#need every short story i’ve ever liked read aloud and illustrated like this

[ashstfu]

the wonderful story of henry sugar (2023) dir. wes anderson

#beautiful movie! #need every short story i’ve ever liked read aloud and illustrated like this #film #wes anderson

[carriagelamp]

September Book Roundup, back-to-school edition aka The Season Of Red apparently?

Here is a selection of the books I’ve read this month. Summer is over, so the little bit of brain power I had managed to scrape together is quickly disintegrating, so enjoying the hodge podge of stories.

Binti

This was probably my favourite book that I read this month. It’s a novella I first heard about hear on tumblr and went to find a copy in my library. I have since bought the collected trilogy so I can read book two and three at my leisure because it was honestly just that friggin cool. This is exactly my flavour of scifi and I tend to be very very picky about the scifi I consume. It’s about a girl named Binti, a member of the Himba people (a real group of indigenous people from Namibia). They are a people well known for their mathematical and technical prowess, but due to their strong connection to their homeland and the earth they choose not to travel through space like so many other humans do. However, when Binti secures a position at Oomza University, the greatest university in the galaxy, she chooses to go against her family’s wishes and traditions in order to set out into space to attend. Everything is ruined though when her spaceship is attacked by a hostile alien race and everyone is killed but Binti, who must rely on all her intellect and abilities if she wants any chance at survival.

A seriously cool book with great world building – it really successfully introduces readers not only to the fictional scifi world and races of the novel but also to the culture and traditions of the Himba people. It’s a quick read, and feels like a cross between Dead Space and Tamora Pierce. Would totally recommend a read.

Fake Blood

A Canadian graphic novel. It was a goofy cute read. It’s about an awkward group of friends in middle school, and one boy with a crush on one of the girls in his class. Knowing her love for vampire stories, AJ decides, like any self-respecting middle schooler, to try to pretend he’s a vampire. Naturally nothing goes right and some things go wrong in unexpected ways. It’s funny and cute. Nothing amazing but it was a cozy evening read.

The Last Book On The Left

I’ve been listening to this podcast a lot since my friend recommended it to me and finally decided to read their book. For those that don’t know, The Last Podcast On The Left is a immaculately researched comedy podcast that’s hosted by Ben Kissel, Marcus Parks, and Henry Zebrowski, and explores the darker realms of human nature. Ghosts, paranormal, aliens, cults, and of course serial killers. In this book they collected several of their biggest name serial killer series, did some renewed research, and put together a book that is both informative, irreverent, gross, and very funny, complete with some really amazing illustrations by Tom Neely. A very cool read (and listen, if you decide to check out the podcast instead), I really love how they tell these stories without idolizing or romanticizing the people they talk about. Their humour always makes sure you know exactly how much of a pathetic loser these people are. Fantastic true crime, from someone who has never really felt the need to read about true crime before.

Midnight Sun

I won’t harp on this one, everyone is already going to firmly have their opinions here. I grew up on Twilight, I was reading them as they came out, and I still love them. Were they dumb? Oh my god yes. Did they have problems? Sure, they came out in 2005 it was part and parcel. Were they also a really fun for a thirteen year old to read? Absolutely, I don’t regret it. Sometimes teenage girls should just to get like things without being mocked.

Anyway, I am off my soapbox now (can you tell this is still a raw spot for me?) I unironically loved this book! Getting to see Edward’s perspective was really cool, and since he can read minds it essentially let you get the perspective of everyone else around him too. The Cullens family is a great set of characters so it was really cool to see more of them, and I was very impressed by how Stephenie Meyers took a YA romance she wrote in 2005 and was able to make it feel updated and more appropriate for a 2020 audience even though she couldn’t actually change any of the events themselves. So fans of Twilight, don’t be ashamed, go read Midnight Sun and have the shameless fun you deserve. Is there anymore appropriate book for the bizarre ass year that was 2020 than a return to this goofy nonsense?

The Paperbag Princess

(and Up, Up, Down, and Robert Munsch in general)

I’m back in schools so I’m back to reading children’s book! And honestly, and of you that don’t occasionally sit down and read a kids book out loud don’t know what you’re missing. Anyway, Robert Munsch is a Canadian author, and one of my all-time favourite children’s authors. It surprised me to learn he isn’t as well known in the States apparently? I don’t know if that’s changed or not, but he is a Canadian staple for a good reason, his books have ridiculous premises, are specifically written to be fun to read out loud, and have beautiful, involved, and hilarious illustrations. The Paperbag Princess is one of my absolute favourites, and as a kid it was one of the first stories I had ever read where a princess is the one saving the prince… and then telling the prince to piss off when it turns out he’s a jerk. Up, Up, Down is another favourite I reread this month, because it’s just hilarious funny and makes a fantastic read aloud with kids. Some other Robert Munsch I reread this month include: Mmm, Cookies, More Pies, Ribbon Rescue, Just One Goal, and Andrew’s Loose Tooth. You just cannot go wrong, for kids or adults.

Pit Pony

Another Canadian staple while I was growing up. If you’re a young adult know who went through the Canadian elementary school system, you probably had your entire heart ripped out and stepped on by this chapter book. It’s a historical fiction that looks at the economic hardship, debt slavery, child labour, and animal abuse that was tied to coal mining in the Maritimes. Finding a copy was harder than I would have expected give how pervasive it was a decade or so back, but reading it again was a pure shot of nostalgia.

Seeking Refuge

A graphic novel written by a German-born Canadian about a Jewish girl who flees Nazi-occupied Austria by way of Kindertransport to become a child refuge in England. It follows her as she is moved from host family to host family as the war continues to pick up and gradually makes it’s way to the United Kingdom as well. It’s very poignant and the pencil-sketch illustrations are an interesting change to a lot of the graphic novels that are out right now. This story is still aimed at a younger audience, so it never gets too brutal but it still is a hard hitting story, especially with everything else going on right now.

Silver Spoon #9/10

I know I’ve talked about these books before, but my library got some more since I last read them, so I’m continuing my way through the series. It’s about a teenaged boy who, after having a breakdown from the pressure he was feeling to study and succeeded, decided not to attend an academic, urban high school, but rather to apply for an agricultural high school so he could live in the dorms, far away from his parents. The series just gets more and more heartwarming as it continues. It’s all about failure and overcoming and how worth can be measured in different ways, and about family and understanding each other and coming together… but also about the realities of farming which aren’t always very nice, especially when it comes to finances and survival. It’s written by the mangaka behind Fullmetal Alchemist but I’ll be honest… I think I like this series more. It is honestly one of my all time favourite manga series, it just has so much heart.

Ruby Finds A Worry

aka Ruby’s Worry apparently? I can’t figure out why this has more than one title. I actually read it in French not English, so for me it was Le Souci de Calie. Regardless, this was a nice little picture book for talking about worries and anxieties with children… especially with the amount of Covid stress a lot of kids are dealing with. It explains in a really nice way how talking about anxieties are often the best way to make them more manageable, and how pretending nothing is wrong can just let it grow bigger and bigger. A good explanation for kids and possible a good reminder for adults.

War of the Realms: Journey Into Mystery

I read this because the Mcelroy family wrote it so I figured Hey! Why not give it a go! And I’m glad I did. Their brand of humour was all over it, and it made the story a delight to read. I don’t follow all of Marvel’s weirdness, so I didn’t actually know most of the characters (Miles and Kate were actually the only two I was familiar with) but they do a great job of introducing the characters and making them all feel distinct and interesting. I absolutely adore the Dog of Gods (God of Dogs) who is a very very good boy. And Miles is absolutely always a delight so you can’t really lose. It’s a single book that I think is a part of a larger plotline that I have zero interest in. This book is a fine one to read though if you don’t mind jumping into the middle of the action and just getting swept along for the ride. Also Mcelroys!

Witcher Omnibus

Bleh. Absolutely not worth it. All the misogyny and Dumb Bullshit that I hate in the original books and from video games in general. Honestly, Witcher III did way better by its characters than most of these short stories. The only one worth reading in it is Curse Of Crows – that one was actually really enjoyable, probably because it was about Ciri and had an actual fucking woman on the writing team. (Seriously guys what were you thinking with Fox Children that’s literally just a story from Season of Storms but done worse. Fuck off.) If you like The Witcher, go read Curse of Crows and skip every other story in this book.

Billy Stuart: Les Zintrépides #1

Another French (Quebecois) book I read, though I believe you can get it in English as well (Billy Stuart and the Zintrepids). It’s a chapter book / graphic novel hybrid, and was honestly a fairly fun little read. It’s in a similar vein to Geronimo Stilton but done much better in my opinion. The humour was funnier, the characters felt less like caricatures, and while it still used stylized fonts it was also less intrusive and eye-strainy than the Stilton books. Also when the story suddenly pivots into the main adventure and mystery of the series? Fantastic. Was not expecting a hell-beast to appear part way through the story. Very interested in reading more.

Over all, it was cute and funny, and I can see it being a good next step when children have read their fill of the Stilton series and want something similar but possibly a bit more involved and coherent.

#chatter #book review #book reviews #midnight sun #twilight #stephenie meyer #last book on the left #last podcast on the left #lpotl #binti #robert munsch #paperbag princess #marvel #war of the realms #journey into mystery #mcelroys #mbmbam #silver spoon #fma #the witcher #billy stuart #zintrepids #geronimo stilton #spiderman #canadian literature #canlit #cancon #manga #graphic novels #comics

[curuniel]

Library(ies)

For the first prompt of the Tyria’s Library anniversary event. This was meant to be a short story, but it turns out a story in three parts isn’t going to be short.

“This one, this one!”

The young Jura Ogawe bounded back towards his parents, heedless of the heavy sigh that came from a librarian giving up on quiet in the children’s section. His father came to meet him, shushing him with a wink as he reached for the book Jura had picked out.

“Alright son, what do you have there?”

Jura’s mother laid a hand on her husband’s shoulder as she came up behind him and peered at the cover.

“King Joko the Implaccable versus the Wurm of Ronjok?” she read, raising both eyebrows as she did.

Her son grinned, practically bouncing where he stood. “It has pictures! Of the battle!”

“Illustrated by Vinanda Bayet,” Jura’s father noted with increasing amusement, “whose artistic career has apparently taken a few turns since that palace ceiling fresco up north.”

