I felt. It’s a moment outside of time. A life that had sparked inside me, then grown inside me was now right in front of me, breathing, moving…I could hear the sound of his voice and he was warm and alive and real and I, Maude formerly-Gallagher-now-Hiddleston, was somebody’s mother. And thus I formally introduced myself as such to my son as I slipped my left hand beneath his head and he opened his eyes and stared straight into mine.

“Henry. It’s okay, baby. Your Mamma’s right here. Still me, just a different view.” I wiggled my right hand under his bottom and lifted ever so slowly and carefully, bringing him upward and finally holding him to my chest, skin to skin. He’d stopped crying and his blue eyes were wide as I placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and watched him blink in what I interpreted as surprise. “Welcome to the world. Mamma loves you with her whole heart, her whole soul and then some.”

I turned to look at Tom, who was unabashedly weeping, and grinned with wonder. “Hello, Daddy. Your son has your eyes, I think.” He leaned forward, his arms wrapping around my mid-section as he peered over my left shoulder. I turned my gaze back to Henry, shifting so his head rested in the crook of my elbow and watched as Tom raised his right hand, fingertips first gently stroking Henry’s left cheek, then slowly tracing down and around his body all the way to his feet. I’ll never forget the tone of his voice when he managed to speak…full of reverence, love, awe, and pure, unadulterated joy.

“Hello, my Henry. My boy. My son. Welcome. I can’t quite believe you’re finally here, that I’m able to see you and touch you. Daddy loves you with his whole heart, his whole soul and then some, too.” As he resumed his stroking he reversed course, and both of us gasped when Henry opened his fist and grabbed onto Tom’s pinky finger. Tom’s eyes met mine, and the look on his face was so similar to Henry’s when I’d kissed his forehead that I totally lost it and started laugh-crying myself.

“Tom oh my god…Henry gave me that same look when I kissed him and I can’t…I can’t…” Tom began to chuckle as well, then nuzzled my neck as we both stared down at the small human we’d created until I experienced a minor contraction and remembered that there was uterine clean up to be done. Dr. Phillips saw it on the monitor and cleared his throat before speaking.

“Terribly sorry for having to interrupt, but we do need to move forward with the placenta delivery and I’d like to take a closer look to see if you need any stitches, Maude. While we’re busy with that Bridget will get Henry fully cleaned up, diapered, dressed, and wrapped.”

I frowned as she walked around the bed to my right side, and found myself suppressing a growl when she reached for Henry. My body had stiffened, and Tom must have sensed my admittedly semi-bonkers territorial reaction at the idea of someone else holding my newborn son because he extended his right hand in Bridget’s direction, palm out, causing her to pause. His voice was friendly when he spoke, but firm.

“Bridget, I’d like to be the one to clean and dress Henry for the first time…with your guidance, of course.”

She withdrew, nodding. “Certainly. I’ll bring the bassinet closer to the bed so Maude can see you both. We’ll need to weigh and measure him first, but the scale and ruler are built right in so that’s easy-peasy.”

Tom kissed my cheek and began the process of disentangling himself from me. One hand remained on my back the entire time, supporting me until he could raise the head of the bed back up to take his place. I looked up at him, biting my lip, unsure of what to say. I shook my head, frowning.

“I’m so sorry…I don’t…I just…’

He leaned in to kiss me again, this time the top of my head, despite the fact that I was literally drenched with sweat. “Please, love, don’t be sorry. I’m so proud of you right now, for that, and for everything. And in awe of your strength…” He choked back a sob. “Thank you, my warrior goddess, for taking me as your own and giving so much of yourself to provide this most precious gift…our son. Our…family.”

Though I tried to hold back my own tears, they fell anyway and began a rapid descent down my cheeks, then dripped off my chin and onto Henry. I lifted him slowly as I turned toward Tom. “Dude, here. Please take him before I start dripping snot on him too.”

The sight of Tom cradling Henry in his hands, then holding him to his chest while waiting for Bridget to lock the bassinet wheels in place was surreal…and profoundly, indescribably beautiful. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him holding an infant, and when I had previously it had nudged something inside me that I was unfamiliar with, perhaps even resistant to. And now, on February 11th, 2017, at 12:59 AM according to the clock on the wall to my left, I finally fully understood what that something was. The eternal maternal…the innate desire to create, nurture, and love another human being. Long buried, suppressed in sorrow, imprisoned by fear…shackled by the possibility of loss, and the terror of failure. As I watched my husband lower our son into the bassinet and begin to tenderly cleanse his skin of the remnants of the cocoon my body had crafted for him I felt the power of ‘mother’ rise up within me, and for the first time in my life it was a power representative of good, not evil, and it released me from my chains and banished my fears and though I wouldn’t have thought it possible, I felt more whole, more complete, than even having Tom become a part of my life had made me.

It was nearly impossible to look away, even as Dr. Phillips applied significant pressure to my belly while I bore down and pushed some more. After the placenta delivery I heard him mutter something about two stiches, and when he asked me if I wanted a numbing agent applied I shook my head, still staring fixedly at Tom as he first diapered than dressed Henry in the simple white cotton onesie with a green-tinted shadow bust of Shakespeare printed on the front that we’d chosen for him. Then came the tiny purple socks, followed by a white knit hat with his initials, HTH, embroidered on it in purple and green thread. Last came the purple and green tie-dyed baby blanket that matched my gown almost exactly, and I grinned when Tom managed to swaddle him with such perfection that Bridget patted him on the back and told him she’d never before seen such a lovely job done by a first-time parent. He lifted Henry out of the bassinet, then began to rock him slowly back and forth in his arms, humming quietly. It wasn’t anything I recognized, so I assumed it was in audible expression of what his heart was feeling. I nearly wept again, but Dr. Phillips tapped my knee in order to divert my attention. Which was warranted, because I was pretty sure he’d been talking but I hadn’t heard a single word. I turned to him, clearing my throat prior to speaking.

“Sorry, I think you said stuff but I have no clue what. Would you mind repeating, please?”

He smiled. “I don’t mind a bit, Maude. All of the placenta was accounted for, and the tear to your perineum was around half a centimeter, which is very minor, especially considering the fact that you delivered a nine pounder…”

I blinked rapidly, jaw dropping open slightly. “Wait, what? Nine? Nine pounds?”

“Nine pounds, four ounces to be exact. 22 inches long. Heart rate, respiration and coloring are all excellent and Bridget watched while Tom dressed him to make sure muscle tone and reaction were up to snuff. You’ve got a very healthy fellow there. Might have something to do with the source material.” I laughed, and Dr. Phillips shook his head. “No, I mean that, Maude. You worked hard to take care of your body throughout your pregnancy, you stayed physically active, you ate well…”

Snorting, I pointed both index fingers at him. “If ‘ate well’ equals too much sugar, caffeine, salt and a bunch of really weird shit then you’re spot on.”

