#lune: prose of lettering

[attickit]

Bonking my head against a wall. I have my priorities on my Focus page/post but like...hhhhhhh...it's really slow going. I have inspiration but this brain is just not helpful. No words coming out and I'm getting real tired of that

#lune: prose of lettering #i want to finish Camillia so much cause i want to be able to give kris her request #and any of my moots who know kris and are reading my tags shhhhh #im working on it ok #also i would love someone to just help me with some back and forth for my dnd au #cause getting those spell list together for the boys is a mental solo struggle #junsey help pls

[ninolloween]

Review of Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami

When I started Norwegian Wood, I was taken away immediately. I picked up this book at a time in my life when the premise of Toru’s story closely matched my own. I was 19 and about to turn 20 in one of the world’s biggest cities. And worse, I was in love. Love with complications.

 I fell in love with Murakami’s writing from the very first chapter. I recall a specific passage from the first few pages when Watanabe is reminiscing the days he’d spent with the girl he loved 18 years ago. 

“I didn't give a damn about the scenery that day. I was thinking about myself. I was thinking about the beautiful girl walking next to me. I was thinking about the two of us together, and then about myself again. I was at that age, that time of life when every sight, every feeling, every thought came back, like a boomerang, to me. And worse, I was in love. Love with complications. Scenery was the last thing on my mind.” 

This passage was beyond beautiful to me, I recall reading it over and over when I first laid my eyes on it. I had been listening to Clair de Lune as loud as humanly possible in my ears. The sun had finally come out in London and the girl I loved was sleeping beside me. I had shut off anything but the music and the book in front of me.

Throughout my experience reading this book, I tried relentlessly to chase this feeling again, and Murakami’s writing and prose in the earlier chapters definitely got the feeling close. I loved hearing about Toru settling into university with Storm-trooper and hearing him speak of Kizuki, Naoko and their history. I could sense all of the potential paths this book could explore with their love and mental states after Kizuki’s death; and how Midori’s presence later in the book would affect this. 

However, I have not been more disappointed with a story before in such a long time. 

There were so many hopes I was not aware I had until after the book disappointed them. 

I think the book began to deteriorate once Naoko went away to the mental facility. Because at this point, the book began to lose the dynamic that made it the most intriguing. Now, I’m aware Norwegian Wood isn’t a novel about the love between Naoko and Toru, it’s a novel about Toru remembering his life 18 years ago. And Naoko is only supposed to be a chapter, albeit a significant one, in the novel retelling his younger days. 

But it seems like the more I repeat this to myself the more confused I am with Murakami’s vision with this story. Because frankly, Toru simply is not a character written well enough to justify a novel retelling his younger days from his perspective alone. And I think that is the main issue I have with this novel. Where Toru resembles the flatness of a street built of gravel, Murakami wants us to believe he is a mountain that scrapes the skies. 

I initially thought it was intentional how Toru seems to revolve his entire life around the women he meets. For the first half of the novel we get a glimpse at Toru’s university life. I enjoyed reading his conflicted view on the political groups in his student group and his interactions with storm trooper were filled with so much chemistry. I was crossing my fingers that he’d become a main character and perhaps Murakami could explore their friendship and how it could parallel him and Kizuki. I was beyond excited! 

But, to my disappointment, Storm trooper just flat out left their university and never appeared again. And any sort of conflict to do with his university is written with no more complexity than a simple “this thing happened, and this is how i felt I guess”

 If Toru Watanabe isn’t writing a letter to Naoko, thinking about Naoko’s breasts, thinking about Midori’s breasts or spending time with either of them, he is doing the most mundane things imaginable. And every time I notice this, I wonder why Murakami decided to base a whole novel off of him.

For me, Naoko was the novel's central character. The novel is literally titled after Naoko's favourite song, which should be sufficient proof, but to each their own. She was a character that was the centre and heart of the novel. A heart submerged by darkness beneath a vast ocean, the only light that ever lets it be seen being cast from Toru. And this is what disappointed me the most about this novel.