He handed the book back to Jura, who immediately opened it and began looking eagerly at the pictures. Beyond his notice, Jura’s mother drew her husband aside for a quiet word.

“Do we really want him reading things like that?” she asked. “Today it’s how King Joko saved Kourna from a rampaging sand wurm, but tomorrow…”

“Tomorrow he’ll being going to school anyway,” Jura’s father pointed out softly. “Better that he be reading the same books and playing the same games as every other child. We agreed –”

“- that is was safer for him. I know.” She sighed, even more wearily than the librarian had. “It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

He gathered his wife up in his arms. “We’ll talk to him when he’s older,” he murmured for her ears only. “When he can understand the risks. It may be harder when the time comes, but at least Jura will live to see it.”

She nodded against his chest. “And may Grenth give me the strength to endure ten more years of those gods-forsaken books.”

Jura’s father chuckled, and Jura’s mother shook with her own muffled laughter as he hugged her tighter, and Jura obliviously dropped to sit and read his book with wide, uncritical eyes.

*           *           *

Much older, and alone, Jura flicked through pages irritably now and the swishing sound of paper drawing a few eyes to him. That was the problem with libraries – quiet enough that the slightest irritation was noticed – but he was beyond caring about etiquette today.

It was more of the same. Tehelo was one of King Joko’s favourite biographers (of many) and it was starting to become obvious why. Every paragraph contained another overblown description with too many adjectives, not to mention comparisons to events in the author’s other works so that every battle and feat of magic was cross-referenced. The sycophantic quality of the writing, however, was not what was frustrating Jura.

This happened in my lifetime, he thought. The dragon Zhaitan, an ancient power that could raise the dead… as nothing but shells for its will, less than the simplest Awakened. Or so he had always believed. In Vabbi they had been taught that the dragon roamed the seas to the west from its lair on the risen island of Orr, making it impossible to cross to other continents. Elona was a last bastion of safety, the sulphurous Desolation a barrier against draconic doom. But then…

He flicked back to the beginning of the chapter. 1326 AE: the slaying of Zhaitan. The way Tehelo told it, someone suggested in King Joko’s hearing that the elder dragon must be the greatest necromancer the world had ever known. Annoyed at the comment the Eternal King had harnessed a mighty mount and travelled all the way to Orr to strike down Zhaitan and prove once and for all that Joko was the greatest master of necromancy in the history of Tyria and only true commander of the dead. The book, Jura noted, did not mention anything about the fate of the person who had insulted the king.

But none of this made sense as it should. 1326 was only a few years ago; if King Joko was setting out to slay an elder dragon, it was inconceivable that he would do it without full splendour, tribute and boasting. Jura remembered nothing of the sort. He remembered hearing stories about Kralkatorrik (how King Joko had allowed the dragon to send its crystal minions into a Vabbian palace that had blasphemed against him, then stood and commanded it to leave the rest of his kingdom untouched) – but Zhaitan had hardly been mentioned. Until King Joko had proclaimed he had destroyed it.

“This isn’t –” he began out loud, but it wasn’t the glare of a nearby librarian that made him finish the thought in silence. None of this is right.

*           *           *

The sun of the afternoon beat down hot, but Jura was new enough to Amnoon that it still felt like paradise. There was shade both natural and artificial, water when he needed it, gardens unlike anything he’d seen since leaving the halls of Vabbi behind. And he wasn’t wearing armour, which made the heat significantly more bearable. It had been days before he had really felt comfortable going out without armour, but today he felt almost normal in a shirt with a sash, loose pants and sandals.

And a sword. He’s left his ragged shield behind, but he wasn’t going to abandon all sense just because he was in a city again.

Today he was strolling into the surrounding farmland, marvelling at the freedom with which he passed in and out and the decidedly alive cavaliers who nodded to him on his way past. There were people at work here, tending the land and maintaining a marvel of an irrigation system whose workings Jura didn’t yet understand. There were refugees, too, as there seemed to be on every inch of the roads here, and the priests that aided and escorted them. As Jura walked past two priests of Kormir who were poring over a book together, he had to stop and look again at the huge figure his eyes had skimmed over next to them.

The man was easily two feet taller than Jura, and certainly twice as wide at the shoulder. He wore a beard in two braids and a dusty blue robe within which he seemed to be cooking, though he had the sense to have the hood up against the sun. His skin, from what Jura could see, would not have taken kindly to it otherwise.

Jura’s surprise much have shown more than he realised, because the giant man chuckled and gave him a wave. Curious, Jura wandered over.

“Ahai, friend,” the stranger said in a deep voice. “Let me guess; first time meeting a norn?”

“Ah… I suppose it must be. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with… your people,” Jura replied carefully. “I hope that doesn’t cause you offence.”

The norn gave a dismissive wave, then wiped his brow with his sleeve for good measure. “Not at all. We’re not native to these parts, in case that wasn’t obvious.” He chuckled at his own expense. “I prefer the cold, if I’m being honest. Though your city and its harbour are truly lovely!”

“Not my city,” Jura said automatically, then “although… I’m not sure where is, now.” He didn’t want to get into that, so he quickly moved on. “Where are you from then, sir norn?”

He broke into a true smile. “The Shiverpeaks! Great, snowy mountains full of fearsome beasts and majestic sights. Far away, I’m afraid, across the sea. But I’m here as a representative of the Durmand Priory, and the sharing of knowledge is an adventure I will tolerate your devastating sun for.”

The norn gestured at the cart behind him, and Jura’s eye widened momentarily. It was a wagon of sorts with hinged and shuttered sides, currently latched open to show rows of neatly shelved books. Seeing his expression, the norn chuckled again and invited him to take a look.

“The Ossa Legacy… Three Lands, One Sun… An Unauthorised History of the Order of Whispers,” he read aloud.

“We put that one in there just to annoy them,” the norn admitted with a wink.

“I’ve never heard of any of these,” Jura said wonderingly. Then, quashing the wonder from his voice, “and you say these are true histories?”

To Jura’s surprise, the response was a shrug rather than a sales pitch. “No history is ever really a true history. They’re all biased in one way or another.”

“Some more than others,” Jura noted with a touch of bitterness.

“True,” the norn acknowledged. “But these are from our scholars’ collections. Think of them as versions of history told by people who left these lands hundreds of years ago.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Jura ventured, “may I… read a little?”

“Of course!” The man looked pleased, and it was hard to stay suspicious of him when his emotions seemed so free and genuine. “As long as you don’t take anything away or, say, throw it in a ditch, you’re welcome to read as long as you like.”

Jura, discovering he did not have the words to express everything he was feeling in that moment, made a bow instead and picked a book off the shelf at random. Within seconds he was sitting under a nearby awning, devouring every new piece of knowledge he could find.

#tyriaslibrary event #Guild Wars 2 #my writing #my characters #Path of Fire #I haven't talked about Jura a lot here but after playing Path of Fire I desperately wanted to explore a character raised in Joko's Vabbi

[talesfromthefreezerinmymind]

The Adventure of the Accidental Client

On this day in 1859 (May 22) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes, was born.  

May is also Mental Health Awareness month. 

What do these two things have in common? For me, quite a lot. I’ll start this story in early 2012.

At that time I was a freshman at Maryville College, in my second semester of majoring in graphic design. I was completely miserable.

Why was I miserable, exactly? Well…

 I had no friends (turns out, I had never learned how to make them)

 I doubted that graphic design was the career for me (Imposter Syndrome vibes)

 I was homesick (even though I went home every single weekend)

I phoned my parents every night and told them about my day. During one such call, my dad told me about a show on Netflix that he’d started watching: Sherlock. It was made by some of the same people that made another favorite of ours, Doctor Who. I was intrigued, and had plenty of time on my hands, so I thought I’d give it a try.

If you know nothing of Sherlock Holmes (as I did when I first started watching the show), he’s a famous English detective residing in 221B Baker Street created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson solves mysteries in the late 1800s and early 1900s. But for Sherlock, the adventures are set in the modern day. Over the course of a week or so, I watched the whole first season. Normally I’m slow to warm up to things, but I was instantly hooked.

I kept watching the show. I read interviews with the cast and crew. I found a fan-run website with all sorts of lovely info. I discovered Tumblr and all the fandom madness that lives there. The second season had already premiered in the UK, and I dredged up info on it (and spoiled it for myself). I started reading the original novels and short stories that the show was based on. I read everything Sherlock Holmes in about 5 months. And then started reading it over again.

Sherlock had found me at just the right moment. I was unusually lonely. I was unusually bored. I saw myself in John Watson; a directionless man in need of a purpose. A deeply loyal man, without a friend to adhere to. I saw myself in Sherlock Holmes; a man whose mind is always running, who loves feeling clever and in control. A man for whom feeling like an outsider is normal, though not always welcome. In the words of John Watson, “I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers are irresistibility drained.” I was a lounger, an idler, and London had found me.

The Sherlock Holmes stories rekindled my love of reading, which had been dormant for a few years, and sparked a much more serious interest in writing. There was just something about how Doyle went from unknown medical man to literary giant that grabbed my attention. He started in one world and ended up in another. It got me thinking that perhaps though I began in graphic design, I could end up somewhere else: a published author myself. So I wrote more. And I read more. I changed my major in the Spring of 2013 to English with a concentration in Creative Writing (Oh, and I transferred to UT in the fall of 2012. I had to get away from Maryville. Fresh start. Sorta). In 2015, right after graduating UT, I joined an organization called the Society of Children's Books Writers and Illustrators. Long story short, in April 2016 I signed the contract for Roof Octopus, my first picture book.

Sadly, though, writing doesn’t pay much when you’re first starting out so I really did need a backup career for the moment. Fall 2015 I enrolled at Pellissippi State Community College (backtracking, I know, per the usual order of things) and began earning an associate’s in graphic design.

Though by this point I was far removed from my freshman year at Maryville, I still felt all the loneliness and failure that I had felt then (and I was still fanatical about Sherlock; third season came out in 2014). Honestly, I had been feeling watered-down versions of those emotions since my junior year of high school (that’s another story for another time). Plus, there was something else that I was carrying that was growing heavier over time: an addiction to daydreaming.