He chuckled. “I might just start recommending that diet to patients if this is the end result. In all seriousness, though…you approached giving birth with incredible focus and determination, but when you faltered I began going over the C-section prep in my head because I wasn’t certain if you’d be able to continue. But before I could get to step three you were back at it, and stronger than ever. I admire your tenacity, Maude. Well done. Very, very well done.”

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? I decided the keep it simple, stupid strategy would serve me best. “Thank you, Dr. Phillips.”

“You’re welcome. Allow me to take a moment to advise you that while you don’t feel any of it now since the oxytocin is flowing freely, tomorrow will be an entirely different story. You’ll be sore all over, especially your stomach muscles and the entirety of your pelvic floor. Since you have stitches, you’ll need to use a perineal irrigation bottle instead of paper when you use the bathroom…a bidet might sound better, but that’s off limits until the stitches dissolve. You’ll have post-partum bleeding for ten days or so, and after that light spotting for up to a few weeks. We’ll go over everything again and provide you with written instructions during the discharge procedure. Right now, Bridget will clean you up a bit and help you into a disposable undergarment designed for a heavy flow, and then you’ll be ready to give feeding Henry a go. Would you like me to send in the lactation consultant or would you prefer to attempt it on your own first?”

“On my own, please.” I winced as whatever liquid Bridget was using made contact with my skin. She apologized as she continued, then patted me dry with a soft cloth. Hefting my ass up in the air was far easier than I thought it would be, and the gauzy undies felt weird but weren’t technically uncomfortable. I looked down at myself, and though it was still puffy, my stomach no longer looked like a giant egg was lurking inside and ready to burst through my skin a la Alien-style. I’d read several articles in which women described feeling empty in an emotional sense after giving birth as a reaction to not being pregnant anymore. Me? Not so much. I was over the fucking moon at the prospect of wearing pants again. Real, actual, people pants that had buttons and zippers and pockets. I tilted my head to the left and raised my brows as I returned my gaze to Dr. Phillips, who was currently standing to my right as he waited for Bridget to finish washing up. “So…when can I, like, get up and walk around?”

“Whenever you feel ready. Move slowly, and if you feel light-headed, sit back down and rest. Let Tom do the lifting when Henry requires transporting for the next few hours, though, just to be safe. Would you like me to have the concierge bring something up for you both to snack on?”

I leaned back, resting my head on the mattress. “Oh my god YES please. Anything from our preference sheet is fine. Thank you for thinking of it. And for everything, Dr. Phillips.”

Tom echoed my sentiment, and Dr. Phillips and Bridget exited the suite so we’d have some privacy, Bridget reminding us to use the call button at any time if we needed anything at all. I reached out with both arms toward Tom, my hands making ‘gimmie’ motions.

“Hand him over, Hiddleston. Let’s see if these boobs are good for more than just looking at.”

He snorted. “They’ve always been good for more than just looking at. And while I truly never want to let him go, he’s starting to root at me a bit and I’m afraid I’m of little use to him in that particular department.”

Henry whimpered as Tom pulled him away from his chest in order to return him to me and Tom talked him through it, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s all right, Henry. All is well. It’s time to pay Mamma a visit and have some breakfast. You’ll be warm and cozy again in no time.” And with that, my son was back in my arms again, staring up at me. I opened his blanket burrito enough to free his upper body, then removed his hat and rested him against my chest as I shifted the gown so my breasts were fully exposed. Tom was correct, there was rooting going on for sure. I took a deep breath, then used my right hand to lift my left breast and hold it up, nipple positioned directly in front of Henry’s mouth. I felt the mattress dip a smidge and moved my legs to the right so Tom could sit closer to me. Then, I waited…for a grand total of, like, thirty seconds and then…liftoff. Or latching, if you want to get all technical about it and shit. I looked up at Tom, who was staring down at Henry. When he finally met my gaze I grinned, as did he.

“My body has made food for another human being and said human being is partaking in consuming the food and is also the sweetest, cutest, most adorable human being I’ve ever laid eyes upon aside from his father. Also, it feels really fucking strange. Not bad, just…strange.”

We both stared at Henry as he continued to dine, lost in the glow, until the concierge knocked. Tom went to answer, and as the spell was broken I remembered that babies need burping and that not rotating between boobs would lead to unpleasantness. I positioned Henry carefully so his head was resting just below my left clavicle and began to pat his back rhythmically until he let loose a braaap that made me giggle-snort. While right boob got its turn, Tom fed me bagel pizzas while he wolfed down a turkey club sandwich. The suction on my nipple waned, and when Henry’s eyelids began to droop I burped him once more, then watched as he drifted off to dreamland for the first time in the outside world. Tom stood and took him from me, then returned him to the bassinet. I watched as he carefully re-burritoed Henry, put his hat back on, then covered him with a Winnie the Pooh cotton blankie. It was yellow, with all the characters printed in group in the center, and when Tom leaned down to kiss Henry’s forehead I began to weep. Tom came back to sit with me, pulling me into his arms and to his chest, weeping right along with me, neither of us speaking even when the tears were done and gone. I wouldn’t have thought that bond between us could possibly become stronger, nor the connection deeper, but that was indeed the case, though it remained unspoken because there were no words to convey how it felt or what it meant to both of us. All I could come up with in my head was that this love had been two and now it was three, and that was everything.

I showered while Henry was sleeping, Tom having rolled the bassinet to just outside the bathroom, where he kept watch on both Henry and I while texting our friends and family to advise them that our bundle of joy had arrived and that they were welcome to come to the hospital Saturday afternoon at one PM for a meet-and-greet luncheon before we went home to hole up with our kid and figure out how all this worked. We’d let Bridget know that I was up and about so housekeeping could come in and change the bedding, and once I was cleaned up and dressed in my post-birth ensemble of disposable panties, a white nursing bra and a purple silk robe, an all-encompassing sense of exhaustion overwhelmed me, and as soon as I was in a horizontal position it was lights out for Mamma. Tom rested with me, fetching Henry from the bassinet at our bedside whenever he woke and began to fuss, changing his diaper or passing him to me for nursing, depending upon what seemed to be required at the time. Sometimes it was both, sometimes neither…and I’d decided going in that I wasn’t going to be a ‘cry it out’ parent. If my kid needed cuddling, he’d get cuddling no matter the hour or situation. Overcompensation for my own mother’s shitty parenting style? Probably…but as far as I knew this might be our one and only, and I was bound and determined to offer him everything I had to give.

