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thekeepersgrove · 2 months

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Rye's Floating Bookshop - 3rd of Bloom

It is a rough night, as the strong winds whistling outside make it hard to sleep, rocking the bookshop on choppy waves. My body aches after yesterday's work, and I have to force myself out of bed with the promise of a strong cup of tea. After a breakfast of herbal tea and clover oatcakes, I go to open the shop only to see the deck outside cluttered with blossoms that have been shaken loose from their trees by the wind. Even the gutters are full of them! With a sigh, I flip the sign by the door to "open" and go to fetch my broom to start clearing out the debris. It is a slow day, due to the strong winds buffeting anyone who leaves their cozy abodes to go about their errands, which allows me some time to slowly work on the outside of the bookshop.

A couple of hours after opening, an elderly wallaby enters the shop, glad to get out of the weather. I welcome her with a smile and am asked to help her with her bags as she browses the shelves. I help her find a book suiting her tastes, struggling under the weight of the bags and wondering how this old creature managed to walk around with so much. The wallaby leaves with a mystery book, The Scarlet Clock, and thanks me warmly for my time.

After managing to clear the gutters of the gathered blossoms, I allow myself a break at the counter up front with a cup of willowbark tea and a small plate of oatmeal cookies. It does well to ward off a bit of the chill from the windy weather outside. A few minutes into my break, I hear a yelp at the door and look up from my cup of tea. A young racoon has entered, nursing his tail that seems to have gotten pinched in the door. I quickly get up, putting my teacup down, and ask if the young man requires any aid. He waves me off with a "thank you, but all is well" and encourages me to go back to my break. I continue watching him as he wanders through the store—bumping into customers and shelves wherever he goes—and hope I will not have to spend too much time picking up after him. The mess he leaves—even though he tries to pick up after himself—is not as endearing as that of the schoolchildren from yesterday. There is a huge crash coming from the non-fiction shelves, and I rush over to find the young raccoon on the floor, with books cluttered around him. With a guilty look he explains that he saw a book he wanted on the top shelf, but as he couldn't reach it he decided it was better to climb the shelf than to ask for help! I bring over the stepstool that stands next to the shelves, bring down the book—The Art of Thinking: Exploring Philosophy and the Quest for Meaning—and hand it over to this clumsy customer. I have to push down any frustration and irritation that I feel towards the customer as I decline his offer to help with the cleanup, saying that I will take care of it. While he finishes his browsing I clean up and put the books back on the shelf. When he joins me at the counter he does so with another book—Exploring Existence: Navigating the Nuances of Modern Philosophy—and apologises profusely as he pays for his finds and leaves. I breathe out a sign of relief as he does so and congratulate myself for managing to keep my emotions in check, even though I could have handled it better.

While I stand outside, sweeping away the rest of the blossoms of the deck, a squirrel approaches me with a fake smile and a briefcase in hand. It seems this lady is not a customer at all, but is in fact trying to sell me something. They show me a collection of beautiful crystal decorations—masterfully crafted depictions of frolicking animalfolk—and try their best at selling them to me. I point out that my domicile is a floating home and is therefore affected quite heavily by the whims of the river. Any such items would inevitable fall off whatever shelf they would be stored on and therefore get smashed against the floor. I also tell them that they are a bit extravagant for my tastes, even though they are beautiful pieces. The squirrel salesman tries for a few more minutes to sell them to me, before I excuse myself by saying that I have customers inside who might need my help. She makes a sound of indignation, closes her briefcase, and leaves without saying goodbye. How rude!

As the evening and closing time approach the weather turns for the better—the winds calm down and warmth replaces the chill. I consider closing early to enjoy the sun now that my deck is clean, but seeing as how it is approaching the end of the workday anyway, I decide to simply sit out in the sun and enjoy it while waiting for any last customers to arrive. The fox kit from yesterday approaches me again, this time with some shyness. I welcome him with warmth, telling him how I am pleased to see him again, which makes him glow with joy. I ask his name, and he introduces himself as Darcy. He has come back with yet another question about my hometown, this time asking how it was to grow up there. I am more than happy to share my stories—even though I have to think to recall some of the details. I tell him of playing in the lower branches of the Undertree with my older siblings, running across the bridges between the houses built lower to the ground around its massive trunk. I smile a bit as I mention how angry our parents were with us when we came back covered in scratches after playing a bit too recklessly in the foliage around the base of the tree. Darcy listens with rapt attention, asking follow up questions occasionally. He laughs with me when I tell him—voice low and conspiratorial—of stealing pies that our mother had placed on the window sill of our home and running off to eat them at our favourite spot at a nearby creek, full of the kind of satisfaction only children get when doing something they shouldn't. I make sure to tell him to not get any ideas and to be a good kit, but I cannot help but smile at him as he claims that he would never do such a thing in a way that is clearly a lie. We speak for a little while before an older fox arrives, who introduces themselves as Darcy's parent. I shake their paw, giving them my name in return, and tell them that Darcy has been a joy when they apologise for their son taking up my time. As they leave, I thank Darcy for joining me and tell him that he is welcome to come back, if his parents allow it. I wave as they leave and head back into the shop to finish the day.