An addiction to daydreaming? Is that even possible? Well, it is possible. It even has a fancy name: Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder (MDD). It’s when a person’s habit of daydreaming is so obsessive that it interferes with everyday life. I would describe it like there’s a TV on in my head all day. It places my favorite shows, lots of reruns but new stuff, too. Your daydreams are like movies that you write and direct and star in and you can’t get enough. Part of the time they are white noise and I can ignore it. But more often than not, all I want to do is sit and watch. I have trouble focusing on what I’m reading or writing. I zone out super easily while listening to music or podcasts. I have trouble falling asleep for my mind not “turning off”. I zone out in class, at meetings, at church, and in groups of people when no one is talking directly to me. I daydream while driving and running and showering and cleaning and swimming and biking and just walking through my house. I’ve been struggling to focus while writing all this out; I’d rather daydream about writing this than actually do it. (Fun Fact: A big part of my daydreaming is I like to talk aloud while I’m doing it if I’m alone. On second thought, that’s probably more of an embarrassing fact than fun…)

People with MDD aren’t crazy; they don’t hear voices in their head or think people are around who really aren't there. They are fully aware that their daydream worlds aren’t real. But for some people MDD is so severe that they don’t leave their homes for days; they stay in and daydream their life away. Luckily, my MDD is not that severe. Often MDD is used as a coping mechanism. Even though I’ve never experience trauma like some people have, I still really crave an escape from life and all the emotions brought on by it.

I had never heard of Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder until one day in the summer of 2016; I googled for ways to quit daydreaming and stuff about MDD was in the results. Up to this point I’d slowly been growing tired of my daydreaming. I’d always had an active imagination. Played pretend a lot as a kid, had imaginary friends. But in college it started to get out of hand. Particularly falling asleep was a struggle, or if I woke up super early, falling back asleep. It took me ages sometimes to write a paper or read through something. However, I had so much time on my hands that it didn’t really matter how much I procrastinated. (While at UT and Pellissippi, I still didn’t try to make friends.) I didn’t talk too much to anyone about how much I hated college. About how alone I was. I’m a Christian, but I didn’t pray about any of it. I didn’t talk about all the ways that I felt like a failure. I bottled it all up inside, because that’s what Sherlock did. Sherlock was a loner, who was never a failure. Emotions were for other people. He was too smart for them. Sherlock never seemed to let loneliness get to him, and I wasn’t going to let it either.

Anyway, the more I learned about MDD the more I was convinced that I had it. The most important thing that I learned about MDD was that people who struggled with it could get help. Therapy and medication (like antidepressants) had helped other people get control of their life once again. In the back of my mind, I began to wonder: I had been using MDD to help cope with life, but now did I need help coping with MDD? Nevertheless, true to my never-bare-my-soul nature, I shared these discoveries and questions with absolutely no one.

I kept on keeping on. Finished a year at Pellissippi (still worried about whether or not I could make it as a graphic designer). Signed that book contract. Stayed close (as close as you can be without spilling your guts) to my friends at home, who I usually had to make an effort to see (something I really missed from the good old days pre-college). Tried (and failed) not to freak out as some of those friends got married and/or moved off. Who needs friends anyway, right? They’ll just ditch you eventually; no one’s as loyal as John Watson. I daydreamed too much. I wrote and wrote. I worked at Cove Lake State Park in the summer. I started a second year at Pellissippi.

Then one night in December 2016, I stayed the night at my Nannie’s. After I went to bed, I, per usual, had a horrible time falling sleep. I laid awake for hours, but eventually drifted off.

The next day when I came home, my mom asked me if I had slept well.

That was all the provoking that I needed. I broke down and cried. I told her that I could hardly ever sleep because my mind would not turn off. My daydreaming had become too much. Once it had been my rescue, my escape from everyday life, but now I felt like I was going mad.

My parents talked it over together and decided that I should see someone professional. My mom made me an appointment at a counseling office. On December 20, 2016, I had my first meeting with my therapist.

It was rather surreal. In the first season of Sherlock, John sees a therapist because he’s trying to deal with returning home from war. In January 2017, just mere weeks after my first appointment, the fourth season of Sherlock aired. In in the first episode, Sherlock (spoiler) himself pays a visit to John’s therapist. Sherlock actually needs help and he’s actually asking for. And I had just done the same thing. Life is funny like that sometimes.

Over the last 3+ years my therapist has helped me understand a lot about myself. Anxiety has been present in my life for several years now. Talking to people I don’t know, and even people that I do know, often gives me some level of anxiety. I’m always worrying if I sound weird or dumb or boring. I never know what to talk about. Therapy has helped me build up my confidence so it’s much easier for me to talk to others now. Am I still an introvert? Oh, yes. Can I carry on a conversation with someone I just meet? Yeah. Do I always want to? No, not really. But I’m much more willing to try it now.    

I’ve always hated change, good or bad. Watching friends grow up and reach life milestones (marriage, kids, dream job) all while I changed majors, changed jobs, and had little luck in the dating realm was (and still is) rough. Therapy has helped me be a little more okay with changes in my life. I’m not so scared of the future as I once was.  

I prefer to keep to myself. I’m a perfectionist and a control freak. I hate asking for help. I always feel like an oddball, even among my close friends. I love feeling clever. I hate feeling like a failure. I hate change.

I am Sherlock Holmes.

Therapy keeps me in check. Keeps from going over the edge. Helps me understand myself, the world around me, and those in it. It helps me become a better version of myself.

Therapy is my John Watson.  

I don’t know what would have happened to me had I not discovered Sherlock when I did. I do believe that God knows exactly what types of things would catch my attention (i.e. mysteries and best friend adventures) and perhaps that’s why and how things turned out the way they did. He is the Great Author, after all. I am thankful that He loved me even through the times that I was not a fan of myself, running and hiding from everyone, including Him.

I’ve told this story today because (1) I love telling stories. It’s why I write. It’s why I read. Heck, it’s why I’m addicted to daydreaming. Yep, I still daydream quite a lot, but I feel in control of it now. I’ve been taking an antidepressant for about two years now and that has helped with the daydreaming and my overall mood, too. I’ve also told this story today because (2) stories can save us. Sherlock Holmes saved me. I was a lounger, an idler, who wandered into 221B Baker Street in need of a mystery solved. What was happening to Lucy Branam? Can she be saved? Sherlock was just the detective for the job.

Happy 161st birthday, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Thank you for writing.

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #mental health #therapy #maladaptive daydreaming #mdd #anxienty

[fucknofortunato]

A Real Long Rant about Goals or Andrew Talks Forever About His Past

I absolutely love playing Dungeons & Dragons and I really really enjoyed working at the Disney Theme Park. I think my love for both of these things comes out of the fact that they are the closest I’ve come to voice acting. Dungeons & Dragons combines my two aspirations in life which is to write and voice act, resulting in a usually somewhat fun experience of a game and getting to express myself in the ways I truly want to. I get to craft a story and get real-time feedback on it as the players either get invested or look for other things to do. But alas, this is not about Dungeons & Dragons.

The thing with Disney was that I didn’t want to be the carnival barker. It was a scary thought that I wanted to avoid and tried to just end up being a cashier. Being a cashier was my comfort zone, but I soon found that being a cashier inside a theme park was a far far different experience than what I had done before. My comfort zone was more so just an uncomfortable area where I was pretty aware of what needed to be done. Then they put me out on the carnival barker area and almost instantly, everything I feared faded away. I just had to be silly, shout out to people, and announce what was going on. This was essentially voice acting out into the abyss, where every so often someone catches wind and comes along.

As time moves on, every day I feel I am either distracting myself or locking eyes with the fear of failure. This fear glares into my very soul and paralyzes me, making me feel truly inadequate and unsure of what I should do next. If there are several options before me, which one do I actually choose? Will someone help me? Have I already chosen wrong?

Almost my entire life has been feeling like I’m racing the clock. Many of my dreams have been cast to the side now and it’s steadily feeling like I’ve given up on so much more. I’ve written about this before, but I feel like I’m standing before a tree bearing fruits that show my future. It was a theme explored in Aziz Ansari’s Master of None show on Netflix. Except, I’m constantly feeling like I’m misreading the fruits. They show a potential future for me if I choose to pluck out and grab it, but I don’t think I can actually grab it. When I was young and plucky, this tree was full of so many fruits. Drawing comic books, writing cartoons, being an astronaut, being a pilot, becoming a star chef, travelling the world, being an actor, being a voice actor, and probably more that I’ve since forgotten. Several times I’ve written out little guides at 3am in the morning, unable to find the respite of sleep and turning to my computer to try and map out a path to follow to achieve as much as possible.

For those of you that are reading this and know that feeling all too well, you’re probably aware that it’s essentially the New Year’s Resolution but set at any point of the year. In about a week, or god forbid even the next morning, that entire train of motivation has run out of stream and stopped short on the tracks. I’ve since learned that I don’t truly have the motivation to cultivate my hand at art and nor do I have the skill to consistently draw. I wanted to illustrate and make comics, but I’ve come to learn that I just enjoy the story crafting of it more. Writing has become a hobby that I barely touch, if but only because it should be a craft I love and not a device to become famous. I’m not particularly talented at writing up articles or on a moment’s notice. I leave many projects unfinished and start Writing Prompts only to never finish them unless given a deadline. Even then, that shorts out after a bit. I love the feeling of being on a plane and enjoy being up in the sky, but being a pilot isn’t necessarily on my list anymore. Being a flight attendant still sounds nice, but that’s supposed to be my fallback. It’s a dream job for travelling and something I truly want to do, but there’s something I want to do more. A craft I really love and would love to keep doing. I want to Voice Act.

I still want to express my voice and give life to characters. A long long time ago, my friend was talking about the people in our group of friends that did Dungeon Mastering. He said that I might not have the greatest battles or dungeons, but when I spoke, I brought my characters to life. That they enjoyed the menagerie of people I would present them with. That’s something I’ve always held close to my chest and probably the time I realized that DMing was just an outlet for me to practice Voice Acting.

I went through a long stint of no longer playing D&D. Friends moved on to a better dungeon master, I moved away (not far, but an inconvenient distance), and had a job that conflicted with my scheduling. I found a new group online and found that I was now entirely limited to express myself only by voice.