Part of our hospital package included a session with a professional photographer, which we decided to use during the luncheon. Tom and I had eaten breakfast at just after eleven AM, a full English for both of us, and he’d showered while I donned my outfit of the day…the addition of a pair of black cotton sweatpants and a fresh pair of disposable panties to the same nursing bra and purple silk robe I’d slept in. We worked together to change Henry’s diaper and outfit, opting for a rainbow-striped footed one-piece with a cartoon speech bubble on the front that read ‘Hello, World!’ in multi-colored script. Tom had barely finished pulling his own navy-blue sweater over his head when Simon and Luke turned up, a whole fifteen minutes early, which was, like, unheard of. And Simon, Mr. Extra Loud Especially At The Most Inconvenient Times, tip-toed into the room while whispering his greeting.

“Maude, oh my god, look at you, you’re not pregnant anymore and Tom those jeans look like you haven’t washed them in weeks is that like, a style, and where is my nephew? WHERE?” He spotted the bassinet next to the bed and bolted over to it, Luke in tow. “Oh my HEART he’s gorgeous and he’s sleeping how do you get him to sleep the girls are still forever awake and making SOUNDS also sorry not sorry I’m going to wake him up now because I want to hold him and I need to see what color his eyes are.”

I walked to join them, and even though I didn’t want to admit it, Dr. Phillips had been spot-on…my pelvic area hurt like a motherfucker. It was a constant throbbing, like a toothache, but, you know, in my uterus and vagina. Which didn’t, as far as I was aware, did not, in fact have teeth. Simon had already begun to pick Henry up but thought better of it, eyes meeting mine to ask for permission first. I nodded, and I couldn’t help but tear up at the sight of him holding my child. He’d always been so supportive and positive when I doubted this would ever happen, and both he and Luke had been by my side throughout the most horrific experience of my life…now here we all were, alive, healthy, happy and…parents. What a fucking thing. As Luke and Simon cooed over Henry everyone else began to filter in, including the concierge and photographer. In attendance were Diana and James, Emma, Sarah, Trudy, and, much to my pleasant surprise, Anne. When I asked how she’d gotten to London so quickly, she shrugged and said two days ago she’d just had a feeling and her plane had landed last night at seven PM. It was bittersweet, her being there…I loved her and had already designated her adopted Grandmamma, but her presence always had and always would remind me of the past. Even after you’ve come to terms with it all, the empty spaces where those you’ve lost once stood still remained. The brief bit of darkness faded as I participated in the game of pass the baby and pose for pictures, and I took advantage of having my hands free to shovel enough food into my face to feed three sizable adults. We all gathered for a final group shot, Tom and I front and center, with me holding Henry will sitting on Tom’s lap. Goodbyes were said, and as soon as everyone had departed we called in Dr. Phillips and Bridget for our discharge discussion. An hour and a half later we were walking out the side door of the hospital, hoping that our posting a photo of ourselves and Henry across all our social media accounts would reduce the paparazzi presence. It worked, in part at least, as there were only five of them outside…and they were all very polite and unusually subdued, so much so that when they asked for permission to photograph us we said it was fine as long as no flashes were used. We’d hired a car to pick us up and the driver had placed Henry’s seat inside for us, which made for a relatively quick getaway. Then, suddenly, we were at our destination…taking the elevator up to our place, walking inside…the Hiddlestons, ready to continue the adventure of a lifetime. As a family.

#your light in the mist #chapter 51

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vintage-miseries · 5 years

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The CCB

There’s little magic left to be found in England, and that which remains is squirreled away into small, secret places and is guarded most jealously. Humans, despite their voracious love for fairy tales, parlour tricks, and boy wizards do not react the best when they come nose to nose with real magic. Real magic, here, is not David Blaine or Copperfield, or even that warm, honey-in-your-gut sensation you get when you see particularly mesmerizing fireworks. Real magic in this case comes in multiple forms, but none of them particularly awe-inspiring. Rather, most of them are beyond terrifying and cause immediate trouser-soiling.

The last magic in the world (and what a peculiarly sad notion that was!), did not come in the form of waving wands, unicorns, or flying carpets, but rather in the daily press and shuffle of the local population. As a certain (and terribly human writer herself) author might say, the _Muggle _population was entirely unaware of what went on just under their noses. This second, secret world was not invisible, but integrated. So used to hiding in plain sight is magic that it has made the daily grind into a costume, into a habit, and most sadly, into a lifestyle.

Would it intrigue you to know just how many creatures, of this world but unknown, shuffle themselves into human form just to pass their days? This magic, magic being a broad, broader, and broadest of terms, is not so much a thing as it is many things. It is, logically speaking, an umbrella term for anything that falls into a human’s definition of something that is non-sensical, defying explanation, or just downright bizarre.

This ideology, however, has caused much debate amongst the Magical community, with many arguing that not everything “non-sensical” is actually magical, and that “bizarre” is not specific enough to fit into the terminology, so really a lot of things considered to be magic are just, well, not.

For instance, many of the older magics insist that Aliens, while definitely bizarre, are not in fact magic, but more of Science. Of course, as with any ethnic argument, this debate hit rather heavily with both the Fresno Nightcrawler community, as well as with the Flatwoods Monster.

“We exist, we’re here,” The Flatwoods Monster, who goes by day by the name of Carol, said in one interview. “To deny us our place in the Umbrella term is to say that we don’t belong. Well, I’ve been here just as long as most of them, if not longer. How can you say I don’t belong? Just because I’m not from this planet, that means I’m not Magic? You have no idea what I was on my planet. None!”

The Fresno Nightcrawlers could not be reached for comment.**

It is tepidly agreed upon by many, that any with access to the CCB (The Creature Control Board), can call themselves magic. The CCB, otherwise known simply as ‘The Board’, has its main building of operation in California. Several smaller, though no less important branches find themselves in Toronto, Ireland, Brussels, Russia, Australia, Peru, and Cairo. There are also outlier stations across the globe, though their google reviews have never risen above 3.5 stars.

The history of the CCB has varied from decade to decade, but it’s purpose has always remained the same. Opened in 1855, it was meant to be a communal hub for the world’s magic. Hot meals were served, advice was given, human visages were constructed, and jobs were allocated. It attracted several thousand in its first month, and subsequently shut a month later due to over-demand. A year later it reopened, armed and ready, and over the years grew into what it is today.

The CCB is now a focal point for the magical community. A community centre, healthcare professional, and Job centre all in one, it is the foundation for all magical life on earth. Magicals come from across the globe seeking guidance or aid, and the CCB delivers. Last year, a total of over 600,000 appointments were made, it is expected that this number will double within the next decade.

Of course, while the vast majority of Magicals are happy to seek out the CCB for aid, there are plenty who are happy to keep themselves separate. Many claim it to be a generational issue, with older Magicals refusing aid or even acknowledging the resource entirely. A poll conducted in 1985 revealed that while 80% of the world’s Magic did indeed use the service, a whopping 20% chose not to. Many of those polled refused to give comment, though a later census revealed that a good number of that fifth were in fact Cairn Creatures.