Despite thinking that the portrayal of her mental health wasn’t exactly the best, I was still so intrigued to read of her inner thoughts whenever she wrote to Watanabe. But, we never get to see this side of her unless she is writing to him. This would not be a problem in itself however, if it wasn’t for the absolute letdown of a lead that Toru is. 

Naoko was Kizuki's girlfriend when he died. She and Watanabe both felt a strong connection to him and travelled to Tokyo for the same reason: to escape the town where he died and everyone they knew. But, unlike Toru, Naoko harbours a mental illness she suffered from since before Kizuki’s passing. I mentioned how her sudden disappearance was when the novel began to disappoint me. But I think it is because of the wasted potential in exploring more about Naoko. Instead of seeing how Naoko dealt with the death of her lover, after dealing with the death of her sister. Then sleeping with your lover’s best friend on your 20th birthday, an event that caused a commotion so wide she had to leave the city without notice to recover. 

I really wanted to learn about her mental condition and inner dialogue. Not only would this have been a well-deserved respite from Toru's point of view, but it might have effectively looked into the novel's themes of adulthood and mental health.

Instead, we get an in-depth account of Toru's travel to the site, with Naoko only interested in how many women he has slept with. We hear a lot about Naoko's condition through Reiko, but we only see it through Toru's eyes. And it appears like sleeping with Naoko is Toru's top priority. The same appears to be true for Murakami.

I cannot think of any reason other than Toru is supposed to be a self insert character that young men without a girlfriend in their early uni days should imagine themselves as. Because the way that every woman Toru interacts with has their bodies so sexualised for absolutely no reason must have been intentional right? But, after some research, a lot of people agree that this aspect is just a Murakami aspect. As all of his novels include this issue. 

However, I think this could be easily fixed. If I were to have been Haruki Murakami’s editor in 1985 I’d have suggested he remove so many of the chapters of Toru's everyday life and perhaps include a few chapters exploring the other characters further from their own perspectives. This would’ve been the most logical solution, to be able to see how others perceive Toru, especially Naoko during her days in the mental facility, would’ve been a page turner for me. 

There are many other topics I'd want to point out, but these are the ones that I'm most strongly invested in. I tried so hard to fall in love with this book. But I couldn't.

1/5 Stars.

#norwegian wood #book review #some spoilers #haruki murakami #book blog #Japan #collegiate life #70s #booklr #books #bookworm

[em-gray]

TGGTVAV fanfic recs

hi all! earlier today i was lamenting this fandom did not seem to have any fic recs posts, but then i realized i could just make one of those myself! so here you have it, a random collection of some of my favorite tggtvav fics, briefly summarized and somewhat sorted! long post ahead

Canon compliant/canon era

- claire de lune by goldenthunderstorms: Pre-GG, Percy and Monty dance at a party. Extremely soft, extremely tender, the yearning is so strong. 2.2k.

- “with you by my side, there’s nothing else i want” by future_fae_king: Post-LG! Extremely cute one-shot featuring miscommunication and marriage proposals. 7.1k.

- he brought with him the summer by greener_pastures (MisPronounce_and_MisAccent). Pre-GG. Canon era friends with benefits fic!! This fic’s beautiful prose never fails to take my breath away. 4.1k.

- Explain This To Me by lady_flash. Post-GG, Percy and Felicity talk about Monty and Percy's relationship. 2.2k.

- To my darling Monty, by HeleneInTheClouds. A mysterious and heart-wrenching epistolary fic with canon-divergence. I will not know peace until I know how it ends. 5.3k, 30/50 chapters.

Modern era

- The Not-Gentleman’s Guide to Coming Out by the_jennster. Nonbinary Monty! Established Mercy! An absolute gem. 1.8K.