After the last few customers leave, I turn the sign at the door to "closed" and do any paperwork and cleaning up that is required. I think of Darcy and find myself hoping he will return, as the company of the young kit reminds me of my nieces in a way that brings warmth to my heart. I end the day out on the deck again, watching the sun set beneath the horizon, quite happy with how things are turning out so far.

| Total customers: 40 | Books sold: 30 (Inventory Total: 433) | Earnings: 83 (Till total: 238) |

#fox curio's floating bookshop #rye's floating bookshop #solo rpg #solo ttrpg #journalling game #ttrpg #I've been struggling with coming back to this since I haven't really had the inspiration #but since someone (who isn't my darling) enjoyed it I decided to give it another try!#which I'm glad I did because it's a very cozy game

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pendragony · 5 years

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What the South Downs are like

Look, GO fanfic writers. I love you and you make life worth living, but I need to tell you some stuff. I live on the edge of the South Downs. It’s not all rock and crab grass and bleak stretches of windswept sand. Let me tell you what it’s like.

1. The local beaches are NOT sandy. They are shingle. They are the kind of beaches Crowley likens walking through the church to. They hurt your feet. There are also sometimes areas of black, barnacle-covered shelves of rock that stick out of the water, housing rock pools and pain for people who walk on them. You might find shells (mostly mussels and cockles) and bits of driftwood, but you’ll also find fossils (which regularly break off the cliffs in rock falls), seaweed, bits of old fishing nets and floats, loads and loads of herring gulls who will steal your ice cream, and these long wooden fences that run perpendicular to the coastline from the top of the beach into the sea (in a vain attempt to slow coastal drift) which are called groynes. Yes, really. Some beaches now have massive piles of granite boulders in order to counteract coastal drift. The sea is not clear and is rarely blue. It’s usually a cloudy greyish greenish blueish colour, and it’s a rare treat to be able to spot a shoal of mackerels or a porpoise.

2. In summer, we have heatwaves that feel hellish to us but would make people from other countries laugh. The rest of the time the beach tends to be chilly, because it’s always windier than inland. The air is humid year round. It’s usually about warm enough to swim from mid May till September, but you get the occasional hardy soul swimming outside those months. People go sailing, but not surfing.

3. Most coastal towns are a bit shabby and down at heel, with amusement arcades, chip shops and cafes being a common thread between them. Some are ancient fishing towns.

4. Seaside terminology in British English: it’s “the beach”, not “the shore”; “the seaside” far more often than “the coast”; “the sea”, NEVER “the ocean”, sometimes “the Channel” (the sea in question being the English Channel), never “the water”. (If people want to do stuff on “the water”, I assume firstly that they mean a river or possibly lake, and secondly that they’re foreign.)

5. On to the actual Downs. These are big hills. My American husband was shocked when he first saw them because he thought they were mountains. They aren’t (he comes from somewhere relatively flat), but they’re a good hike. They form a long, rolling ridge between the inland countryside and the sea. They’re made of chalk and flint, they’re covered in grass meadowland, rambling (hiking) trails and farmland. They are less inhabited than the surrounding Sussex countryside. You’ll find grazing animals; fields - mostly of barley, wheat, oats and oilseed rape; archaeological sites, ancient walkways and barrows; the occasional chalk figure; people walking, biking, horse riding and very occasionally even conducting Druidic rituals!

6. On that basis, please note that wherever Aziraphale and Crowley end up living almost certainly has a rural farmland type character and is definitely not a bleak, rugged headland. It’ll be archetypal English postcard territory in one of the counties that claims to be the ‘garden of England’. Think thatched roof and roses round the door, rolling hills, big old trees and a winding country lane that people down from London speed along like absolute menaces. They probably don’t have many near neighbours and are at least ten miles from the nearest town. Ten miles along ancient, narrow English roads is further than it sounds to someone from a younger country with straighter roads.

7. Broadly speaking, small towns in Sussex tend to be posh and full of old bookshops, tea rooms, antique shops, boundless history and teenagers desperate to leave. Big towns each have their own character. In terms of size, in my experience, most big towns in the UK are similar to smaller American cities, while American small towns are usually equivalent to what I would call a village, or even a hamlet.

8. Most cottages in England are built from brick or local stone (Sussex sandstone being very likely), but wooden clapboard is more common in Sussex than most parts of the country, because the south gets enough sun to occasionally dry out a little. Still unusual, though, because of deathwatch beetle, woodworm, damp and dry rot.

9. We have four distinct seasons, but rain can happen in any of them. If there’s snow in the winter, it’ll be the wet kind that easily turns to slush and ice, preventing travel because no one is prepared for it. In summer, the Downs get plenty of storms coming over from France, as well as taking the brunt of heatwaves. But generally speaking, if you paint a picture of the Downs, you will be using lots of bright blue for the sky, shades of green for the grass and woods, golden yellow for fields of corn* and hay bales, and perhaps some white for the chalk cliffs (think Dover). It looks like a postcard.