Alright, I kinda rambled a bunch of stuff there and the steam of it is starting to fade, but the point of the matter is that I’m back at that tree again. Every year I feel like I’m getting incredibly close to the hourglass running empty. I wanted to try and break into Voice Acting in my early 20′s and I had a plan to run off and give it a shot. Of course, in the end I chose not to and I did it for the dumbest reasons. I was going to join something called Americorp, which would have sent me across America and helped communities. More importantly, it would have made me deal with all sorts of people and truly expand my network of those I know. The plan was to try and join the military, a third attempt, afterwards to see if I could finally get in, have a potential career path, and pay for college.

At the last minute, a combination of abandoning a crush and the joy of getting my first apartment with some friends caused me to abandon the idea. It felt like a tough decision and I knew I had weighed it improperly. I had been approved and all I had to do was say yes and it would have been about a year of work. There’s an age limit to Americorp and I had literally just squeezed in under it. So I chose not to and now I’ll never have an opportunity like that again. But it’s okay because there’s so many people out there that have never done it and never will and they get along fine. Living on regrets is not a way to live.

After a year in the apartment, I further discovered it was truly one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. I made a new really good friend, but I lost an older good one and found out a whole group of the new friends I had made weren’t true friends and were very temporary. I found love out of the situation at least and that made me a little more happy in this future to settle with. I decided to abandon my dreams of escape, a combination of fear and keeping the status quo.Yet as time went on, I constantly found myself at the crossroads. This time, every decision meant leaving the tree and standing before the tree itself was now a choice I hadn’t considered. I thought maybe I could still stay here and find something that spoke to me. I thought maybe I could live here and still travel out to another job, that being a flight attendant could do it.

My ego would be struck a fatal blow as I finally put as much effort as I could muster into it to discover I don’t have what it takes. All the flight agencies were taking on new Flight Attendants but I was no longer desirable, if I had ever been. My age was catching up with me. My mistakes were haunting me. I am once again at that tree, but now I’m starting to see I’ve taken roots. I need to break them.

I need to break my roots, I need to break free, I need to take risks, I need to stop writing about what I need to do and I need to just do it. I need to decide if I want to go into the Military if this time works. I need to decide if I want to just up and move to the middle of nowhere to try and make new roots and just go full blown non-stop machine pursuing that career of voice acting. I still want to go to college, but do I have time? Can I postpone it another 4 years? Can I go to college in California, Washington, or New York? I need to practice, I need to make demos, I need to network and watch for openings. I need to do something and I need motivation. How do you gain motivation?

I feel like I don’t know what to do because in life there are no right answers. I mean, at some points there were right answers and I chose wrong. I waited way too long to truly wake up to what I’ve been sitting on. At this age, can I escape my burnout? No solution is a happy solution. I hurt myself or I hurt others, there’s never a scenario that hurts no one. I hate being on a plan when I’m never solid in what I want. Except to Voice Act. I may have given up sometimes, but not because I don’t want to Voice Act, but because I feel like I can’t professionally. I don’t want to make a ton of money, I just want to enjoy making art and doing voices and have a place I can comfortably call home. I want to belong somewhere. I need my motivation to stay alive. I need to practice and not worry about other people seeing it as something to be part of. To jump in and bother and subtract from what I’m doing. I want to just speak aloud. Like when I play D&D.

#rant #voice acting #dungeons and dragons #art #goals #life #what do i do

[hecallsmehischild]

Grieving the Good

Beyond Boundaries by Dr. John Townsend claims there are six components for grieving a lost relationship. Most of the steps are already inherent to how I deal with pain, and I recognized each as I went through them. One, however, took me off guard. It makes sense, but it hadn’t been said to me before.

3. Name what you valued.

When you value someone, you affirm that he or she is important to you. When the connection is over, there are certain aspects of the person and the relationship that you miss the most. There are the values you have to grieve. {List of examples follows}

Sometimes, the value you need to grieve is connected to specific memories as well. It could be a trip you took or a private joke you shared. It might be a time of deep intimacy in which you were very close. Perhaps it was good times with the family.

Why is it important to name the specific things you valued? Because you must say good-bye to the entire person, not simply the negative parts of the person. You cannot walk away from the things you disliked, which may be the things that ended the relationship, without also saying goodbye to the things you loved as well. A half grief is never a healing grief.

It has been seven months since I ended a ten year friendship. Things have been better. I feel more healing every week that goes by. However, I am still stuck some days. I still cycle fruitlessly through each thing that hurt me. In my head, I argue and shout and scream until I’m acknowledged. I deliver biting, sarcastic lines designed to cut. I make it so that this time, I’m not the one in a thousand pieces on the floor.

I can’t seem to move on from this simmering anger on the back burner. I want it to protect me, but I know that’s not what it will do. It will turn into bitterness and a permanent wall that will hinder me from connecting to new people in my life. I also know, though, that if I try to suppress or ignore it, it will come back to bite me in other nasty ways down the line. So I continue to try and find ways of legitimately dealing with it, torn between letting it run its course and trying to find ways to let go.

I have grieved the negative parts and events for months, now, though I have not publicly disclosed all the specific events that led to this dissolution. It is time to grieve the good. I will grieve the good without asking which parts were lies and which were truths, because I’ve already asked myself that untold times and there is no answer to be had. At the time, it was all true, and I will grieve that.

My friend,

You are one of the two people that I know who writes at what I call a college-Lit-class-level. It’s a very specific compliment that carries a great deal of my awe. I know many truly wonderful writers who floor me every time I read their work. But I do believe your work, if published, could be taught in college classes. Not everyone would get it. You probably will not have a broad readership. It took me years of reading your writing to start to understand what you were getting at. It’s a small niche, but people who understand what you’re saying, well. Their conscience will be smitten. Your wordplay and sensory overload descriptions are brilliant. I will miss getting to read your work in advance and offering what I could to the editing process. I will miss cheering every time you got accepted for publication. I will miss collecting any printed piece you got published and begging for your autograph. I grieve that I will never hold your published novel and say, “See? I knew you could do it.” I still know you can.

We made two books together. Did you know how fun that was? Yes, there was some pain in the process, but we made two children’s books. You crafted two lovely stories. You weighed in on design ideas and I illustrated them. I am much more comfortable with my tablet and Art Rage after 9 and 6 months spent on the respective books. I have some concept of character design, simply by doing it over and over. This isn’t something I ever sought to pursue myself, but I learned a little of it through trial and error and repetition. Perhaps you will take the stories and have someone else illustrate them for publication. That is okay. I have my copies. They are the only two I can’t part with, even now. I will miss creating children’s books with you, friend. I grieve the ones we will never make. I grieve these ones will never be seen, but for the few copies that exist among friends and ourselves.

I miss sharing music with you, trying to find songs you would enjoy and occasionally finding for you one you’d searched for without success. I will never hear many of the songs you would have sent me, a lifetime of accumulated musical taste we could have traded.

I miss your passionate conversation about topics that interested you. You were never annoying, in spite of your concerns about being so. I could have listened to talk about your passions for hours. I miss how, when we got together, we could (and did) literally talk for hours, as if jamming together all the time we hadn’t spent together. I miss our long-distance communication. The wall-o-text emails. The few months we did Marco Polo, when we thought it would revolutionize our communication to be able to pick up on tone and facial expression. I miss getting to show you the cool little mundane things about my day. I grieve the loss of our communication.

You and I shared our deep sorrows and victories. We shared vulnerability and acceptance. We both mourned friendships that didn’t last or people who used us and wondered why people were so quick to cast loyal friends aside. I thought I could talk to you about anything and everything that hurt. I kept that belief very shielded from the things I knew I absolutely could not bring to you. Fortified heavily with denial was the belief that you were a safe person, and during the time I believed it, it was a good thing for me. I grieve the loss of that. I grieve the loss of trusting that you were really going to tell me the truth once you confessed to your lies, and that there were and would be no more lies between us.

I saw a great beauty in you, and I wanted so desperately to see that beauty bloom and grow, and to have been a small part of that because I felt you were so much wiser, smarter, more talented than me. I grieve that I will never see what becomes of you in this life up close. I hope, desperately, that you do heal and grow.

Once, when I really needed it, you stood up for me. Though details have come into question, now, in that moment I fully believed I needed it, and you were there for me. In the very early years of our friendship, you provided a friendly and safe-feeling place to talk with you. We talked about anything and everything. I grieve that.

I grieve the gifts I could not keep, chosen with care for every birthday and every Christmas. I grieve the joy I took in picking out gifts for you as well.

You loaned me your knowledge. Knowledge about health and food, theology and psychology. Book recommendations that were dead on what I needed to know and what my brain was able to process correctly. Articles you sent that made you think of me. You have had your head more in the real world than I ever cared to, and when I was stymied about how to even research, you shared your store of collected knowledge with me.

You had such insight. I felt that you “saw” me, and you phrased what you saw in me all so beautifully. I thought I was so fortunate to be friends with someone like you, who would point out my strengths in such a healing way. Do you even comprehend what a balm your words can be, when you want?

I remember playing the What-Does-M-See game. Because you said you could see the spiritual realm. Now I don’t know what to believe, but at the time, I was always in awe when you saw or described something. Especially if it was about me, and especially if it was accurate to something in my life.

I miss praying with you in the early days, when we first got to be prayer partners in the huge house.

I’d never had a delicious vegan meal before. You astounded me by cooking incredible savory 100% vegan dishes. And I got to cook one dish for you that you fell in love with. And even when we lived apart, it was fun to cook with you over Skype, creating the same dish across several states’ distance.

I’d only recently begun reading aloud books for you. Books I thought spoke to your situation, or books that I hoped held some answers for you. I grieve that I will not be able to share with you like you shared with me.

Slumbertale was a short story born out of our friendship. I wanted to sustain you from week to week. Give you something to look forward to. I miss coming up with a new few paragraphs of the story each week and waiting for your reaction to the next twist in the tale. I miss picking out a weekly treat to mail you. I miss making gestures of Philia (deep friendship)--nearly Storge (familial)--love and having them received. I grieve the loss of the times I was able to shine a little light into the darkness for you.

You actually got me to like parenthesis. With a super creative poem. How even? I was so anti-parenthesis in fiction and storytelling, but you did the thing. I liked it so much I had to literally paint the poem.