- To the Letter by pinstripedJackalope. Monty works at a bookstore, Percy is a famous musician. Trans Percy! Bookbinding! Falling in love! 19.3k, 7/14 chapters.

- The Beautiful Game by lady_flash. Monty and Percy are footballers! An absolute rollercoaster of a fic and a true fandom classic. Who knew reading about sports could be fun? M-rated, 62k, 13/13 chapters. (And it has an in-progress sequel!! As well as a very spicy one-shot continuation.)

- for fear your grace should fall by future_fae_king. Monty is a professional dancer, Percy is an indie artist, they get paired up on the dance competition show Nine to Jive. Trans Percy! Nonbinary Monty! Showbizz drama! And much, much glitter. 14.7k, 5/? chapters.

- altarcations by goldenthunderstorms. Monty and Percy get paired up on a Married at First Sight-type show, and everything that comes from that. Beautiful fic that will hit all the emotions. 65.7k, 4/5 chapters.

- invisible letters to disappeared darlings by coyotestoryteller. A SVTHSA-inspired AU. Extremely poignant and one of the most poetic fics in the tag. (And it has a cute little continuation one-shot!!) 13.5k, 6/6 chapters.

- broken oaths & bleeding hearts by pjobroadwayslut14. Vampire hunter Percy, vampire Monty, need I say more? 37.7k, 7/14 chapters.

- Hospital Beds by Pink_Cactus. This one goes out to the angst-lovers: five times Monty and Percy spent in hospitals together. It remains to date unfinished, which is a crime because it is a masterpiece. 27.4k, 4/5 chapters.

- The College Student’s Guide to Sex and Stage Plays by lady_flash and nottherealmontynewton. Little self-promo here as I co-author the fic (yes that’s my burner sdgsdgds) but I’m just really really proud of it. Percy is struggling with a crush and Monty offers to help him out. Friends with benefits! College cryptid Monty! Zero braincells. M-rated, 44.6k, 9/11 chapters.

Other AUs

- What Lurks Behind the Looking Glass by pinstripedJackalope. A very funky, vibe-y fic that isn't like anything else in the tag. Bottle messages? Mermaid Percy? Magic mirrors? This fic’s got it all. E-rated, 6.2k, 1/2 chapters.

- So you wanna marry Jeanne? by A_Butter_Churner. A Princess and the Frog AU! Only at its first chapter, but looking very promising. 2.4k, 1/15 chapters.

- Wilkommen by Random2002. Private detective Percy! Cabaret dancer Monty! Only two chapters in, but a fantastic time so far. 6.1k, 2/? chapters.

honestly i love too many fics so i will probably make a continuation of this post!! and if anyone ever wants any specific recs feel free to hmu <3

#the gentleman's guide to vice and virtue #tggtvav #monty montague #percy newton #the lady's guide to petticoats and piracy #tlgtpap #fic recs #em rambles #long post

[sumeshi-t]

issa 21 questions tagging thing

tagged by: @crappykaashi uwu ty bby

rules: answer 21 questions then tag 21 people (lmao u wish)

name: LFADG

nickname: huehue Lee

gender: fem

star sign: gemini

height: OH NO I HATE THIS QUESTION 155cm

current time: 12:25

fave artists: damn son uh Ariana Grande, BIGBANG, Noah Centineo,

song stuck in my head: Fancy by Iggy Azalea because of the antibody IgG my LORD IgG y 🤦🏻‍♀️

last movie i saw: ...The Grudge

the last thing i googled: "anatomy flash cards"

other blogs: used to have a kuroshitsuji confessions blog but ehhh deleted it

do i get asks: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA no

reason for URL: well it used to be like a few letters off my name, but then i asked for a url prose somewhere and kinda had to change it because it looked like my url was just a bunch of randomly typed letters together haha so i immediately thought of something that described me perfectly

following: 439

average sleep: 5-7 hours

lucky number: 5, 21, 23, 24

currently wearing: clothes ;----)

dream job: pediatrician

dream trip: rome greece london japan and back to korea again

fave foods: too many to mention

instruments: my voice jUST KIDDING I DONT SING

fave song: is tHIS THE RREEEAAAL LIFEEE IS IT JUST FANTASSYY lmao for the next three days yes

**SO TUMBLR'S DUMBASS didn't really post the real thing lmao embarrassing

tagging: @mme-hajime @floofwrites @haikyuuwriting @amour-sur-la-lune @rivamikatrash @sportanime-maniac ah yeah anyone ??? who wanna do this ????