10. Retirement to the South Downs conjures up something chintzy and domestic for people who like the finer things in life but want to be left in peace to potter about harmlessly in a place that everyone agrees is utterly lovely.

*Corn, in traditional British usage going back centuries, denotes the local grain crop (eg barley, wheat, rye, oats) as opposed to maize, which used to be very rare here but is gaining in popularity.

(PS Sorry for the appalling formatting, Tumblr is weird.)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #south downs #information #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #accuracy #hope this helps

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theglitteringhopeless · 7 years

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Promises Broken - Chapter 6 (Jughead x Betty fic)

The weekend rolls around after what feels like forever. Betty vows to use her time away from Jughead to really focus on her schoolwork and finally catch up. This plan is ruined slightly when she ends up shopping with Veronica on Saturday.

Riverdale has one poor excuse for a shopping mall, so Betty tends to do most of her shopping online. Veronica insists that she has to go shopping, however, because she needs a new dress urgently for a family dinner her mom is planning. And she needs Betty there to get her opinion.

“I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes,” Veronica demands before hanging up before Betty can say no again.

She sighs and heads for a shower.

She can’t help but notice that Veronica is acting weird. Well… weirder than usual.

First of all, she appeared with a coffee and a scone. Betty was grateful, as she hadn’t had a chance to eat breakfast.

Then when they got to the mall, Veronica had insisted on buying Betty the lipstick she kept eyeing up. It was a bright red colour, very unlike the usual nudes and pinks she applied. But she couldn’t help admire it… It was bold and vibrant. Maybe if she wore it… she’d be a little bolder, too?

Veronica had watched Betty debate with herself before sighing and buying it for her, instead. She was relieved; the decision was now out of her hands. And, hey, if she never wore it, at least she didn’t pay for it.

So, Betty was grateful but also a little suspicious. Why was Veronica suddenly being so thoughtful? Not that that was a bad thing. Just… A new thing. And Betty had enough cynicism in her to wonder if perhaps Veronica was overcompensating for something.

She decides to stop internalising and actually ask.

“Hey, V, is something wrong?”

Veronica glances up from the pair of black stiletto shoes she’s fussing over.

“No, Betts. Why would something be wrong?”

Betty merely shrugs, not ready to admit that she’s suspicious of Veronica’s behaviour. She doesn’t want to throw her generosity back in her face. And, if there really is nothing wrong, she doesn’t want Veronica to be angry with her. Sometimes she forgets what a good friend Veronica is. Although they’re not always as close as Betty is with Jughead, their friendship remains strong. And it’s easy. There’s no drama with them. (Something that is so often seen amongst teenage girls.) They slip easily into each other’s company, and very seldom have disagreements.

This is threatened, however, when Veronica sighs suddenly. “Fine, you caught me. Something is wrong, Betty.”

She turns to look at her friend, worry clouding her features.

“What’s wrong, Veronica? Is it something with your dad?”

Betty knows that her dad is awaiting trial for embezzlement. It’s common knowledge amongst the people of Riverdale, but few people see up close the damage that has been caused. Veronica’s idea of her perfect father has been shattered, forcing her to grow up faster than she should have.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…” She trails off, looking towards the entrance of a cafe. “Can we go for a coffee? I don’t want to do this here.”

Betty is now incredibly alarmed, but nods politely all the same.

Veronica is known for being overly dramatic but something about her face tells Betty that this isn’t nothing.

She allows Veronica to buy her yet another latte before settling down at a table.

“Ok,” Betty gestures to Veronica, who is sitting across from her looking increasingly nervous. “Talk.”

The café is pretty quiet, meaning Veronica’s next few words are heard clearly.

“Archie and I are dating,” she blurts out.

Betty pauses for a moment to consider this.

Veronica… and Archie?

Since when?

She knew that Veronica had kissed him during one of Cheryl’s vindictive games of Spin the Bottle. She also knew that Cheryl had set this up on purpose just to hurt Betty.

But Cheryl definitely wasn’t setting this up.

“Betty? Please say something. I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I just… I really like him.”

She snaps her eyes up to Veronica’s worried expression, suddenly feeling sorry for her. How long has she been agonising over telling her this?

“It’s ok, Veronica. I’m not mad.”

And she means it. Her feelings for Archie are long gone. Instead, she feels happy that two of her closest friends are now together. And Veronica is much more equally suited to Archie, anyway. She breaks through his walls and encourages him to come out his bubble from time to time, which is something Betty could never do.

It’s just…

If Betty lets the selfish part of her out, then she feels a little jealous. She studies Veronica, who, now that she knows Betty is fine with her and Archie, looks radiant and excited about her new relationship. Suddenly, Betty longs for a relationship of her own. This makes her cringe; she feels like those stereotypical teen girls who need a boyfriend to be happy. But she can’t help how she feels.

Loneliness, at the pit of her stomach, causes her to push her cup of coffee away.