Cairn Creatures, an unofficial title, are any Magicals born before the approximate date of 1200 CE. They are often assumed to be an offshoot of the Fae world, many having been human in some variation before undergoing magical transmutation. Though they are near extinct in number, these Cairn Creatures walk the line between the mortal world, and that of the Seelie/Unseelie.

It is purported that fewer than one hundred remain in the world, with many of those still residing in either Europe, England, or in Africa.

“It’s a load of p***. This whole classification system is shit. Why would I bother? Are you asking me to join a union? I’m just fine by myself, cheers. Never needed some poxy doctor in a suit to help me mind my own business, ta. Know how to do that myself.” Cat Sidhe, known as Illiver Kash, 1998 CE

One major issue for the CCB has always been management. Prior to its creation in 1855, there was little in the way of policing Magicals. An uncertain set of laws, somewhat akin to Christianity’s Ten Commandments existed amongst the community, though these were treated more as guidelines than as strict policy. So it was in 1859 when the CCB faced its second major hurdle, this time in the instituting of the RRMC. The RRMC, or the _Rules & Regulations for Magical Continuity _was a strict, 6 rule code that each Magical was expected to adhere to. These rules evolved with time, though their core structures have remained the same since their original incarnation. They are as follows:

I. Kill only as necessary; Your survival is based on more than hunger

II. Order first; Adhere to law both Magical and human, for it keeps your secret

III. Purpose in Power; your strength makes you exemplary, but do not forget that you are other

IV. Understand restraint; retribution always comes with a price, if not to you then to your kin

V. Understand Balance; spend your days under guise, the night time is for you

VI. Bond of kin; do no harm to your fellows, for it is the blackest of crimes

As of 2017 CE, the RRMC has evolved into a 260 page manual. This manual has seven key chapters, the first being an introduction, and the latter seven each pertaining to one of the key tenets. Though the original rules remain in place, each now hosts several sub classes and all fall under regulation and moderation policies.

For instance, tenet I, kill only as necessary has been heavily edited, with kill licenses granted to only a select few. These licenses are known most commonly as K-factors, and allow anywhere from one to six human kills a year depending on necessity. At present, less than 25 members of the CCB hold a K6 license.

It is not a stretch to say that these rules were deeply unpopular in their initial years, though as with most policy changes, the community did eventually settle into compliance. There are a few, however, that did not. When the RRMC was put into place, it came with much discussion on the method of dealing with those who did not comply, especially as their sixth tenet explicitly banned the killing of Magicals. In the end it was decided that permissions would be redacted, and sharply, for any who broke the code. In modern times, these permissions would extend to travel permissions, state arrest, and narrowed territories, as well as lessened monetary allowance.

Those that persist despite these allowances are usually allowed ultimatums in the form of banishment. One such case can be traced back to 1976, during the brief trial of Azelgore, known more commonly by humans and other Magicals as the Loch Ness Monster. Though he was initially granted a K6 license, his quota overpassed his allowance by a harrowing degree, and the CCB had no choice but to remove him from his territory. He accepted banishment to the Fae plane, and has since returned only a handful of times on specialised (supervised) allowance.

For most historians working amongst the CCB, its short history is still a colourful one, and one that has markedly improved the lives of most creatures who make use of its services.

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strange-where-the-birds-go · 3 years

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Lights At The Top Of The Stairs

Part 1.

I lived until I was 7 years old with my Nan. My nan and granddad were like my mum and dad and I loved them dearly. I frequently had strange dreams and occurrences happen to me as a child and they have only got stronger and stranger the older I got particularly the past few years. This recurring dream involved an old film camera and strangely enough an immense feeling of euphoric pleasure, fantastic experiences and visitors at weird times and in funny circumstances. The dream was one of three that I had all the time the first one happened when I was young and involved me taking photographs of lampposts, (I know I still don’t get it even now, maybe one day I may understand it’s strange. But it gets even stranger I assure you as you will no doubt find out if you follow the story. So strange you will probably find it all very hard to believe. But on my nans life and grave god bless her it’s all true. The lampposts featured in the dream was on the street where I lived as a child. The other two dreams and all the events in my life I want to explain, I will get to as I post these episodes each day. The synchronicity events and strangeness of it all should eventually become clear and leave you questioning things in your own life and what they may mean. Maybe you have had similair experiences as myself I am almost certain there will be people out there. Get in touch and comment I will be happy to reply.

Thinking from the present as I am writing this, I felt that my childhood dreams couldn’t be ignored but now looking back maybe they shouldn't have been followed considering what happened when I followed my dreams thinking it would be nothing but all good turned into something entirely different. Hopefully eventually I will understand why, what the dream meant, if anything at all. I hope it all becomes a happy positive event and not regretting my choices as I started to after the nightmare that entered my life.

It was a warm, hopeful summer, many years after the events I explain to you here that I remembered the childhood dreams. It was a summer where dreams seemed real and obtainable. I didn't want to be just another faceless nobody, with no real reason or meaning in my life. The idea of not doing anything worth while scared me, and that's all there was to it. The dream I had as a child was going to be followed with all my will, I just didn’t expect it to lead me where it eventually did. I just wanted to do well for my family. I can’t travel back and change things. I can now only hope for the best.

My mum gave birth to me at a young age and I went to live with my grandma. I called my grandma mum and always used to get my mum and nan’s names mixed up when I talked to them so this was the appropriate solution to me as a child. When I was living with my nan-mum I had a very strange dream whilst lying on my bed upstairs. I always until this day remember the dream. It’s what I influenced me me greatly to start my photographic journey.

I was settling down in the living room waiting for my Nan to come home. Strange visions and flashbacks in daydreams. knowledge I always wondered how I knew at a young age. My mum lived in a flat and felt it would be better on that I stayed with my nan while she worked to get money and a stable life for us. I was young anyway and loved my Nan and grandad and tonight I was looking forward to spending time with my them.

My Nan had been longer than usual this evening and I was getting worried. We were going to watch a spooky film together because it was Halloween. “Where’s nan gone Grandad” My 5 year old self said “ She’s ran off with the milk man” came the reply. I never really understood what this meant, just a funny remark at the time knowing my grandads humour.

The key turned in the front door and I felt better glad his Nan was home and safe. My grandad shouted “ be back later Mary there’s some money on top of the television if you need anything I wont be too long, going to speak to a man about some work tomorow” and with that my grandad went out on foot to the local for a few pints.