[capjuby]

Où est-elle ::: Koté Li Yé || r. erica doyle

Il y a longtemps j’ai rencontré Un joli garçon

Ensemble nous dormions Dans le ventre de ma mère

Maintenant les rues de nos pères Se soulèvent pour le manger :: Tout ce qui est noir est interdit au Paradis

Dans mes bras mon frère dort, ses dents des perles

Je fais don de la nuit pour que ce somme il puisse avoir :: J’abandonne l’homme qui m’a fait blanche

J’abandonne l’homme qui a libéré ma mère

Je prie à côté de mon crâne

Mon scalp se déroule

:: Je lui fais un nid gris au-dedans de mon cerveau

ma mère dort et rêve de gènes

lèvres mauves vives sur le rachis il respire. Le ciel :: ploie dans mes yeux cherchant sa peau

Les pales d’hélicoptères envahissent notre paix :::

Où est ce Noir Où est-ce Où :: Les pales tranchent, gémissent martèlent les coupoles

Je le fais glisser au bas et hors de mes vertèbres le petit

Il se précipite au bas de l’os et de l’océan :: navigue jusqu’à la maison dans un bateau taillé dans du gommier

Quand il atteint notre île tout le monde est soulagé

bien qu’ils ne m’aient pas oubliée, belsé :: Où est ta sœur, hein ? Où’qu’ ?

Koté belsé yé? Où’qu’?

Koté li yé Koté li yé

Sur le sable Sur la mer parmi les étoiles

Koté li yé Koté li yé Dans l’egun monocellulaire Dans la lune torpide

Koté li yé Koté li yé :: Là :::

Koté li yé se drape autour d’un bâton ; scintille électrique dans le halo d’un taser ; tari à l’aide une bouteille en verre ; :: Là :::

Koté li yé vagin bouche bée dans la nuit ; nuque pendille tendue à des sacs plastiques et des cordes pauvrement nouées ; :: Là :::

Koté li yé belsé Koté?

:::          Je brûle

ma peau brille plus noire, plus laquée

:::          non-mwen sé                  flambó

les cendres tremblent dans le clair de lune

:::         without humanity

fumant mes os enfument le futur

:::          pa bwè afwéchi pou lafiyèv dòt moun

original version on poets.org

photo: widevision photography 

“I shared my mother’s womb with a brother and feel infinitely protective of him; the killings of black men at the hands of the state feels personal, as does working against the causes of this violence, and this poemacknowledges the labor of black women to uplift and protect their communities. Like many other black women in the United States, I, too, have been subjected to racial profiling by law enforcement and am deeply affected by the stories of sexual abuse and murder of women—particularly black, trans, and indigenous women—by those in power. I wrote this poem in solidarity with the #SAYHERNAME movement, which seeks to elevate and address the abuse of and violence against women by authorities. The poem asks, both in English and in Trinidadian French Patois—my grandmother’s native language —‘where is your sister?’ which reminds us to always ask about women and girls. It ends with a Patois proverb that translates roughly to ‘you cannot cure your own illness with the medicine of another’—reminding us that to address injustice, we must use a fine-grained, intersectional approach.” —r. erica doyle

r. erica doyle was born in Brooklyn to Trinidadian immigrant parents.  She earned a BA at Georgetown University, an MFA at The New School, and an MA at New York University. In her poems, she engages themes of intimacy, hunger, and power through the body.