She realises Veronica has been talking, and she hasn’t listened to a word she’s said.

“… just feels so right, you know? Like it’s no bi- Are you ok, B?”

She blinks up, feeling guilty that she’s about to ruin Veronica’s happy moment.

“Just… thinking about Jughead.”

Veronica’s face changes to one of sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Betty. I didn’t think.”

“Oh, no! Veronica, you don’t have to be sorry. You have every right to be happy about your new relationship. I guess… I just wish I had one of my own.”

“I know, Betty. Maybe one day.”

“Yeah… One day.”

But even as she says it, she doesn’t believe it.

“I have to run, Betty. I’m meeting Archie,” Veronica smiles shyly, while also managing to look sheepish. “Do you need a lift home?”

Betty can’t help but smile herself at Veronica’s happiness.

“No, I think I’ll head to the book store now that I’m here.”

“You sure?” Veronica still looks worried about her friend.

“Yes! Now go have fun! Tell me all about it later.”

Veronica kisses her on the cheek then floats away, leaving Betty alone with her cold cup of coffee and her thoughts.

It’s barely afternoon and Betty is faced with a long day and zero plans. She’s too restless now to do something as mind-numbing as returning home and watching TV or studying.

Veronica and Archie are both busy.

She grimaces. Is this how it will be from now on? Will her two friends be too busy with each other to spend time with her? And then she feels guilty. Because it’s not their fault that Betty has no other friends. Maybe she should try harder to talk to new people… She’s just been so busy this year with school and the newspaper and… Jughead.

Jughead.

He was her friend, of course. But in a different way. She couldn’t just call him up on a Saturday afternoon and ask him to do something with her. That’s not how they worked.

She can’t help but wonder what he’s doing at this exact moment.

Is he reading the new novel he mentioned that he bought the other day? Maybe working on an article for the Blue and Gold? Or something entirely different?

She gets up and leaves the café, wandering through the mall aimlessly. She’s not in the mood to browse for a new book, despite what she told Veronica. Maybe she could buy some new clothes? Her bank account is looking quite full at the moment. Between her allowance and the occasional babysitting she does for her neighbours, she’s built up quite a little nest egg.

Without ever really making the decision to, she finds herself in one of the few boutiques Riverdale mall has. She sifts through rack after rack of the same styles of clothing, knowing that none of them would suit her. They belong on people like Veronica or Cheryl Blossom. She’s more of a Gap girl. Plain and simple. Maybe that’s why Jughead barely looks at her.

She leaves the shop with a melancholy sigh, feeling very down on herself all of a sudden. She’s never been the most secure girl in the world, but she’s also never been this insecure in her life. Shame washes over her as she realises it’s a boy that has lowered her self-esteem. But not just any boy. Jughead Jones. That has to gain her some points, right? It’s not some shallow minded football player that just wants to hook up in the back of his car. Jughead isn’t like the other boys. He’s… sensitive… and a little troubled, and just what she’s been looking for. He’s the only guy she knows that can keep up with her and give as good as he gets.

The bookshop looms closer as Betty strolls along, trying to drag out her trip. It’s the last shop in the mall, and is also one of the smallest. Books, it would seem, are a dying art. She wanders inside purely for something to do, smiling at the elderly man who’s been working here for as long as she can remember. He nods back politely, recognising her as one of his more frequent customers.

She scans the bestsellers shelves, not really seeing, but trying to look interested. There’s a new Judy Blume novel and Betty glances around stealthily before grabbing it to read the back. She’d die if anyone knew she was a closet fan.

“Whatcha looking at, Betts?”

Betty freezes and turns slowly, knowing from his tone of voice that she’s been caught red handed.

“Um, it’s a present for someone?”

Jughead raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing her. He’s wearing his usual grey beanie hat and denim jacket, his trusty satchel slung over his shoulder. Betty notices he’s clutching a new copy of The Catcher in the Rye and raises an eyebrow back.

“I’m shocked you don’t already have a copy,” she gestures towards the book.

“I do… Or did.” He grimaces slightly. “My dad came home drunk and spilled whisky all over it. It was too far gone by the time I found it.”

Betty doesn’t know whether to laugh or apologise. She knows FP struggles with addiction, but she isn’t sure if this was a one off or if he’s fell off the wagon. And she doesn’t know how to ask without coming off as nosey or judgey. She wishes, for the millionth time, that Jughead was more open with her.

She opens her mouth to ask about FP, then closes it, debating if she should or not. Before she has a chance to decide, Jug speaks up, completely oblivious to Betty’s inner turmoil.

“I’m heading to the cinema after this to see that new horror, do you want to come with me?”

She blinks, processing his words.

“You want to go to the cinema with me?”

He nods slowly, mocking her for being slow.

“Beats going alone,” he grins. “I’ll even buy you popcorn. But then I’ll probably end up eating most of it.”

Betty rolls her eyes, a smile appearing on her face. “Sure, I’ll go. But if you so much as touch my popcorn.”

“Oh, I’m so scared. What’s big bad Betty Cooper going to do?”