Nan took off her head scarf, quickly hung it up and threw her anorak over the back of the chair. She walked slowly towards the roaring coal fire to warm up her hands, carefully avoiding the tin bath prepared for the school bath earlier. She lit up a cigarette and sat in the chair opposite the brown veneered square TV set with the 50p box on the side slowly winding its way down ready for another hexagonal queens head. The air was stale, thick with smoke and the smell of cigarettes as she inhaled twice slowly blowing the smoke towards the ceiling and away from me. Feeling satisfied She turned to me. Ive got some jacket potatoes in the oven and treacle toffee, oh and toffee apples as well your favourite. I know its early but we can treat ourselves while we watch the movie, and why not”. “Thanks mum... nan”. I regularly stuttered and got names mixed up. “Thanks nan, are you looking forward to the scary move?” I can only remember seeing a large black Alsatian but having ominous feelings about this dog and the music in the film was eerie, more scary than the actual film at the time. We didn’t get to watch much of it. The tv went black and the 50p meter clicked loudly asking for another coin. Mary got up and went to the top of the tv looking for that big silver piece, inverted triangles that meet in the centre, in the pile of coins Grandad had left for nan “ I’m afraid we haven’t got any 50ps. We will have to wait until your grandad gets back now, isn’t that a shame I was enjoying that, Just when it was getting good as well”

I felt slightly fed up and walked into the kitchen to get a toffee apple. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway I peered up to the bedroom landing. More scared now than after watching the actual film. I was thinking of the lights that came. I didn’t understand what they were but they made me feel anxious and scared. I wouldn’t look straight up tothe top of the stairs as it was too scary I had to peer out from the corner of my eye to check everything was ok up there and when I realised it was I hurriedly half jumped half ran across the front door hallway into the kitchen not once looking behind until I was at the toffee apples in the cupboard. Then peeling the yellow plastic wrapper off the sticky apple I took a bite as quickly as possible making sure to get as much of that red toffee in my mouth as possible and avoid the sour apple. I started hopping on the spot needing the toilet. The dread filled me as I knew I couldn’t go on my own up those stairs towards where the light came from. The light might get me. “ NANN, MUMM, NANN. I need the toilet will you sit on the stairs whilst I go please I’m bursting. “OK, But you should be able to go yourself”. I stood at the gas iron cooker and waited until nanmum appeared at the bottom of the stairs so I could approach the crooked steps, the lights formed in my sub conscious worried that very real and strange wisp of light might make another appearance. WHAT WAS IT. I ran to the bathroom at the top of the crooked stairs, terrified of the light appearing. I knew how it felt, never threatening at all the last time in fact quite the opposite but I was young and the not knowing scared me. “Nan don’t move, stay sat there please, I’m watching, if you go I wont be able to have a wee”, “ I wont move an inch you know that I wont” “I knew she wouldn’t let me down and trusted her more than anything” I ran up the stairs as quickly as possible looking back every two steps to make sure she hadn’t gone. When reaching the top step I kept my head and eyes straight forward not daring to look right or left and quickly went to the toilet pushing outwards as fast as possible always keeping the door open and making a backward glance towards Her for reassurance. No quicker was I finished and I was halfway back down those stairs again breathing heavily with the exertion and back with his nan. “ Why do you do that”, she said “The light comes nan it scares me” “What light?” “ I cant tell you, I want to, but I cant tell you”. Nan rolled her eyes and said, “You’ve been watching too many horror movies at aunty carols your imagination is wild”. I didn’t even hear Marys remark I was just so relieved to be back beside his nan and safe again.

Nan eventually found a 50p and walked over to the meter fumbling to find the right angle, the perfect spot so it would wind and drop, it clicked and fell into the empty box readily, having been emptied the day before. The TV came to life and Mary switched over to coronation street. Hilda was sat with Stan underneath the triple flying ducks in the living room and it reminded Stefan of his nan and grandad, Gail was also my other mum. I always made these comparisons with everyone in the tv and read their names backwards. “thats enough scary movies for tonight said nan. I think its best don’t you” “Aww Nan I wanted to watch till the end”.

My nan didn’t answer. She just gave me that look. She always knew the answer it was a sort of instinct she had. A knowing. We connected like that. We rarely had to speak we both knew the other like the inside of a well read secret book. I always felt content around her, it was like she could read my mind and the looks she gave me spoke a thousand words resonating on a much deeper level. When you feel the answer with your subconscious voice, those continuous thoughts, in your mind you don’t have to speak but your heart knows.

I was getting sleepy now but my stress levels were rising with the thought of bedtime, they always did especially on a Sunday night, a school night brought depression. It wasn’t school though that scared me, a small part maybe, but it was knowing I had to go to bed early on my own and face the light and the vastness of open space. The people in my dreams. The place between awake and falling asleep where the strange existed. The light outside the door on the landing, so bright and beautiful it would fill my room when I shut my eyes. When it touched my mind I was taken away to an immense blackness of what seemed like outer space. Where feelings crossed over and smells mixed with colours in ultraviolet strings that wrapped around my arms and merged with needles that pierced the tips of my fingers in moments of pleasure accompanied by a peculiar watering of the mouth, a sickly feeling. Floating around in what seemed like an endless universe of random screen images. Pixelated people and smooth two dimensional places wrapped up in tubes of light. It made no sense at all but felt strange and infinite, never endingly good at the same instant. Chattering noises and a great feeling of love wrapped in greater love and surrounded by humanoid like shapes manipulating it like a Rubin’s cube in an instance where all time stood still. silence for what felt like an eternity of singular moments posed inside each other, but was only a second in reality. Not past, present or future but only “is”. The light was so bright and perfect it became transparent emotion to the pit of my soul. To me it was normal I thought everyone must get visits by the light people. I find it hard to explain the happenings now I’ve grown up, but as a child I just couldn’t comprehend what was happening and that night was the start of something strange and beautiful that led to the worst and best time of my life all wrapped into one. If only I understood it as I understand things now as I walked towards the crooked stairs.

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scotthastiepoet · 3 years

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Scott Hastie - SYNDICATED INTERVIEW

THE VERY BUSINESS OF POETRY ITSELF

One poet’s view from the UK

See -

http://www.scotthastie.com/?p=5426

Hi Scott, do please tell us how you go about writing, how you organise your day?

"I am fortunate to have a smallish study all to myself, up in the loft, which looks out over open fields and a tree-lined skyline. Here I have quiet, cocooned space overlooking the English countryside (almost in the clouds…) and absolutely everything I need. Far, far away from anything else – phones, computers, tablets and door bells, especially…

For me, as a full time writer, a fairly rigorous, almost monastic daily routine is very important and underpins all my efforts. Not just in creating an exterior environment that is conducive to a concentrated and undisturbed focus on my craft – but one that also allows important preparatory time of an almost religious nature - given the spiritual themes that run through my work.

On a normal day, this would involve around two hours of advance preparation: morning exercise (normally running in the countryside and/or rowing) followed by breathing exercises, body stretches and meditation, sometimes some music also – before even beginning to think about any writing…

Having also eaten simply, I then would normally write in silence for between two to four hours – losing any sense of time, till my body tells me it is time to refuel. Immediately after lunch, I would then have a shorter 1-2 hour session (often the most exciting time of the day when earlier writing can begin to coalesce) Evenings are then usually important down-time from what is a quite an intense and tiring process. However I would still normally have a couple of short sessions early, right after my evening meal and also last thing before bed – which are more about reviewing existing work and quick, little polishing sessions – looking afresh and anew at whatever has emerged that day.