Some of my most beautiful artwork and poetry were inspired by something you said or wrote, or a part of who you were. You influenced my poetry style. You twined into my craft sphere. We even started a mini-partnership about my trees, remember? I wanted to start writing micro-fiction, but was having a hard time titling the trees. Your titles were spot on and creative and always inspired a fabulous story. I offered $2 per title if the tree sold because I wanted to. Now I title them myself, and have only just returned to the micro-fiction, because the grief was so sharp.

I believed you were someone worth flying out for on as short notice as I could afford during the absolute worst times. I did this three times. I grieve being able to hold the belief that you deserved this, and much more, from me. I grieve the image of you that I had and refused to release for so long.

I grieve good times in Seattle, the city I never want to visit again because the painful associations now outweigh the good associations. You were the last remaining reason I ever wanted to return there.

I remember one time, during a visit to you, I spiked myself into a panic attack. I had ordered a mocha from one of Seattle’s hipster one-off coffee shops. I could tell from the first sip that the balance skewed way more toward coffee than chocolate, and that it might be too strong for me, but I drank it anyway. And shortly after, my heart was hammering and my breathing was shallow and every dread in my heart came screaming up to the surface of my skin. And I asked you for a hug, and in the middle of the coffee shop, with no embarrassment, you held me. Spoke gently into my ear. Helped me regulate my breathing. Helped me back down to a tolerable level of anxiety (it would be a few hours before the caffeine totally left my system).

You wrote me a journal in response to the one I wrote to you. Then you spent months helping me decode your handwriting so I understood all of what you had to say.

You wrote the single piece of derivative fiction (or fan fiction) that exists for my still unfinished novel. You accompanied it with components of a visual piece of art for me to assemble, one that directly related to the story you’d written, in spite of you “not being a visual person.” It had so much meaning to me.

You gave me a deeply meaningful nickname, and called me that almost to the exclusion of my name.

I miss your laughter. I miss your sense of humor. I miss your warmth.

I grieve the good in you, and I grieve the good I received from you. I grieve the good we made together, and the good we shared with each other. As hurt and furious as I am, I still miss you. But I will not return this time. I cannot express to you how much I hope you heal, truly heal, and learn to relate to people. I wish you well. I wish you healing. I wish you true joy. I wish you a life where you do not have to leave claw-marks behind.

Goodbye.

#emotional abuse #rlchild #grieving #goodbyes

[themagiciansreccenter]

Author Spotlight: greywash

Every week we are going to be interviewing a writer from The Magicians fandom. If you would like to be interviewed or you want to nominate a writer, get in touch via our ask box.

First things first, tell us a little about yourself.

Hi, I'm greywash! I usually go by Gins, I'm 37, I'm an engineer, and I live with my beta/writing and queerplatonic life partner HBBO (havingbeenbreathedout) in the cheap(er) seats outside San Francisco.

How long have you been writing for?

I apparently "wrote" and "illustrated" a story for my mom about a dragon who forgets his best friend's birthday when I was three, so. It's been a minute. I kill fewer crayons these days.

What inspired you to start writing for The Magicians?

Well... basically, I followed @longnationalnightmare in from another fandom, and a few people on my Tumblr dash were reblogging gifsets, so I originally watched the show basically just for more context. (The threeway. By "more context," I mean "the threeway.") Anyway, it took me about 0.3 episodes to be completely hooked: I had read the books a few years back and was ambivalent about a lot of things in them, so when I started watching the show I was expecting a lot less than I got? I'd expected a sort of silly B-show with lousy acting, and, I mean... it is frequently *very* silly, but then it turned out that the cast ranges from 'very good' to 'incredible', and the interpersonal dynamics are *fantastic*, and those are both pure fannish bait for me. The show's not perfect, but they fixed a lot of my problems with the books, a lot of which lived on a character development level... I think the show really has done some incredible work with Quentin, especially; and also with depictions of complex, liminally-sexual queer friendships, like the relationship between Margo and Eliot, which I feel like I've never encountered represented this well in any other visual media source, ever.

Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? What it is about them that makes them your favourite?

Ooh, that's hard. Eliot is just my hands-down full-stop favorite character, but there's always that tricky question of "who is your favorite character to write *in the point of view of*" versus "who is your favorite character to write *about*," especially when you have a relationship or relationships you're really invested in (for me, the asymmetrical Quentin/Eliot/Margo triad). When I want to write stories that are love letters to Eliot Waugh, which is often, then I want to write from Quentin or Margo's point of view, because when I write Eliot's point of view, I am inevitably writing love letters to one or the both of them.

Do you have a preference for a particular season/point in time to write about?

Well, since I came into the fandom during the post-S3 hiatus—I started watching the show in October—just by default that's where most of my work is grounded, so far.

Are you working on anything right now? Care to give us an idea about it?

Oh boy, I sure am! I have a lot of work to do on my 39 Graves fic, and then I still have, hm, probably another... twenty or thirty thousand words, ish? On "The Marriage Plot," which is the sequel (...sort of) to "Firebird" and also my sort of... emotional raison d'fanfic, for The Magicians. It's sort of a, uhh... well, let's call it an un-arranged-marriage fic, is the best way I can think of to put it.

How long is your “to do list”?

Oh gosh. It's atrocious, but it's also not all for /The Magicians/. There's "The Marriage Plot," but I also have a long-running /Sherlock/ WIP that got toootally hijacked by me suddenly desperately needing to write hundreds of thousands of words about Eliot and Quentin not getting married, and so I'm just getting back into that; and then I have 39 Graves. I also still owe my partner a /Sneaky Pete/ storylet and have two other outstanding prompts from the summer, one for /Lewis/ and the other for... I.... totally don't remember! /The Good Place/, I think? I saved it around here somewhere. On top of that, I'm doing fan_flashworks bingo over on Dreamwidth, and I don't want my entire bingo card to be "The Magicians," though so far that's been somewhat difficult to resist. And I love the weekly prompt idea that the Rec Center and the Neitherlands Library are running for S4! I had a blast writing for the "Identity" prompt and am looking forward to this week's as well. Well, at least I write fast.

What is your favourite fic that you’ve written for The Magicians? Why?

I think I have to say "Firebird," because I haven't finished "The Marriage Plot," and who knows how that'll go; but they're so inextricably linked in my mind it's hard for me to think of "Firebird" as like—its own separate thing? I guess I can say that "Firebird" was really uncomfortable in places to write, so I'm proud of myself for getting it done without flinching away from all the, like, body horror and murder and super dubious consent; and I think it does what I want it to do. We'll see how I feel when I finish "The Marriage Plot."

Many writers have a fic that they are passionate about that doesn’t get the reception from the fandom that they hoped for. Do you have a fic you would like more people to read and appreciate?

Well, I definitely haven't been here long enough or written enough stuff to have that feeling, but—let's say "The Get Down," which is just a little bonbon about Margo and Eliot being best friends and banging a psychic. I love themmmmm~ ~ ~

What is your writing process like? Do you have any traditions or superstitions that you like to stick to when you’re writing?

I'm not particularly superstitious about writing, but I am hugely invested in my writing routine—I'm a write-every-day person, and I do mean 'every day'; I'm on a 2,179 day streak on 750words.com—that's a little shy of six years. People are usually horrified when I admit this, but: I get up at 5:15 in the morning seven days a week so that I can put on headphones and write for at least an hour and often more like two before work, or whatever it is that I'm doing that day. (I also go to bed at like.... eight forty-five. I am a party animal.) I also very frequently write on my lunch breaks and have the excellent fortune to live with my writing partner, so we spend loads of time writing on the weekends and talking about fiction. This is literally the life of my dreams, but you have to be a very specific kind of obsessive weirdo to feel that way, I think.

Do you write while the seasons are airing or do you prefer to wait for hiatus? How does the ongoing development of the canon influence and inspire your writing process?

I am too much of an egg in this fandom to have an answer to this one yet, I think. :) I probably wouldn't start a longfic during the season, but shortfic, sure, why not?

What has been the most challenging fic for you to write?

"Firebird," because of all the aforementioned body horror and murder and super dubious consent. I am a delicate flower, who happens to be fascinated with narrative about people confronting their personal monstrousness. It's a tough row to hoe, man.

Are there any themes or tropes that you like particularly like to explore in your writing?

For /The Magicians/, the particular dead horse that I love to flog is Fillorian marriage, and the implications that forced fidelity have for consent; and also just for how intimacy *works*, within a marriage or a long-term relationship where that sense of choice, of choosing and being chosen, is so much of what lends richness to the relationship.

Are there any writers that inspire your work? Fanfiction or otherwise?

Nonfannishly: Georgette Heyer, Sarah Waters, Herman Melville, Miranda July. Fannishly.... whoo boy. In /The Magicians/, I'm still catching up on all the great stuff that people have written! @longnationalnightmare , @adjovi , @achray , @shmazarov, @numinousnumbat , and @ohmarqueliot are some of my favorites so far... in other fandoms: gosh, where to even start, I've been in fandom for 20+ years, we could be here a while. I guess since we're on the subject (sort of) of the monstrous, I reread @1001cranes ' "disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage" the other day and was just as floored by it now as I was... gosh, was that really seven years ago? Well, it's evergreen, go read it again. @septembriseur for fiction about altered consciousness. @drawsaurus for the interplay between warmth and brittleness and humor and darkness. @helenish for her endings. @havingbeenbreathedout for the interplay between sex and story, and basically everything else as well.

What are you currently reading? Fanfiction or otherwise?

Right now, I have open on my laptop: (1) @astolat 's "And I Alone Have Escaped to Tell You [which I've read before], (2) @ohmarqueliot 's "Reaching in the Dark" [which I haven't started], and (3) what is, in context, the most ironic thing *ever*: a handbook on strategies for managing ADHD. What? Don't judge me.

What is the most valuable piece of writing advice you’ve ever been given?

Basically that learning to write is just figuring out how to ask yourself "What are you trying to do with this _______?" (comma, word, line, paragraph, chapter, story), and then figuring out how to answer. (Thanks, Dad!)

Are there any words or phrases you worry about over using in your work?

Oh, I mean—I'm pretty okay with even the totally predictable bits of my narrative voice, I don't stress about it too hard anymore, but yes, there are a bunch of words I *know* I overuse. Especially since I'm a little bit blind to repeated words if I'm reading and not listening to my work read aloud, which—I try to do at least one pass where I get my computer to read to me when I'm editing, but I need to have both time and focus to make that work, both of which, I find, are often in short supply. "Tells"—he tells her, she told him—is *the worst*; I'm always looking for it my brain just skips over completely, it's like it's not even a word for me anymore.