Selected by poet Maggie Nelson, her debut collection, proxy (Belladonna* Books, 2013), won the 2014 Norma Farber First Book Award from the Poetry Society of America and was a Finalist for the Lambda Literary Award in Lesbian Poetry. PROXY is an unrequited love story in prose poems, where the landscape of the beloved body becomes the windows of New York City, the deserts of North Africa, and the mangroves of the Caribbean. PROXY is a conversation with the calculus, plotting and space against the infinite  capacities of desire. 

In a conversation with Amy King for Boog City, Doyle discussed her approach to proxy’s subject matter, stating, “Hardly anyone was writing about sex the way I knew we were doing it, and feeling it, and sometimes fucking each other up and over. Sex and the body are what make us dangerous—no one would care if we were writing platonic letters to each other about maple leaves. The body is the site where all of this gets worked out, but then, in proxy, everything becomes that body. The sea, the sand, the subway, the boys, the older women on the boardwalks, the platforms.” “Doyle’s most profound gift, in proxy: the relationship between the speaker and her body, a vehicle of desire that is simultaneously female and human,” observed Corrina Bain in a 2014 review of proxy for Muzzle Magazine, noting that doyle often portrays intimacy in close, sharp focus, where “longing, regret, and some brutish physical facts are revealed, but the narrative surrounding them is more or less dissolved.” Doyle’s work has been featured in the anthologies Our Caribbean: A Gathering of Lesbian and Gay Writing from the Antilles (2008), Gathering Ground: A Reader Celebrating Cave Canem’s First Decade (2006), Bum Rush the Page: A Def Poetry Jam (2001), and Best American Poetry (2001). Her honors include fellowships from the New York Foundation for the Arts, Cave Canem, and the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown and an Astraea Lesbian Foundation for Justice Lesbian Writers Fund Award in Poetry. In addition, she has read her work at the Kennedy Center, the National Black Arts Festival, Joe’s Pub, the Nuyorican, the Calabash International Literary Festival in Jamaica, WI and various colleges and universities. Doyle lives in Brooklyn, where she is an administrator in the NYC public schools and facilitates Tongues Afire: A Free Creative Writing Workshop for queer women and trans and gender non-conforming people of color. 

https://rericadoyle.com/ https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/r-erica-doyle

#r. erica doyle #poetry #translation

[wodehouse-fr]

Hello, Plum !

On ne peut pas envisager d’écrire sur Wodehouse sans évoquer une certaine élégance et subtilité qu’il manifeste en parlant des choses, des gens et de la famille. La famille et les animaux sont omniprésents dans l’œuvre de Wodehouse (on peut y ajouter le golf, la chanson, la comédie musicale à laquelle il a apporté une contribution indéniable, et bien d’autres choses). Nous reviendrons par la suite sur ces aspects de son œuvre.

Mais d’abord, comme il se doit, commençons par la fin. Dans l’inénarrable Hello, Plum !, Wodehouse s’exerce à l’autobiographie, bon gré mal gré. En effet, à soixante-dix ans passés, Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (1881-1975), déjà auteur de plusieurs dizaines de romans et d’innombrables nouvelles, reconnu comme étant le repère le plus stable du fameux humour anglais, passe enfin aux aveux. Censé répondre aux questions d'un journaliste indiscret, il glisse rapidement sur sa vie privée pour mieux s'adonner à la digression, art dans lequel il excelle. Il sautille allègrement de la presse aux romans policiers, en passant par les chiens, Shakespeare, les chauffeurs de taxi, Hollywood, le ramassage des escargots, etc. Ces propos sans importance et reconnus d'utilité publique sont dédiés à tous les inconditionnels du loufoque :

“On m'a plus d'une fois laissé entendre, en effet, que je devrais bien me risquer à consigner mes souvenirs par écrit. "vous avez eu une longue existence, me dit-on. Vous avez l'air d'avoir au moins cent quatre ans.Vous pourriez sûrement en tirer un livre et vous remplir les poches". Evidemment, c'est une idée, mais je ne vois vraiment pas comment la mettre en pratique. Il y a, en effet, trois conditions indispensables à l'autobiographie : l'auteur doit avoir eu un père excentrique, une jeunesse lamentable d'enfant incompris et avoir connu un véritable enfer au pensionnat.”