For me, it’s very important that every day (whether a writing day or not) begins and ends with me quietly reading through my last half a dozen pieces – in order hopefully to stay ‘in the flow’ and ‘in the voice’, clinging on tightly to that ‘silken thread’ that, once it slips from your grasp, can often be so hard to regain! Unless I’m away travelling or have specific social commitments, then EVERY day is a writing day.

I also have three identical and rather wonderful little digital voice recorders that literally go everywhere with me (one stays by the bed) so that, whatever I’m up to, I have some chance of capturing all those amazing little thoughts and insights that come to you, just out the blue - And as if by magic! These I call my ‘fragments’ and they usually come when you are in the throws of just doing something else, entirely - or just surfacing from sleep, for example. Rather than just sitting down somewhat deliberately: ‘to write some poetry! ’Previously so, so many of these fragments would have just got lost in the ether forever, before I started to adopt this method and built it into my daily resources and routine.

How on earth does a poem begin to emerge on a blank screen or piece of paper?

Yes well then, beyond the general details of my day to day creative practice, I am often asked to describe exactly how I go about creating an individual poem. Firstly I have to say, in my view, you should never ever sit down to compose on a blank piece of paper - that, I think, is a big mistake many make. Furthermore, which really surprises many of my readers, neither do I ever start with a preconceived theme to write about.

Instead, I simply begin with some of these fragments, as described above, stored on a page; importantly with the most recent at the top... (as I calculate these should be the best reflection of your most current sub-conscious interests) and then see what begins to happen. Which stir you? Which begin to link together? (as per William Burroughs celebrated ‘cut out’ technique) and which prompt you to write on, some more?

And then usually, for me at least (given the immediately preceding minutes I have already invested in meditating and ‘getting in the voice’) something soon starts to take shape and I simply go with the flow and follow its lead... And of course, once the guts of a theme is out and has been safely captured on the page – then it is always possible (and often wise!) to have a break - knowing its detail and narrative is safe and can always be polished later. So this is truly how the nuts and bolts of the creative process works for me, anyway.

What drives and inspires you to write?

All my life (and for reasons I can’t quite be sure of) I have always been a seeker in the spiritual sense and always very ambitious to live life to the full. Whenever I am blessed with special moments or insights in my life, then my first instinct is to share the light and energy that comes from this experience with others. I am particularly keen to reach younger readers and students, still at a formative time in their lives and am always especially gratified when this group of readers, in particular, is touched by my work.

I suppose, at the core of my creative effort, is an attempt to try and present and illuminate a runway ahead, if you like... Fed directly by my own being and experience – in the hope that it resonates. My personal mode of doing this is, of course, as an artist and as a poet in particular.

Who are your greatest influences?

Beyond my own personal experience of living my life as fully as possible, I have always also been uplifted and inspired by reading other writers. After all, what greater gift and truer pleasure can there be that the opportunity to read and absorb, to have an internal dialogue yourself with some of the greatest minds and souls that have ever lived? Especially in antiquity, just think how exciting it is to be able to get to know the ancient, elemental voices in Beowulf, the colours of Ovid, the technical wizardry of Flaubert, the vision of Blake, the wisdom and majesty of Gibran or Rilke, for example.

My passion for poetry was ignited, as an impressionable adolescent, by schoolboy studies of the great English Romantic poets in particular – Wordsworth, Keats and, for me, Coleridge in particular. The work of William Blake and some of the truly great French writers like Rimbaud, Verlaine and Baudelaire were also a great influence. Shakespeare was of course the most glowing and effortless example of someone who had truly found their own voice and, in all likelihood, could write as fast as he could speak... As a student, I was both inspired and awestruck by that – to the extent it seemed like my lifetime’s challenge was going to be the long journey to begin to find my very own true voice.

How difficult was it to get started?

I soon began writing my own poetry in earnest at college, where I was studying to be a librarian and where I was also then editor of the student magazine for Brighton Polytechnic and Sussex University. Quite quickly I became one of many quite active, but relatively obscure either young small press or self-published poets. However, my work always seemed to sell well and was, at the time, unusual for always being published profitably. Thereby becoming a useful second income supporting the family life of a chartered librarian – in the auspicious tradition of a Larkin! Though in my case, the career was in public, rather than academic libraries.

What do you think were the key developments in your literary career?

Significant published collections of my poetry didn’t really appear till I had a family of my own and was already in my thirties. This was largely on the back of commercial success in other genres – when I was fortunate to author a series of quite lavish and lucrative illustrated local history books. Around this time, I also wrote Reunion, a fast-paced romantic thriller, which remains my only novel to date.

Nowadays I write full time, focusing as squarely as possible on poetry once more. A newer transitional collection of my work Meditationswas first published in 2013, focusing more on the philosophic and spiritual themes, with another similar but more substantial and comprehensive collection: Angel Voices soon following in the Autumn of 2014. Along with these and my novel, two other earlier collections of my poetry remain in print today: Selected Poetry, a hardback edition and New Poetry, a later title published in paperback only. On account of growing interest, both theses titles now only very recently re-issued as e books in early 2021.

As you will by now probably know, further titles and new collections soon followed - threads in 2016 and then Pranic Poetry in 2020, the theme of which was fuelled by what I learnt and managed to absorb from a couple of years highly insightful study of Pranic Healing, under the auspices of the Institute of Pranic Healing here in the UK. By this time, there was much broader interest and appreciation of my work around the world, energised by an exponential growth of visits to my showcase website scotthastie.com - which now generates millions of hits every year from all around the world. Interest in my work continues to grow exponentially, I think significantly encouraged but the pandemic induced lockdown around the world, which encouraged so many more folk to do two vital things - Read more... and also Re-evaluate their potential and what their life was really about... which of course lies at the very heart of what my poetry speaks to. This was the reason which prompted us to bring forward by a year my two 30th career anniversary retrospective 'Best Of'' collections - Timeless: the best of Scott Hastie's poetry 1990-2020 and it's companion volume Splinters of Light: quotations from the poetry of Scott Hastie in 2020.

Sounds like the internet has played a big part in your success?

Yes your right. Initially social media was a pretty new departure for me and something I was, to be honest, something I was initially rather reluctant about – but still very much initially encouraged to get involved with by the people at Raygun who designed and launched www.scotthastie.com here in the UK in 2012. In addition, I had also always been so conscious of all the other potential pitfalls there are out there for anyone seeking to write anything significant – be it the lure of fame or fortune, or the seduction of style over substance, for example. And, as always stressed by David Lidgate, my spiritual mentor here in the UK, particularly the importance of not wasting valuable energies on promotion and ‘staying in the bubble’ - if truly serious about maximising the potential you have as a writer.