What was the first fanfic that you wrote? Do you still have access to it?

Oh dear. I'd been in fandom for several years before I started writing, but as I recall, the first thing I actually wrote was an exceptionally overwrought and tragic Snape POV Remus/Sirius story. I have no idea what happened to it and I'm almost certainly happiest that way.

Self-edit or Beta?

Both!

Comments or Kudos/Reblogs or Likes?

All are delicious.

Smut, Fluff or Angst?

Smut.

Quick & Dirty or Slow Burn?

Quick and dirty on the sex and slow burn on the feelings.

Favourite season?

Season Two

Favourite Episode?

Cheat Day

Favourite book?

The Magicians

Three favourite words?

lovely, devastating, yearning

Want to be interviewed for our author spotlight? Get in touch here.

#The Magicians #the magicians rec center #author spotlight #author spotlight: greywash

[cinemamablog]

Children’s Books about Hollywood and Film History

I’ve collected children���s books for Oliver since before I even knew Oliver existed. I saved my own copies of Tomie dePaola’s The Art Lesson and Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. I bought used copies of out-of-print childhood favorites, like A Baker’s Portrait by Michelle Edwards. Books were a major part of my childhood. My parents once owned a children’s book store, first in Sioux Falls and later in Sioux City. (I was no intelligentsia though; I also played video games all afternoon and stayed up until 3 AM watching infomercials.) I wanted to give my children that same foundation and love for books, because I’m convinced that strong reading skills can help you in every aspect of your life. (Communication, empathy, problem solving… Those skills apply to pretty much any profession ever.)

Once I gave birth to Oliver last July, I discovered many options for inclusive books about artists and scientists from all different time periods and backgrounds. I struggled to find similar resources for children on film or Hollywood history, though. Movies are such a key component of our household, I worry my kids would be flummoxed by their parents’ passion for film if we don’t teach them some of the basics. I want to write my own children’s book about women in film someday, but in the meantime, I figure if I want Oliver (and soon Ezra) to develop a base knowledge of Hollywood history, I needed to start searching out books about film for children.

I’ve compiled my favorite children’s books about film here, ranging from board books for babies to chapter books for independent readers or reading together. These books cover a variety of topics: animation, performers, Universal Monsters, early Hollywood history, and more. I’ve also embedded links so you can order them online, though I do encourage you to search your public library’s online catalog first (for the Sioux City Public Library, click here) or consider ordering copies from your local bookstore! In Sioux City, Book People is our only independent bookstore and they can order almost anything for you. You can visit them online here or on their Facebook page here.

For itty bitty babies who would rather chew on their books than read them, the pickings are slim but at least you have a couple options. I recommend the “Little Artist” board book set, written by Emily Kleinman and illustrated by Lydia Ortiz. The collection includes four books, each book featuring four artists. Kleinman organizes the artists into these categories: painters, sculptors, musicians, and performers. In the “performers” book, your little one will enjoy bright, vivid, and simple illustrations of Charlie Chaplin and Josephine Baker, accompanied by a simple sentence describing why they matter in art history. (Chaplin for his success in silent film, Baker for her dancing and spy activities.) This series clearly makes an effort to maintain gender balance, featuring two men and two women in every book, and also racially inclusive, featuring at least two people of color in every book. “Little Artists” also earns some bonus points because these books are the perfect size and texture for teething babies.

Another board book option for your tiny baby is the “Little People, Big Dreams” series. The series publishes most of their books in paperback, as well as condensed and simplified board books, so your child can grow with the series. The books focus on a variety of fascinating achievers throughout history, in professions from fashion to science, but your film history choices include personalities like actress Audrey Hepburn, dancer Josephine Baker (there she is again!), and martial artist Bruce Lee. I personally own the Frida Kahlo and Ella Fitzgerald board books from this series and find them engaging and informative without getting too lengthy for a baby.

Moving on to picture books! Both of these books are ideal for reading aloud to your little one, though one is a bit more complex than the other. 

Let’s start with the simpler of the two picture books: Mary Blair’s Unique Flair, written by Amy Novesky and illustrated by Brittney Lee. This appropriately colorful book tells the story of Mary Blair’s artistic childhood, and later, her career at Disney. The book takes time to explain how Blair drew inspiration from Latin America and other geographic landscapes, which influenced her concept art for classic movies like Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland. Mary Blair’s Unique Flair respectfully emulates Blair’s style and celebrates her career and achievements. Blair serves as a positive role model for any young artist.

For a bit heavier of a picture book that tackles identity and gender politics head on, I recommend Hedy Lamarr’s Double Life: Hollywood Legend and Brilliant Inventor, written by Laurie Wallmark and illustrated by Katy Wu. The book explains to the young reader how Lamarr’s glamorous screen persona and otherworldly good looks actually worked against her inventive ambitions. Lamarr was an amateur scientist and inventor with great ideas, but she had a hard time getting people to take her seriously because of her gender and world-renowned beauty. The government went as far as ignoring her most groundbreaking invention (frequency hopping, the precursor to Wi-Fi) for years and therefore keeping her major contribution to science a secret until the 1950s. This book makes for a brilliant companion to the recent documentary Bombshell: the Hedy Lamarr Story, currently streaming on Netflix. A whole lesson plan can be built around the book and film: you can teach your child(ren) about the scientific method, classic film, and the dangers of judging a book by its cover (or its gender).

For independent readers or for parents wanting to introduce little ones to long-form storytelling, I adore the “Who HQ” series of non-fiction books. The series includes what seems like every topic in history ever, but I especially enjoy their film history books, including Who Was Charlie Chaplin?, Who Was Alfred Hitchcock?, What is the Story of Frankenstein?, and Where is Hollywood? (While the Frankenstein book covers the entire history of Mary Shelley’s story and subsequent cultural impact, it dedicates many pages to the history of the classic Universal Monsters, so I chose to include it in this list.) I appreciate how this series spotlights supporting players in the narrative by providing sidebars for significant persons or events. For instance, the Alfred Hitchcock book dedicates a page to the career of Patricia Highsmith, the writer of the novel that inspired Hitch’s screen adaptation, Strangers on a Train. (I also love how the Hitchcock book stresses the collaborative nature of Hitch’s relationship with his wife, Alma.) Each book in this series provides supplementary materials, like illustrated timelines and bibliographies for further independent research. (A great resource for a research project or just for finding more books to read for fun!)

For parents who enjoy teaching and engaging with your kids at home using multimedia elements, or even for homeschooling families, as your children grow older (I’m thinking toddlers and onward), you can pair most of these books with full films or clips, as I suggested for the Hedy Lamarr picture book. For shorter attention spans, you can watch Josephine Baker dancing the Charleston, Charlie Chaplin short films, Bruce Lee fight scenes, and Audrey Hepburn dance numbers from musicals like My Fair Lady and Funny Face for free on YouTube. You can Google Mary Blair’s concept art together and then watch the resulting films either on Disney+ or through a digital rental. For older children, you can pay $11.99 for a monthly Criterion Channel subscription and dive into entire filmographies after you read about prolific filmmakers like Alfred Hitchcock, Charlie Chaplin, and Carl Laemmle Jr. That’s one nice thing about the Production Code of early Hollywood: most movies are family-appropriate, though you may have to address dated or problematic elements. (Such as the pre-code trope that if a female character makes immoral decisions, she either must repent or die, but usually both.)

I might write a follow-up post as I get introduced to more children’s books about film history. I’m especially interested in finding books for children that describe the inner workings of a movie set. Message me your recommendations! I didn’t learn about how movies are really made until I went to college and fell in love with the art form! It’s never too early or too late to learn something new. I also want to put together a zine to share with my readers, one that serves as a prototype for one of my dream projects, the “Women in Film” book I mentioned earlier in this post. Keep your eyes open and keep reading; your local CineMama has big dreams and you just might watch them come true in this space!

#books #critique

[dontcallmebugaboo]

Lingering

Ahhh!!!! My first ever Voltron fic! My first fic in years!!! Heads up, it’s Shidge. As in Shiro/Pidge-Katie Holt. Don’t like, you don’t need to read. 

Shock.

A deep, near-numbness ran through Pidge Gunderson’s body as she fought to remain standing, her hands holding the bar running along the length of the front of the operations deck in an iron grip. Her eyes stared at nothing as her normally astute brain sluggishly processed the words Allura had uttered not twenty seconds ago.

“Now, as to the reason why I called you two up here separately from the other Paladins,” the princess began gently as if she had foreseen her words having a rather…interesting effect on the green paladin. “You two are our recon team and you will be completing your part of the mission undercover. The role you will be playing is that of a newly married couple.”

Newly married couple…

Married couple…

Couple…

Pidge… and Shiro…

Heat exploded at the base of her neck and ran down her spine. The nineteen year old could only hope that her face wasn’t glowing as brightly as Rudolph’s nose as well because if that wasn’t a sign with the intensity of Las Vegas lights that this was both overwhelming and a version of a dream come true for her, then she wasn’t sure what was.

Her captain snapped her out of her reverie. “Pidge?” Shiro asked in a gentle, concerned voice. His hand came to rest on her shoulder. “If this is too much for you…if you’re not comfortable with—”

“I’m fine!” Pidge interjected, though with her high-pitched tone and shoulders near her ears suggested otherwise. She cleared her throat and forced herself to relax, taking a slow breath and dropping her shoulders. She grinned, light mischief coming into her amber eyes as she added, “I’m peachy. Good with being your fake missus.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to Shiro, drawling, “Are you comfortable with being my fake mister?”

Shiro laughed and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good with it.”

The green paladin echoed his nod. “Okay.” She looked to Allura, waiting for further instructions from the princess.

Allura smiled at the pair before addressing Pidge directly. “Actually, Pidge, I would like to borrow Shiro here for a moment to go over his part of the backstory.” She tilted her head, illustrating her intrigue at the notion as she continued, “according to both Hunk and Lance, there are times in interrogation when the teams brought in for questioning failed to get their stories straight. Now I know I should be going over this with both of you together right now, but” there was a twinkle in Allura’s eyes. “I am curious as to how you two will do separately and then we’ll piece together the full story afterward.”