“Just you wait and find out, Jughead Jones!”

The two walk out the store, Betty’s precious Judy Blume book long forgotten, and head towards the cinema. Their laughter can be heard even from a distance, and anyone watching the two would see how both light up in each other’s presence. Betty, who is usually quiet and subdued, comes out her shell around him. Jughead is always laughing or smiling when he’s with her, a far cry from his usual sullen demeanour.

It’s not until they reach the ticket stand and Jughead insists on buying two tickets for some Stephen King adaption that Betty realises she hates horror films. But she knows that Stephen King is Jug’s literary hero, so she wills herself to grow up and face her fears. How bad can it be?

***

Bad. Very bad.

Betty has spent 80% of the film with her hands over her eyes, refusing to watch, and the remaining 20% tensed up waiting for a jump scare. Jughead is shaking with laughter beside her, getting more entertainment out of her reaction to the film than the film itself.

“Stop laughing at me, you sadist,” she hisses at him as he steals another handful of her popcorn.

“I can’t help it, you flinch every time the scene changes.”

He’s leaning in close, whispering in her ear to avoid disturbing the rest of the audience. Her cheeks automatically flush a red colour, and she’s thankful for the darkness of the cinema.

She doesn’t have a witty response for him, so she settles for feebly punching his arm then focusing back on the god awful film just in time for an intense chase scene. The murderer is stalking a girl through a dark forest, the ultimate cliché. Betty tenses up, watching as the girl trips over and the bad guy nearly catches her. Instinctively, she grabs Jughead’s hand, squeezing it for dear life. It doesn’t occur to her to feel weird about it, she’s too engrossed in the film.

He glances at their clasped hands, then up at Betty’s face. She’s glued to the film, paying him no mind. A small smile graces Jughead’s face, as he allows himself a small moment of satisfaction at her holding his hand. He knows it’s silly, but he can’t help the butterflies in his stomach that he feels being near her.

She bites her lip, flinching as the girl is inevitably caught and beheaded. Jughead laughs as she uses his shoulder to shield her eyes from the onscreen gore. He thought that her being scared of horror films would be annoying for him, but instead he finds it strangely endearing.

Then again, he finds most things about Betty Cooper endearing.

#promises broken #jughead #betty #bughead #riverdale fic #fanfiction

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thecosydragon · 7 years

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My latest blog post from the cosy dragon: Interview with M. N. SNow

An Interview with M. N. SNow, author of The Helper

Everyone has a ‘first novel’, even if many of them are a rough draft relegated to the bottom and back of your desk drawer (or your external harddrive!). Have you been able to reshape yours, or have you abandoned it for good?

The Helper is my first novel and it was shelved for some time. I originally wrote the first draft, if memory serves, in 2004 or 2005. I then rewrote it a variety of times over the next four or five years. I’d pick it up for awhile and then stick it back in the drawer. After giving up on finding a publisher, say in the year 2010 or 2011, I put it way for good, or so I thought. Then in 2015 I was motivated to comb through it once more, update it and finally publish it in time for Christmas 2016!

Some authors are able to pump out a novel a year and still be filled with inspiration. Is this the case for you, or do you like to let an idea percolate for a couple of years in order to get a beautiful novel?

Writing does not come easy for me. I usually let an idea percolate, but that’s more due to writing laziness, than lack of ideas. My trouble is getting started and staying started. I do have two new novels that I have started and stopped. On one of them I am completely stumped as to how to continue. The second novel is one I will pick back up writing soon, I hope. I also have ideas for another three of four novels floating around in the background.

I have heard of writers that could only write in one place – then that cafe closed down and they could no longer write! Where do you find yourself writing most often, and on what medium (pen/paper or digital)?

I write on my PC, and only on my PC. So wherever it is, is where I write. The majority of my novel The Helper was written in a small motel where I was staying after relocating from south Florida back to Superior, WI. I stayed there during the winter while I was looking for an apartment.

However, if an idea comes to me, I’ll grab any writing utensil at hand and scribble it down before I lose it! Unfortunately that happened the other night. I woke up out of a dead sleep at about 3am and had a great idea for a novel. I lay in bed, half-asleep, thinking of it for a few minutes, and even after some thought it seemed like a good premise for a book. I fell back asleep and cannot remember the idea at all!!! So, once again, I put a pen and paper next to my bed so I can write what comes to me when I wake up.

Before going on to hire an editor, most authors use beta-readers. How do you recruit your beta-readers, and choose an editor? Are you lucky enough to have loving family members who can read and comment on your novel?

I’ll try to hook up with any beta-readers I can!!! Usually they are friends and acquaintances. If I trust their instincts, and respect their views I’ll ask them to be one of my “readers.” As to an editor, I’ve used people on the website Fiverr, as well as a friend who is a writer and teacher.

I walk past bookshops and am drawn in by the smell of the books – ebooks simply don’t have the same attraction for me. Does this happen to you, and do you have a favourite bookshop? Or perhaps you are an e-reader fan… where do you source most of your material from?