Having said this, I am glad I did listen to Raygun and we have since developed approaches that make this work for me, without literally taking more than a hour or so of my time every day… Even from my limited experience to date. Like it or not, there can be no doubt that options like Twitter Facebook & Instagram (for general public) and LinkedIn (for peer group connections) are immensely powerful engines of efficient sharing and global communication, helping to steer people from all round the world to my web site. The web site itself scotthastie.com which has a built in blog - for both general comment and also on individual poems - has also exceeded all expectations since it was launched. And all this from a standing start and with no marketing spend to speak of!

There is no doubt that the use of social media and also involvement with writing groups has played its part here. Although my books have long since found their way to most countries around the world, for me, as a writer, the key transformative effect here has been, for the first time, getting my work out much more effectively to a worldwide audience. And, of course, the surprises that come from this. For example, the scale of enthusiastic positive interest, now evident from the US in particular and also from India and some Arab states initially caught us off guard, to be honest. But is obviously very welcome, nevertheless.

So in summary, I am now a definite convert! Just twenty years ago, it simply would have not been possible at all for me to even dream of reaching the audience I do now, without huge investment from a major corporate publishing house. So it does literally transform everything. What I now say to those that ask is that: in this new world, I have two principal endeavours: Firstly - to write as well as I can, then Secondly - to be as serious and cooperative as I can be about getting my work to be read by as many people as possible. Hence, for example, my investment of time in contributing to blogs, as well as online art & literary print journals, both as a way of conveying an understanding of what I am aiming to do AND equally importantly sharing with and encouraging others – which I also find to be very satisfying and rewarding.

Though, much as the Internet does such a brilliant job for us, as writers and creative artists generally (in terms of being able to reach out and find a worldwide audience so cost effectively and without being totally reliant on the big and often greedy corporates) we all still know that the delicious feeling of having that intimate 'one to one' dialogue with the mind of another, by holding a beautifully finished printed book in your hand, just cannot be bettered or ever replaced. As validated by the simple fact that today there are more books being written and commercially published than ever before. End of any possible argument about all that there, methinks!

What excites you most about what you have achieved so far and what are you still looking to achieve with your writing?

For me, the most exciting development in my writing (in addition to the more cogent and mature voice I seem to have been blessed with, past two years or so...) is the way my poetry now seems to be truly reaching out and touching people across all social, cultural, political and faith boundaries. Much more than all the money in the world! I honestly just couldn’t want for more than that.

In that sense I’m now Living the Dream… And it therefore has become very important to me that I pay back all the blessings I’ve been given, by writing as well as I possibly can – And that, in truth, is what the rest of my creative life is about, really.

What do you consider to be the central themes and characteristics of your poetry?

On the technical front, I have always been ardent in my belief that, as far as possible, a poem should speak entirely for itself. Perhaps more so than any other art form, surely this has to be truest for poetry? Whose principal aim is to distil an experience or insight down to the absolute essence. To my mind the voice of the piece should therefore always be much stronger and clearer than any artist’s commentary or critic’s voice could ever provide.

I regard the over-arching theme of my work to be a personal investigation into the positive potential of the human spirit. This I think is clearly evident, running through most of my poems. Not that I believe my work can ever be said to be some sweet pastoral panacea, because it never shies away from pain or suffering – and is prepared to also explore the darkness, as well as the light and, crucially, the fundamental significance of their inter reaction. This being, to me, the absolute axis (the truly dynamic and crucial interdependence of the light and dark, of joy and sorrow, of love and loss, in the grand Romantic tradition) and that key notion of duality which I hope still lies solidly at the heart of my work and my approach.

I remain determined always to be challenging enough to try and reach deep into the core of the meaning of the human experience - although I do readily accept that, as my work has developed and I have grown older, my voice has also become more reflective and spiritual in its emphasis.

I have always aimed, at any time in my career, to be as simply expressed and as readily accessible as possible – For me, this is a vital component of all my work to date. And it is here that you can also hopefully see how simple often short line length structures also play their part – though still carefully shaped for emphasis, controlled rhythm and musicality that lifts key passages, enhances meaning and always looks to carefully and lyrically draw the reader towards the concluding climax of any piece. The success of which for me is always a critical consideration and the key litmus test of success of any particular poem.

How do you define what is poetry and what is not?

A very common question… Many people from different cultures often talk to me around notions of: ‘What is poetry?’ And indeed the significance, or otherwise, of traditionally rhyming schemes and syllabic metrical structures. For me, it is very stark and straightforward– ‘a poem’ is ‘a poem’ if it calls itself one – similarly ‘a poet’ is ‘a poet’ if he/she deems to call themselves one. No more complicated than that, I’m afraid. This doesn’t mean, of course, that any self-declared poet is necessarily a viable or good one - Hey! Ho!

Similar to the old days and all the discussion about what was then ‘art’ and not ‘art’ – painters and sculptors (musicians even) I think have been much more successful than poets in throwing off the shackles of the past, in my view. Both, in terms of the general public’s and even (sad to say!) most of the established ‘literary world’ and academia’s on-going perception on this issue.

That is not to say poetry that rhymes, or strictly follows a consistent metrical rule throughout is not of value – Obviously! Just as clearly as say Jackson Pollock or Rothko’s work does not trump Michelangelo’s. Without a doubt, some of the most inspiring and effective poetry ever written falls firmly into this more traditional category.

So there you go! I am a poet, unabashed, pure and simple! And if pressed (often tediously on the subject...) I will concede – Yes, I indeed write mainly what is often described as ‘free’ or ‘blank’ verse. Writing that’s not (being a child of the glorious Sixties and Seventies!) also without some ‘concrete’ influences, as I mention later.

However lyrical flow and emphasis are always essential to my work, as discussed earlier and I am not averse (excuse the pun!) to using rhyme or slipping into conventional structures, whenever they feel right. Sometimes, I even find myself writing haikus, mid-poem, without even being conscious I’m doing it! No surprise there really – as some of the deepest, most ancient of structures are precisely that: felt, rather than abstractly and mathematically constructed... Stretching back to an oral story telling tradition – when such effects were first discovered instinctively for enhancing dramatic effects and aiding memory, given that nothing was then written down – but simply retold, from generation to generation.

That being said, I always have one regular tactic up my sleeve to settle any argument, if necessary, regarding my credentials and credeibility as a ‘poet’. I ask the person concerned to read any poem of mine they wish and then promptly present them with a full prose essay conveying the very same message as the poem – Trust me, that is guaranteed to shut up even the sternest of sceptics, who all of sudden have no option but to concede there is clearly much ‘poetry’ there after all!