 Both paladins laughed. “Okay,” Pidge acquiesced with a nod. “I’ll go.” She straightened her posture and stretched, then turned toward her mission partner. “Try not to make our story too sappy.”

 “I make no such promises,” Shiro replied with a wink, having no idea of the double time Pidge’s heart was sent into when he did such things. She managed to roll her eyes and pulled a face which made Shiro laugh and encouraged herself to make a quick getaway as she wasn’t sure if she could handle much more.

 She had planned on going to the kitchen to grab a water pack and scrounge around the fridge in the hopes of finding something leftover from Hunk’s display of his fantastic culinary skills from the night before; but that plan was put on pause when she nearly ran into Lance not too far from the door to the Operations Deck.

 “Hi Pidgey!” Lance greeted her. “Everything okay in there? Hunk, Keith and I thought you guys were taking too long.”

 Pidge scoffed lightly. “Lance, it’s barely been two dobeshes. Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

 “You sure?” The blue paladin pressed.

 “I’m sure.”

 Lance slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on heels in an attempted picture of nonchalance. Much as she loved her teammate like another brother, Pidge knew better. A tick later and she wasn’t disappointed. “So, why exactly is Allura having you and Shiro be the Daphne and Fred of our group?”

 Pidge jolted in surprise at the archaic reference, heat lighting her face. “Wh-what? Fred and Daph…I don’t know, Scooby-Doo, why do you and the others care so much?”

 Lance laughed off Pidge’s jab. “Just curious, Pidgey,” he replied. “You and Shiro are usually the pair who go off together on missions after all.”

 “You know what they say about cats and curiosity, Lance,” the green paladin deadpanned.

 “Might want to run that by Keith, actually.”

 “Oh my stars,” Pidge sighed tiredly. “Can I please just get to the kitchen? I really want some water.”

 “Sure!” Lance agreed cheerily as he fell into step with his friend. “But seriously though, Pidge. Can you talk to me or the others about your part of this recon mission or is it classified?”

 Pidge shrugged, running a hand through her short hair carelessly. “I guess so, I mean, it’s not like Allura demanded our silence on this,” she cut Lance a wry look. “And since I know you won’t stop pestering me, at least, until Shiro becomes available, then I guess I can tell you.”

 Mentally patting herself on the back for not rolling her eyes at her friend’s eager expression, Pidge explained, “Shiro and I are to go undercover in order to get close to the magistrate of Alecca; you remember when Coran brought up the rumors that he’s going to try something against the royal family, right?”

 Lance nodded. “Yeah, and it falls to Keith, Hunk and myself to keep an eye on things in and near the castle just in case this magistrate acts prematurely.”

 Pidge nodded, “right. How Shiro and I come in is that we’re pretending to be a newlywed couple—Allura’s idea, not mine—because even though this guy is notorious for his miser-like treatment of the people, he’s surprisingly soft…” she trailed off when she finally registered Lance’s giggling. “What?”

 “I-I-I’m sorry, P-Pidge,” he managed to get out. “I-it’s just…you and Shiro…pretending to be newly married?” He slapped a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from dissolving into further laughter.

 She blushed and looked away, shifting slightly on the spot. “Yeah? So?”

 Lance managed a sober expression. “Pidge?” His voice was full of true concern. “You know, you don’t have to do this if you’re not…” he silenced himself when his friend held up a hand.

 “Thanks, but I know,” Pidge looked at him with a small, soft smile. “Shiro told me the same thing. I said earlier that I’m fine with this mission and I wasn’t lying. Now. Why the giggling?”

 “Sorry,” Lance began with the sheepish tone of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It’s just…a little hard…picturing you as the lovey-dovey type. I’m more used to you being straightforward and concise with your words and actions.” His expression turned sly as he winked, “unless we’re talking about technology of course.”

 “Of course,” Pidge parroted without mockery. Her friends knew her well after all. “But I don’t think that there’s anything really to worry about. It’s not like Shiro and I need to be disgusting with one another.”

 “Depends on someone’s definition of ‘disgusting’,” Lance pointed out. “Now do you really think you can act like you’re openly romantic with Shiro and not like it’s a terrible read aloud from some script?”

 “Yes, Lance,” Pidge huffed and rolled her eyes. “Pretty certain I can handle it.”

 “You’re absolutely sure?”

 Pidge glared at him, not knowing that she was potentially falling into a trap. “If Nikola Tesla can handle sitting in his laboratory with two of his coils on at full power and not even flinch, I think I can act like a wife in love.”

 Trust Pidge to compare love to science experiments with all the detached observation of a…scientist. Thankfully Lance was too mischievous and stubborn to back down easily. A slow, shit-eating grin plastered itself across Lance’s face. “If you wanna keep this charade up, Pidgey-kins, you’re gonna need all the practice you can get.” He nodded toward Shiro. “I dare you to go over to your ‘husband’ right now and kiss him.”

 Inwardly Pidge was a combination of rage and shoujo schoolgirl embarrassment with a hint glee because someone was telling her to kiss Shiro. Now yes, it was merely to show that she knew how to give a worthy performance which would allow her to fulfil her undercover role as part of this mission, but she couldn’t help what she was feeling. She was nineteen for quiznak’s sake! It’s not her fault her body was singing with fiery and passionate hormones that drove her crazy every now and then! Hell, she was totally blaming her hormones for considering giving into Lance’s dare instead of merely dismissing the sharp shooter.

 Miraculously, Pidge managed to keep her face perfectly schooled into a mask that had some semblance of calm despite her pounding heart. Pidge slowly turned back toward the still open door of the Ops Room (she, Hunk and Coran were all guilty of not getting that glitch handled sooner) where she could see that Shiro was now sitting next to Allura, further strategizing for this upcoming mission. His entire demeanor was serious, focused…though apparently not too focused as his gaze soon flickered in her direction and he spared her a quick wink and a grin. We’ve got this, he silently told her.

Pidge took a deep, slow breath as she tried to will her heart down from its double time pace. Quiznak, why does he have to be so…so…frustratingly cute? The desire to kiss him was there and it was strong. It was the courage department Pidge was seriously lacking in at the moment however, her pesky hormones insisting otherwise.

Lance decided to give her a proverbial shove as he taunted, “What’s the matter, Pidgeykins? Your ‘husband’ too scary to kiss? Or is it because he’s not alone?” Laughter filled the blue paladin’s voice. “Want me to call him over?”

Pivoting slowly toward her “friend”; her posture stiff and glasses gleaming, Pidge replied in as lofty a voice as she could muster, “Don’t bother Lance, I’ve got this. Kiss Shiro? Piece of cake.”

Summoning whatever dredges of bravado she could, Pidge managed to turn and strut toward her leader and friend as though he were seated at the end of a catwalk. Seating herself near him, but so close as to obstruct his attention from Allura, not just yet, Pidge picked up his prosthetic hand with the gentlest of pressure.

The motion just enough to grab his attention, Shiro turns toward Pidge who locks eyes with him as she slowly and deliberately places a lingering kiss on the back of the hand she delicately held. Shiro’s eyes widen, his face flushing a beautiful shade of scarlet as his breath hitches. Pidge swears that she’s not merely hearing her own roaring heartbeat. For a moment, it feels as if they are the only two in the galaxy.

Shiro tries saying something, “Pi-Ka-I…uh…” Isn’t quite successful.

Pidge smirks against his hand, her own eyes glinting in mirth as Shiro squeaked. She also notes that his eyes fall to half-mast and she nearly lets go of his hand when she catches a flicker of…was that desire in his deep, dark depths?

Oh my stars…

The spell is shattered by Lance’s howls of laughter and when Allura leans around the frozen black paladin, her own teasing grin on her face. “My my, Pidge,” the princess giggled. “This is quite bold for you.”

Finally lowering her mission partner’s hand from her lips, Pidge maintains her smirk as she replied, “I was just telling my ‘husband’ here hello.”

“H-h-hi,” Shiro managed to choke out, face still sporting that handsome blush.

Her smirk smoothing into a full grin, Pidge gently squeezed his hand. “Hi there.” She glances back at Lance who is still cracking up. “You doing okay there, ‘Lancey-kins’?”

Lance snorted and gazed at the trio on the couch through half-lidded eyes as he leaned against the wall. “Doing great, Pidgey. Interesting kiss, there…”

Pidge held up a hand to halt any further teasing. “You merely said I had to kiss Shiro, Lance. You never specified on the lips.” The choked sound Shiro makes from behind her coupled with the sudden slackening of his grip on her hand tells her that probably would’ve been too much for the young man in any case.

Deigning to be merciful, Allura stepped in; “Alright. Alright, you two. Enough fun at Shiro’s expense.” Despite her words, the princess’s tone still shook with laughter as a grin danced around her lips. “You can save that for later,” she winked.

Pidge bit her lip as she gently squeezed Shiro’s hand while checking on him. She hoped she hadn’t pushed the young man too far. He was still staring at her with wide, unguarded eyes. He kept their gaze locked until he glanced down at her hand clasping his prosthetic, his blush deepening at the realization. At the back of her mind, Pidge couldn’t help but wonder if he even felt her lips on his hand or if the blush was a reaction from the visual aspect of the action.

The green paladin also wondered if that flash she had seen in his eyes was truly desire or just some wish of her imagination’s.

“Are you okay?” She finally asked him. “Sorry, I probably should’ve asked you that sooner.”

“I’m fine!” Shiro squeaked. Then he winced and cleared his throat. “I’m good. I’m fine.” He gave a shaky laugh, still honestly overwhelmed that Pidge out of the blue kissed his hand and for so long and on his Galra crafted hand… “I’m peachy.”

Pidge laughed at that, “I’m glad to hear it.”

Shiro cocked his head in a show of curiosity, “by the way…why did Lance tell you to kiss me?”

“Oh!” A blush lit Pidge’s face and Shiro couldn’t help but think once again, just how more adorable it made her. Not that he’d tell her that of course. She’d happily chuck him out of an airlock most likely.

Pidge laughed sheepishly. “Lance…might’ve questioned on whether or not I could really do my part of this mission…be emotionally invested, y’know?” She glanced away from him. “And I guess you could say I let my ego get the best of me.”