I am not an e-reader fan. I’d rather read a physical book. And I’m a public library geek!!! I enjoy independent bookstores, but I love public libraries. And the vast majority of books I read come from the library.

I used to find myself buying books in only one genre (fantasy) before I started writing this blog. What is your favourite genre, and do you have a favourite author who sticks in your mind?

I read in a variety of genres, but Magical Realism/Speculative Fiction would be my favorite, along with certain SciFi and Fantasy books.

As a child I read a lot of biographies—some sports, some general.

By adolescence I was starting to head toward sci-fi and horror. Stephen Kind was always a favorite of mine. I probably read The Stand seven times before I was 25. But also Catcher in the Rye was a biggie for me and The Drifters by James Michener. Voyage by Stirling Hayden really impacted me. Another book that really stayed with me was Valhalla by Jere Peacock—about peace-time Marines after the Korean war. The sections on “red-line brigs” alone was brutal but overwhelming.

Social media is a big thing, much to my disgust! I never have enough time myself to do what I feel is a good job. What do you do?

I don’t have anyone manage my work for me. What managing that gets done, I do. I don’t blog or tweet. I do have a Facebook page for my book, and of course, I love to have my book reviewed and mentioned in others people’s blogs, websites, etc.

Answering interview questions can often take a long time! Tell me, are you ever tempted to recycle your answers from one to the next?

I haven’t done all that many interviews, so I’m good so far! And the live ones I’ve done, for newspapers, etc, have all had a variety of questions so I haven’t had to repeat myself to much yet. I’ll gladly do it, however, as long as people are interested in asking me questions about my work!

from http://ift.tt/2sHn903

#book bookreviews authorinterviews lovereading bookworm

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thekeepersgrove · 4 months

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Rye's Floating Bookshop - 2nd of Bloom

I wake up to the sun shining in through my closed curtains, the warmth of it tempting me to stay in bed. But my new life has to start and the shop need to open. I choose to start my day without stress however, taking me time to enjoy some scones with strawberry preserve, and a nice cup of mint tea sweetened with honey for my breakfast. Even though I am a bit apprehensive about jumping into the work of running a bookshop—something with which I have no experience—there is an undercurrent of excitement to my anxiety. I have always enjoyed trying new things and having new experiences, and this is just that.

After my breakfast I head into the shop and feel a jolt of sadness at the thought of taking over my brother's work, but I shake it off to start my day. I decide to start the year with a sale to draw in customers, deciding on a theme to fit both my journey and the time of the year: New Beginnings. I set up a temporary sign on the front door announcing such and make plans to work on better posters throughout the day between customers. I do not get much work done however, as it is quite a busy day as the shop gets some foot traffic from pollen-dusted animalfolk curious about the reopening of the shop. I make sure to mention the upcoming sale to the customers who do end up making purchases, with the hope of getting the word out.

My first notable guest of the day is a young goose—a gander—who spends more time chatting at the counter than browsing the selection. I offer my help, which gets politely declined, and shift some of my focus to dealing with other customers and working on the posters for the sale while still trying to half-heartedly engage the young gander in conversation. It is tiring and the incessant chatter makes an already busy day a bit more stressful. I get to hear all about the weather—"It is quite surprising to get pollen this early in the year!"—and their plans for the day, which mostly seems to be going around and finding people to harass. I catch myself having such unfair thoughts and I push those feelings aside, chastising myself about letting my stress get the better of me. When he finds out that I am new to town he starts telling me about Hurst and its inhabitants, including his opinion on some of them—"That magpie at the bakery always looks so grumpy!"). I breathe a sigh of relief when a badger—dressed in the finest of clothes and tall enough to have to duck through the door—enters the shop and I get to excuse myself from the gander's chatter about their thoughts on the holidays celebrations yesterday. The young man huffs about the end of the conversation and leaves without buying anything.

The new figure introduces hirself as Oakleaf, the mayor of Hurst and gives me a warm welcome to hir town. They ask about what brings me here and offers hir condolences at the loss of my brother. I help hir with some recommendations—"I'm not usually a reader, but I want to support small business!"—and hir leaves the shop with a nonfiction book covering the history of the town of Thistle Down in the upper parts of the River.

Not long after noon the sound of excited children can be heard down the wharf and soon a group of boisterous schoolchildren enter the shop. I welcome them warmly and offer my help in case they wish for it. I look over at them occasionally, smiling fondly as they remind me of my nieces when they were in that age, and choose to look past the mess that they make. I can always clean it up after and I don't want to get in the way of the interest in books that they display. I patiently ask any questions they might have, even when I have to answer the same question from multiple children, and am thoroughly charmed by their chatter and the little stories they tell me. One of them shows an interest in the romance section, and I direct their attention to the more age appropriate shelf of the same genre. The child thanks me and when the group leaves they can be seen happily clutching their new book to their chest.