Voilà donc qui est dit. Mais on peut supposer que Wodehouse gardera ancré en lui toute sa vie un épisode douloureux sur le fond, mais néanmoins savoureux dans sa forme, qui l’empêchât de livrer une autobiographie entièrement spontanée. Pour ce qui me concerne j’en ris encore, bien que cet épisode ne soit pas évoqué de manière explicite dans Hello, Plum !. Ainsi il envisagera de destiner le propos épistolaire ci-dessous au journaliste qui le tannait pour qu’il se livrât à l’exercice psychanalytiquement difficile de l’autobiographie :

“Monsieur Et surtout pas "Cher Monsieur" C'est faiblard. Mais pas non plus " Espèce d'ordure ventripotente" ; l'expression est certes bien trouvée, mais manque par trop de dignité. Pour ma part, j'ai parfois employé la phrase "Ecoute voir, misérable avorton, fruit d'une union libre".

Mais de quel épisode s’agit-il ? Je me réfère à l’article « Wodehouse, quel Touquet ! » paru dans le journal Libération en 2006, signé par Edouard Launet qui relate ainsi les faits :

« Connaissez-vous Le Touquet ? Ce fut, jusqu'à la crise de 1929, une sorte d'Eldorado balnéaire doublé d'une enclave anglaise. Paul Morand a écrit d'assez jolies pages sur cette époque bénie. Après le krach, la station du Pas-de-Calais va courir derrière son passé sans jamais le rattraper, quoiqu'avec de belles pointes de vitesse durant les années 30. Ravel fait plusieurs séjours à la villa « La Floride » à partir de 1934.

Cette même année 1934, l'écrivain britannique Pelham Grenville Wodehouse s'installe dans la station française. Il va y vivre six ans. P. G. Wodehouse (1881-1975) est un auteur universellement connu (il a toujours des fans clubs enragés un peu partout autour de la planète) et universellement inconnu : qui se plonge encore dans les hilarantes aventures du valet Jeeves et de son maître Bertie Wooster ?

A l'époque, cet expert de l'humour déjanté jouit d'une belle réputation ainsi que d'une grande fortune, laquelle lui permet d'acheter Low Wood Manor, près du golf : une somptueuse villa due au crayon de Pierre Drobecq (cet architecte réalisera également l'hôtel de ville du Touquet, un exemple ahurissant du style historico-régionaliste). La maison basse et longue de Wodehouse est tapie pas loin du trou n° 18 du parcours de la Forêt. Son toit de tuiles plates est vaste comme la mer. Un étage de comble abrite quelques chambres. Le service régional de l'Inventaire a jugé utile de souligner que «la symétrie générale de l'ensemble est affirmée par deux bow windows surmontées de grands pignons, ce qui donne à la villa une allure anglo-normande.»

Quand la Seconde Guerre mondiale éclate, Wodehouse décide de rester au Touquet. Le 21 juillet 1940, un sergent allemand se pointe à Low Wood et donne dix minutes à l'écrivain et à sa femme Ethel pour faire leur sac. Wodehouse passe près d'un an dans un camp de prisonniers, avant d'en être extrait par la propagande nazie : celle-ci propose au père de Jeeves d'enregistrer à Berlin une série d'émissions de radio à destination du public américain. L'écrivain accepte. Court extrait d'une de ses causeries : ‘‘Des jeunes gens débutant dans la vie m'ont souvent demandé : comment puis-je devenir prisonnier de guerre ? Eh bien il y a plusieurs méthodes. La mienne a été d'acheter une villa au Touquet et d'y rester jusqu'à ce que les Allemands arrivent. C'est probablement le meilleur système, et le plus simple. Vous achetez la villa et les Allemands font le reste.’’