Her eyes widened as if something clicked for her, “n-not that I wasn’t sincere, I-I just thought that a kiss on the hand was a bit more intimate? And it’s less shocking than a sudden kiss on the lips.” She hesitated before asking, “do…you think we’ll need t-to-to on the lips? In order to be convincing I mean?”

Though a small part of Shiro would have loved to say ‘possibly’ at the least, his voice was still firm and truthful when he said, “not if it makes you uncomfortable, Pidge. We’ll find other ways of selling this.”

Pidge smiled at that, “okay.” Her smile then turned sly. “Besides, I’d have to say it’d be really out of character for you to suddenly plant one on me with no warning. There better be dinner first.”

Shiro spluttered loudly at that, “P-Pidge! Just…just who do you take me for?!”

She laughed, “You are too easy to fluster, Shiro, too easy.” The pout on his face made her want to coo, he was adorable and she wondered if he knew it.

Pidge missed his sudden look of a challenge being thrown as he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her cheek; lingering, just as she had done when she kissed his hand.

Smirking at the sudden heat he felt beneath his lips, Shiro pulled away and said, “Well, this is out of order, but shall I pick you up at seven?” It took a bit of willpower to not laugh at his friend’s sudden squeak.

Once again, Shiro and Pidge were made to remember that they weren’t the only occupants in the room. “Well! As charming and entertaining as all of this is,” Allura began. “I really do need to work with Pidge on her side of the story, so for now Shiro, off you go.”

Shiro chuckled and stood. “Don’t make our story too sappy,” he teased, mirroring her words from earlier.

Pidge found that she couldn’t even look at him, face too red and her heart beating too quickly. She just nodded. As Shiro moved to lead Lance away from the room as well, she mustered enough sass to call out, “going to have dinner under the stars, are we?” Well, she wasn’t wrong, they were in space, not due to land at their destination for another day; there weren’t exactly many places for a date.

“I thought the hangar was more suitable,” he shot back.

A saccharine grin stretched her lips as she leaned back to catch Shiro’s eye, hands placed over her heart as she batted her eyes. “You know me so well, a real Prince Charming.”

Her words had more of an effect on him than her silly actions did as he nearly tripped, face warming and suddenly his lips were burning with the sensation of having had her skin beneath them. “Yep,” he managed to get out, wincing as his voice came out strangled once more. He barely heard Lance’s awe as the blue paladin commented on how smooth he had been with Pidge a few ticks ago.

Meanwhile as Pidge sat with the Altean princess, she couldn’t help but place a hand on the cheek Shiro had kissed. It was a movie cliché move and she knew it, but there was some small part of her that wanted to dash about checking the vents and the pipes, making sure there was nothing that could have caused her to hallucinate that moment.

“You were certainly a lot more open than you thought you’d be,” Allura noted brightly. “Are you becoming more comfortable with this mission?”

“Y-yeah…” Comfortable, that was it. She was comfortable with Shiro, finding it suddenly easy to talk and banter with him once she was able to start it. Comfortable with flirting with Shiro. She wanted to bury her face in her hands; oh, Quiznak, she had been flirting with Shiro!

And…she suddenly realized, he had been flirting back.

#Voltron legendary defender #vld pidge #vld shiro #fanfic

[nocaptainreuben]

Recapping My Christmas Reads... Finally.

So way back at the start of December I wrote a post called My Christmas Reading List and told you to “keep an eye on the blog for reviews of all the new books as I finish them”. Yeah… That didn’t happen. :P Don’t get me wrong, I read the books, and I wrote notes as I went along, but my motivation escaped me and I never actually sat down to write the reviews. So, to catch myself up, here’s a recap of my bookish end to 2016.

The Christmasaurus

As I said in my original post, I was so unbelievably excited for this book, as I love everything the Fletcher family do. I am pleased to say that it did not disappoint.

The story centres on a young boy called William Trundle who loves two things: Christmas and dinosaurs. One year, he can think of nothing to ask Santa for except the obvious – a dinosaur – and as luck would have it a very special dinosaur has made the North Pole his home… We see William and the Christmasaurus share an amazing adventure and have a lot of fun with them along the way. Whilst the plot is obviously very fantastical, there’s an awful lot of real emotion and heart in there, and it has a really strong message of kindness, tolerance and friendship, and provokes thoughts of things like what true happiness means, what’s really important, and how everybody can have adventures and do anything if they really believe. All that sappy nonsense. :P

The writing style is absolutely gorgeous; full of innocence, imagination, silliness, magic, and downright joy. Instantly after starting this – like, I’m talking literally in the first sentence – I had a huge smile on my face, this indescribable warm, happy feeling in my stomach and a knowledge that I was going to absolutely adore this book. It has the same feeling as Roald Dahl books, full of all the same crazy ingredients his stories were, and took me right back to my experiences of having those stories read to me as a kid.

But simultaneously, it also sent me into the future picturing myself reading this to my own kids and just filled me with joy. Whilst I don’t have kids yet and just read it myself like the big child I am, I know this book is absolutely perfect for little ones. It’s aimed as a MG book, so great for slightly older kids to read themselves, but also it’s so poetic and obviously made to be read aloud, which means it will make a lovely bedtime story – perhaps stretching it out, a little bit each night, throughout December as excellent bonding time while building up the excitement for Christmas.

It’s clear that Tom’s experience with and passion for music has been poured lovingly into every page, not just with the elves’ songs and such, but with the lyrical quality of his writing as a whole, and it just makes it this wonderful, interactive experience that I’ve not had from many books. The book is being adapted into both an animated musical film and a stage musical, and I can already see how well it will translate into those mediums. I cannot wait to see both of them!

Shane Devries’ illustrations, both on the cover and throughout the book, are stunning and really enhance the experience of an already wonderful book. They suit the story so well and help this super imaginative world to come alive in your mind’s eye.

All in all, a delightful story for the young and young at heart, that was a breath of fresh, wintry air for me in this sucky, magicless world.

The Twelve Days of Dash and Lily

This is a sequel to Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares, set a year after the events of that book, after Lily has had a particularly tough year and lost her trademark enthusiasm for life (and particularly Christmas) a little bit. I’ve seen a lot of reviews of this book in which people are moaning about it being very negative and “not in keeping with the Christmas spirit”. And yes, it is decidedly less happy and bubbly than the previous book, but that’s nothing to moan about in my opinion. With the year that Lily had it would be incredibly hard for her to keep her spirits up, and whilst people may not like to face that fact – it’s a part of life. There’s nothing wrong with a book having an air of negativity and reflecting the harder parts of life, because that feels honest and realistic. In fact, I thought it was really nice to see the contrast from the first book – which was so sickly sweet it could have been plucked straight out of Hollywood – and follow the ups and downs of Dash and Lily’s relationship rather than just the exciting rush of it beginning, as it made the whole thing more believable.

Lily as a character has also come under criticism for being selfish, moody and bratty, but again, I thought those traits were a perfect fit to this story. After all, she is a teenager and sometimes that kind of behaviour can be what they do best, but like I said, with the stuff that she’s gone through this year it’s only natural – and completely forgivable in my opinion – for her to be acting like this; it felt like this book was Lily taking time to figure things out, and she just needed to be selfish for a while to do that, which was perfectly ok with me.

Dash, on the other hand, is a lot nicer in this book and I actually liked him less for it. It didn’t feel like there was as much depth to his character anymore, as if he’d become all about Lily and lost a bit of himself in the process, so he ended up quite boring. I’m not exactly criticising, because, as with Lily, it fits; at this time in their lives, it did need to be all about Lily for a while, and that’s just the give and take nature of relationships, so once again I just thought the changes in his character reflected real life.

All in all, I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as Book of Dares, and it did feel a little unnecessary as the first book felt like enough for me and this one didn’t add a whole lot to my experience of those characters and their story. But saying that, there were some nice elements to it and considering how short it is, it’s worth spending a winter afternoon on it just to spend a little more time with Dash and Lily.

Stealing Snow

I did something I never do with this book… I DNFed. *cringes* I actually hate myself a little bit, because I hate the idea of someone forming an opinion on a book without actually having bothered to read it, and the point I stopped (16%) doesn’t seem far enough to have enough information to properly make up my mind. I tried so hard to carry on, but I just couldn’t do it. I don’t know why, but I felt like I had a wall up against this book straight away, and from the first few sentences I found myself thinking “this is gonna be bad”. It got to the point where self fulfilling prophecy was kicking in and making me hate every little thing about it, and by forcing myself to keep reading it I was actually putting myself off reading altogether, so I had to step back and take a break. I did intend to go back and carry on after I’d rekindled my reading libido with a book I was more enthusiastic about, but time went on and I never did, so I finally have to admit to myself that I just don’t want to.

I think the thing that bothered me most of all was that it just felt kind of lazy. There were little things that really irritated me (which I might not have even noticed or been bothered by in another book, but because I was already not enjoying it, I picked up on everything) like the fact that at first it said that Bale had broken Snow’s hand, then later on it became her wrist, then when it was mentioned again it was her arm. It kind of felt like the author had just not bothered to read it back after she wrote it and check for continuity or anything. In the same vein, I got the feeling she had thought to herself “oh well it’s a fantasy story, so I don’t need to bother doing any research, it’s all coming from my imagination” even though at first it’s set in the real world. The “asylum”* felt like it was written by someone with no understanding whatsoever of mental illness or how institutions like that work, and it just… bothered me. I’m not touchy enough that it was full blown offensive, but I just felt a little uncomfortable and more than anything I couldn’t believe it or sympathise with it, so I just felt detached from the characters and not interested in the story.

It’s worth noting that my copy of this book is an unfinished proof, so I can’t really make any comments on it without comparing to the published book, but unless she completely rewrote it in between those two stages I think it’s safe to say I’m not going to enjoy it.

*Personally I think that’s a completely obsolete, really shit word, with super negative connotations, but it’s the one she uses so, hey ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So that’s everything I promised. I’ve read a bunch of others since then and, as always, have a load lined up on my TBR, but I’ve learnt my lesson now: I’m saying nothing! We’ll see what happens, and if I ever actually do write anything it’ll be a nice surprise. :P

#books #booklr #book blog #book review #Christmas reading #winter reads #the christmasaurus #tom fletcher #The twelve days of dash and Lily #david levithan #rachel cohn #Dash and Lily's book of dares #stealing snow #danielle paige