It feels like I'll never get anything done with the amount of customers and I do feel my patience start to wane at times. Running a shop is harder than I thought and it's a very busy first day. I get a few breaks from the stress, such as when a young fox approaches me with a question. He speaks to me about how I'm new and asks about my hometown, wondering what it is like, as he has never heard of it. I tell him about the town of Undertree and the giant tree that rises above it. I reminisce happily about the Festival of Light held when the sun starts setting before 6 pm and the sound of the wind rustling the leaves in the forest around the town. He does grow bored of my reminiscing however, after I get caught up in the memories, and ask for help finding a book. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I realise that I've been acting like the young gander that I judged earlier in the day, and apologise for the ramblings of an old mouse before directing the fox to the fantasy section. He leaves with two books and bids me a good day.

At times I consider closing the shop early, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of work on the first day, but how could I have any hope of successfully running the shop if I can't handle a busy day? I want to honour the memory of my brother and feel proud of my work, so giving in so early would feel like a failure. I gather my energy, and after preparing myself a glass of chilled mint tea I face the rest of the afternoon with renewed enthusiasm. This enthusiasm is sorely needed, as the next customer to need help is an older frog gentleman who approaches me with a lot of questions about the store, the stock, and my recommendations. He shows an interest in crime fiction and while it is not my favoured genre I do give him the information I do have, and I also recommend him a thriller with similar themes as the ones he expressed interest in. He heartfully expresses his thanks as he leaves the shop after a good half hour, with a large amount of books precariously stacked in his hands.

The day nears its end when my last notable customers enters and approaches me for conversation. A small mouse, barely big enough to see over the counter, reveals that they are a scholar who travels the land in search of additions to their library. They tell me of a few of their rare finds, including a book on the mating habits of the blue suncatcher—a fish found in warm patches of water during the first half of the year. Today they are looking for mystery books, of the nonfiction kind, and I spend some showing them my selection that fits what they seek. Regretfully they find nothing that interests them that they don't already have, but they thank me for the help and express a hope that we see each other again before they leave.

The sun starts setting when the last few customers leave and I get to close the shop. After tidying up I slump into one of the couches around the fireplace, taking the chance to breathe. With all the work and customers I had today there was not enough time to finish the posters for the sale, the supplies for which are stacked neatly on the work surface at the front desk. I wonder if there is a point in trying to finish them tomorrow. I'll have to see how much time I have left over, because if it is another day like the one today I doubt I'll be able to work it into my schedule. While today was stressful and a bit overwhelming, I am happy with the day and am hopeful about my ability to keep going. I look forward to seeing what tomorrow brings.

| Total customers: 60 | Books sold: 37 (Inventory Total: 463) | Earnings: 55 (Till total: 155) |

#fox curio's floating bookshop #rye's floating bookshop #solo rpg #solo ttrpg #ttrpgs #ttrpg #journalling game

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thekeepersgrove · 4 months

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Rye's Floating Bookshop - 1st of Bloom

| Information | Calendar | Next entry |

I am Rye Everbloom, a harvest mouse and the second child of Juniper and Alder Everbloom. I was born under the brisk moon, on the fourth day of Awaken (Brisk 19th), and raised in the town of Undertree nestled at the root of the tree from which the town gets its name, some weeks of travel outside the region of the River.

I was a traveller once, never settling in one place and doing odd jobs to find room and board for the time I spent at my destination. But after the passing of my brother Moss I have chosen to take over his bookshop on The River, both to honour his memory and as my old bones tell me it is time to end my travels and settle down.

It is with a heavy heart that I begin this next step of my journey. The weather—mild and sunny, hinting at the thaw that creeps ever closer—lifts some of the gloom that has settled over my day. I still mourn the loss of my brother Moss, but I find some comfort in continuing the work that he loved.

I find the shop moored in the lovely town of Hurst, which is currently preparing the celebrations of the holiday Rinse, but I have some work to do before I can join the holiday cheer of the townsfolk.

As I enter the bookshop—struggling a bit to open the door which has jammed in the cold weather—I find it just as Moss left it; papers can be found strewn across the front desk, the books from the latest restock stacked high next to them, and the bookshelves are messy and out of order. My brother was never the tidy kind. The shop shows the signs of his passing, with a layer of dust covering everything in sight, muting the colours.

Although it saddens me that my nieces did not want to take over their father's business, I can somewhat understand their decision as I stand in his bookshop and feel the ghost of his presence and the weight of his absence.

I spend a few hours cleaning up—dusting, organising papers and cleaning up the mess of books that my brother has left. It is simple but hard work, distracting my thoughts from the grief. I could not escape it entirely, however, as the sight of his blue jacket hanging by the door and his favourite mug in the kitchen—bearing the words "River's Best Dad"—halts my activity and forces me to take a few minutes to overcome my emotions.

Once my task is done, the shop clean and my few belongings in place, I look upon the shop with satisfaction. While I have left much as I found it—the jacket still hangs where he left it—I have also made it my own. There is no point in forcing myself to linger in the grief, leaving the space untouched. A shrine can now be found in my living space off the side of the bookshop, dedicated to the Smiling God and centered around the figure I brought. Behind the front desk I put my odd decoration, the skull of the three-horned beast that I once came across in the travels, and I hope that it does not scare any customers who come visit.