Aller raconter des blagues à la radio allemande sous le troisième Reich est le genre d'activité sur lequel on vous demande des comptes au retour. P. G. Wodehouse aura la chance de s'en tirer, puis il émigrera aux Etats-Unis. La villa Low Wood est toujours là, pimpante, avenue Allen-Stoneham. L'architecte Pierre Drobecq est mort brûlé vif en gare de Creil, le 10 mai 1944, lors d'un bombardement. »

Je ne devrais pas rire de tels évènements, mais le propos de Wodehouse en la circonstance ne propose-t-il pas une gradation d’appréciation ? Et comme le soulignait Pierre Desproges en son temps : “on peut rire de tout, mais pas avec n’importe qui !”

Mais revenons-en à Hello, Plum ! J’y ai donc décelé, outre une certaine dérision, sans parler de l’autodérision, une grande humilité qui contraste avec l’œuvre de Wodehouse qui reste particulièrement documentée et décalée.

Considérons un instant Un cochon au clair de lune et la précision des informations concernant l’élevage des cochons et des milieux vétérinaires qui nous en disent beaucoup sur le travail de fond de l’auteur, qui n’a d’égal que son respect du lecteur. Que dire à propos Le doyen du club house ou de Courtes histoires de green qui démontrent une étonnante connaissance du golf et de ses adeptes. Wodehouse nous démontre à quel point le golf est plus qu’un simple passe-temps : un art, bien sûr, une science pour certains, une obsession pour d’autres, un mode de vie, une philosophie, bref le subtil supplément grâce auquel celui qui le pratique régulièrement s’élève un peu au-dessus de sa condition humaine et devient, justement, un golfeur. Quant à Webster le chat, on en arrive à se demander s’il ne s’agit pas d’un conte fantastique.

Mais chassez le naturel et il revient au galop, tout comme l’autodérision de Wodehouse qui caractérise cette étrange autobiographie. Alors, c’est du lard ou du cochon ?

“Wolcott Gibbs, pour sa part, estime que la pénurie est due au fait que la tendance moderne est d'accueillir l'humoriste, lorsqu'il se hasarde à se manifester, par un grand coup dans la gueule avec une batte de base-ball. Pour être humoriste, il faut voir le monde de façon légèrement flou ; or, aujourd'hui où le monde est légèrement flou, tout le monde insiste pour qu'on le voie parfaitement net.”

Il nous donne ici, par-delà un propos trivial, sa conception du rôle de l’humoriste et de l’humour qui délivre, une catharsis, une optique éclaircissant un “monde flou”. Et ainsi peut-être une auto-justification ?

 Je ne saurai que trop recommander la lecture et la relecture de Hello, Plum !, qui procure cette sensation bienfaisante du déballonnement de l’ego, et qui est tout autant un remède efficace contre la déprime ambiante en cette période aux circonstances troubles.

Wodehouse contribua à la vocation des frères Gershwin, avec lesquels il collabora pour des comédies musicales, telles que Lady 1917, Ho Kay! et Rosalie. Les collaborations avec Cole Porter ou Jerome Kern, Guy Bolton, en disent long sur le talent scénaristique de Wodehouse. Dans la comédie musicale Anything goes, il est chanté :

But now, God knows, Anything goes. Good authors too who once knew better words Now only use four-letter words Writing prose. Anything goes.

Mais maintenant, Dieu le sait,

Tout s’en va.

Les bons auteurs qui connaissaient autrefois de meilleurs mots

Maintenant, utilisent uniquement des mots à quatre lettres

Ecrivent de la prose.

Tout s’en va.  (Tout fout l’camp).

On se doit de concéder à Wodehouse son amour immodéré de l'écriture, du mot juste, du bon mot et de l’élégance du style.