And, of course, overriding all this - Of one thing I have always been sure - Poetry is the purest of all art forms. Now, within that, we know all too well how the term ‘blank verse’ can be used in a pejorative way – where as ‘free verse’ self-evidently cannot. So a poet writing 'free verse' is what I proudly and ultimately lay claim to be. And writing free verse that will joyfully adopt whatever technique, structure pattern or lyrical tone (in and out, however traditional... however not…) as I see fit. And as I determine the mood, the nuance, the meaning of the piece demands.

And how truly blessed I feel given that, so clearly, poetry is the highest of all art forms and stands up there, entirely on its own level. And furthermore, doubly blessed! For, to be honest, during much of my earlier life, I could so easily can have been seduced away. For example, there have been so many times in my life when, if the devil himself had offered me the chance to be a say a singer, lyricist or wonderfully visually expressive painter, then I would have literally pulled his arm off, there and then!

Because these are of course the more immediately attractive and fashionable art forms that, in our current culture especially, can so much more easily grab the world’s attention and still go on to establish some kind of meaningful and soulful relevance. However, inevitably within them, the message has at least to be in part compromised, diluted by the medium. Whereas, for the poet, the message can come through strong and pure and can be delivered in full - Direct and Undiluted. So, although we often have a harder road to travel for sure, blessed indeed are the poets!

Your passion for what you do is very evident, what has challenged you most?

The first thing to say is that is no easy road to travel, rather a very demanding one, requiring persistent and dedicated effort over a good number of years. Going back to my youth, the first person to truly believe in me and what I had to offer beyond my lifelong friend, the precociously knowledgeable and ultimately ambitious painter, Ian Stirling was an idealistic young teacher called Robert Peel, who was my A level (higher grade) tutor of French Literature at Secondary (High) School. He was the first to open my eyes as to what might be possible and who (pretty uniquely and significantly at that time, when I was at my most rebellious and errant) still encouraged me to be myself and follow my dream. Consequently, I am forever in his debt…

Beyond that, I have worked hard most of my life to deliberately avoid being schooled by academic influences and laboured, mainly alone – albeit with the bright lanterns of what, for me, are key timeless and luminous voices like those of Gibran, Blake and Rilke to guide me on my way.

As we have already touched on briefly above – in terms of how technically I approach the challenging business of structuring of my work - then the Haiku tradition, with emphasis on focusing down and distilling the essence of what you want to say has had an on-going (if often not always directly and technically applied) obvious influence on my work. Personally, I will also always be permanently indebted for the technical breakthroughs achieved the pioneering Scottish Concrete poets, Ian Hamilton Finlay and Edwin Morgan – which really helped me see a clear way forward for myself, in terms of beginning to develop a style I feel is my own.

Is it really possible for any poet to really have his voice properly heard in the 21st century?

Like to think I am living proof that it can be done! That said, whatever anyone’s influences and any environment they find themselves operating in, I freely acknowledge that the most significant challenge faced by any writer is to truly find their own voice. And to be honest with you, I do get very weary of what sometimes seems like the endless procession of often technically, as well as intellectually talented young writers - on both sides of the Pond, simply schooled to echo the styles and mores of whatever is judged to then be fashionable by a self-serving established literary elite. To some extent, this is inevitable, I suppose... And it is perhaps unreasonable for me to imagine otherwise! But then again, as we have discussed earlier, I believe the power of the internet has played a very valuable role here in loosening this stifling stranglehold.

Also, as mentioned earlier, my tendency anyway has always been to be a bit of a lone wolf, by artistic and spiritual necessity. Thereby I believe giving yourself the time and space to conjure up a strong and unique voice that can really punch through.

I have noticed that nearly all your poems don’t have titles, why is that?

Yes, I do have a few such idiosyncrasies as a poet: And one of these is that, unless dedicated to a particular individual or location, I have never believed in giving titles to my poems. In the spirit of the haiku and my earlier answers about technique, what I say to those who question me as to why this is (and my answer often surprises or sometimes annoys many) Namely: 'if you can truly conjure a meaningful title for a poem, then, my friend, perhaps that should be the poem itself!!' And, for me, the first few words of a poem and page number will always serve as a sufficient identifier - so who needs titles anyway!

My other significant idiosyncrasy is that, despite the fact that I have the utmost respect for the practice of being a ‘performance poet’ – this is something I NEVER do - despite what it costs me in terms of the loss of promotional opportunities. In common with my practice of not using titles for my work, this also surprises some. But what I say to this is that I myself have always written so deliberately to be ‘read in the head’ rather than declaimed. All I can say here is that, for me as a poet, this is much more important and multi-dimensional opportunity and moreover, a preciously unique and timely dialogue between you and any individual reader, all of whom are different characters, with different histories, preoccupations and issues.

For example, would I trust anyone? (myself included!) to do full justice to one of my poems in oral recital – frankly not! Also would I really want to interfere at all with the very special music any one person could make (in their very own way and with the singular benefit of their unique experiences and resonances) with one of my pieces in their own head – Again, not really! Indeed some of my readers do tell me that they read my poetry aloud to themselves, quite often. And that, of course, is just marvellous! And exactly how it should be...

Given all the success you’ve had to date Scott, what still drives you on to keep writing?

As to my ultimate ambition as a writer, it is certainly not, nor ever has been Fame and Fortune... (which we all know is much more easily garnered in today's world by being pretty much anything other than a poet!) Rather, it’s always been all about something very different and much more enduring.

Something that I blessedly first became aware of so early in my life, via both my communion with my close friend, the unique, truly exceptional Ian Stirling and also the illuminating effect of a charmed incident that took place on an early journey to Italy, as described in the Foreword/Introduction to both Timeless and Splinters:

"For me, there was only ever one true ambition in life. From that charmed moment in the Pantheon in Rome, watching on as a beautifully elegant young woman walked reverentially across the marble floor of this extraordinary historic building to place a single red rose of the tomb of the painter Raphael. There and then, an insight immediately crystallized around a noble purpose for my life. Ever more certain now that my task was now leave behind something true and beautiful, fashioned from my own life’s experience that might have some chance of touching, moving and inspiring others, many, many years later. Surely, as an eager and idealistic young man, that was all I could ever hope for. And so, the die was cast!"

A wonderful story…

What are you reading at the moment?

Currently, I would recommend the stunning and very contemporary work of NY poet Sharon Olds, one time winner of the T.S. Eliot Poetry Prize and also the poignant work of Irish poet Dennis O’Driscoll. I am also currently re-reading Marcus Aurelius and Rumi - Timeless wisdom that never fails to prompt and inspire. Additionally, I am rather addicted to rather a lot of exotic travelling round the world, spending time with and tasting other cultures – which also never fails to nourish my soul – As does spending truly precious time with my family, close friends and young grandchildren who do so much to rejuvenate my spirits, by showing me the world, as it is - fresh and new again."

Thank you Scott for your time today and being so generous with your thoughts. A very fascinating interview.

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Syndicated interview

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