ELDEGARD SUCH

#Wodehouse #le touquet #Golf #plum #Pg Wodehouse #French PG Wodehouse club

[qualiaflow]

List of Shame

translation work:

revise/edit:

Verlaine’s “Clair de lune”

Heine’s “Die Lorelei”

translate:

“Les Bijoux” (Baudelaire)

“L’invitation au voyage” (Baudelaire)

“Le Balcon” (Baudelaire)

any Esperanto love-lyric

prose work:

resume:

“The Spool Lands”

collaborative IF

surreal cocktail bar

write:

ekphrastic work on the Orb’s “Valley”

love letter

poetry:

write:

three more glitch poems

research:

mythological objects for sonnet series

conlanging:

improve lexicon and and derivational morphology for magical conlang

detail noun classes

name the language

microfiction:

revise the latest drafts

add five more drafts to queue

miscellaneous:

demonstration of English orthographic reform using Devanagari and diacritical system

#shame

[attickit]

Well

#honestly im a /little/ proud of myself that a lot of my universes are varied from each other even if they fall into a similar catagory #they are truly a universe unto their own #idk about similarities to other peoples but at least in my bubble theyre varied #and if i think about one mechanism from a universe i know exactly what that universe is and wont ever get confused #lune: prose of lettering

[attickit]

Me knowing that hobi and yoon's relationship in the d&d au is gonna read romantic due to their dynamic but they're totally platonic makes me feel giddy. Not in a bad way. I'm gonna make them so platonic romantic and no one can do anything about it.

#truly the 'i will die for you' 'would you live for me instead' #and also 'caring for me is hard work' 'and yet i lift every weight like it weighs nothing' #and and 'i have blood on my hands that never dry' 'it matters not if i will be stained red i will still hold them' #i have very many thoughts about them #its about guilt its about remorse its about growth #its about care its about love its about hope #its always forgiveness and the unwillingness to let the darkness take #lune: prose of lettering

[attickit]

I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic. I want to finish a fic.

#aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah #the people in my brain wont shut up #but they also wont let me write #aaaaaaah wtf do you want from meeeeeee #lune: prose of lettering

[attickit]

Sudden temptation of writing a haikaveh sick fic with haitham being sick and a little out of his mind telling Kaveh to stay next to him while he's half asleep and Kaveh has no one else to help him confirm that it was really happening and thus going crazy

#lune: prose of lettering #gidrms

[attickit]

I constantly have this image in my head nowadays where it's a person sitting by a grave, on the grass, with their arm leaning over the top of the gravestone as they lay their head against it. They don't really do anything, just a little snooze. It's a pretty scene and it's interrupted by the person who works there as maintenance. They wake up this sleeping person and asks them to go home. They only look at them with sad eyes and a smile saying that they are home, the maintenance person says sorry and goes back to their duties and the person by the grave starts humming a song and lays their had back down on their arm.

Sometimes in the image I'm the person by the grave, sometimes I'm the graveyard maintenance.

#idk #it has been haunting me for weeks now #lune: prose of lettering

[attickit]

I want to start posting but hhhhhh all of my current fics are konger that expected. I want to go back to writing my little fics of 1k or slightly shorter but the brain is not doing

#i kinda want to do a ask game for it #but i dont know if i can commit #it would have to be from my current Universes cause i cant commit to new aus right now #ill go mad if i do #hhhhhhhhhhhhh #lune: prose of lettering

[attickit]

Gotta love the only progress I've made in writing is switching between writing a very hornee wip and a fucking self devastating angst.

#got that depressed hornee feeling for some reason #lune: prose of lettering

[attickit]

Very much a big surprise Black Cat and Calico drawing big extremes in my form

#looking at the results floored me for bcc #didnt think the opinions would devide like that #*divide. wow i cant spell #lune: prose of lettering

[attickit]

I will post Camillia this year even if it kills me.

#it might tho /j #lune: prose of lettering