I take a moment for quiet contemplation, breathing through my thoughts and feeling, before turning outwards. It is the first the day of the new year and the preparations for Rinse have been ongoing in the town outside. I exit my new floating home and look upon the town with its squat buildings, which add a certain charm to the surroundings. Animalfolk of all types can be seen milling around the riverfront, gathering around lit fires to get a break from the cold, and finishing opening the hole in the ice, which will be used for the celebrations.

I join the crowds, enjoying the chatter and the laughter of young children running around. Some have already started the celebrations, as I can hear yelps from the river as some start their Rinse, their swim in the river to wash off the remnants of the year left behind and cleanse themselves for the new year. While most do no more than a quick dip in the ice-cold water, some animalfolk take their time, enjoying the cold and the contemplation. Everyone, once they've risen from the water shivering and cleansed, join the groups warming up and enjoying the warm and spiced apple cider being handed out by volunteers.

I doff my clothing and walk into the water, joining the yelps of others as the cold hits me. I do not stay in for long, as the cold awakens the ache in my damaged knee, but I do take the time to ponder what it is I want to achieve this year. When I leave the water I have made a decision; this new year I will spend not wallowing in my grief, but instead live my life as my brother would have wanted. I will work on once again finding joy in the little things, of the daily ongoings, and the small joys in life.

As I join a group gathered around one of the fires, huddling under the blanket and enjoying the heat that slowly brings the warmth back to my body, a hare approaches. He is tall and lanky, and his brown fur shows similar signs of age as mine. As he hands me a mug of the warm cider he introduces himself as Angus Thisledown.

We talk for a while; I speak of my coming to the River and the bookshop—he remembers my brother and offer his condolences—and he tells me about the town and a bit about himself. He looks over at a group of hares around an adjacant fire fondly as he talks about his daughter and three grandchildren, who are also here celebrating. As he leaves to rejoin his family, he offers his warm welcome and hands me a memento, a bottle of the spiced apple cider to bring with me home.

As I walk back to Moss' bookshop—now mine—I feel the seeds of hope within me that perhaps this year will be better, more manageable. I spend the rest of the evening getting used to my new home—the soft lull of the river around me, the quiet creaking of the wooden frame—and have a simple meal before curling up with a cup of tea in the rickety rocking chair with its maroon cushion, enjoying the silence. It feels weird to slip under the covers of what used to be my brother's bed, and I can feel the vice of grief around my heart. But this too will pass, and I hope this coming year will bring healing. This year will be better.

#fox curio's floating bookshop #rye's floating bookshop #solo rpg #solo ttrpg #ttrpgs #ttrpg #journalling game

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thekeepersgrove · 4 months

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Welcome to The Keeper's Grove!

This is a blog collecting my foray into solo RPGs and journalling games. There is currently only one active game, but hopefully there are many more to come.

This is the introductory/pinned post collecting links for easy browsing.

Information - Information such as credits.

Rye's Floating Bookshop - Follows the journal of Rye the Bookseller, using the game Fox Curio's Floating Bookshop.

I welcome you to follow my attempts at this and I welcome any questions about the games or the characters.

#solo rpg #solo ttrpg #ttrpgs #ttrpg

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yeniyeniseyler · 4 years

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TRT’nin yeniden yayın hayatına başlayan kültür ve sanat kanalı “TRT2”nin 27 Nisan – 3 Mayıs 2020 tarihleri arasındaki, haftalık yayın akışına bu başlıktan ulaşabilirsiniz. Farklı kültür sanat içeriklerini ekrana taşıyan TRT 2’de; sinemadan müziğe, resimden edebiyata, tarihten felsefeye kadar birçok alanı konu alan yapımlar izleyici ile buluşuyor.

Yayın akışında oluşacak değişiklikler ve akıştaki eksiklikler; öğrendiğimiz anda akışa eklenecektir.

TRT2 27 Nisan – 3 Mayıs 2020 – Haftalık Yayın Akışı: [su_spacer] [su_tabs] [su_tab title=”Pazartesi”] 27 Nisan 2020 Pazartesi: 05:13 İstiklal Marşı 05:15 Berceste 05:20 Yeryüzleri 05:30 Konser Zamanı – Öğretmenlere Vefa 07:00 Hülya Koçyiğit İle Film Gibi Hayatlar 08:00 Murat Boncuk’la Atölye 08:30 Aykut Köksal İle Mimarlık Söyleşileri 09:20 Müzelerin Yıldızları 09:30 Resim Sevinci: Bob Ross 10:00 Aramızda Müzik Var 10:45 Fotoğraflar 11:00 Sarayın Lezzetleri 11:30 Sinema Dünyası 12:00 Tarihin Ruhu 12:30 Sinema + 13:00 Bir Resim Bir Hikaye 13:30 Anjelika Akbar İle Sesler 14:15 Randevu 14:30 Koleksiyoner 15:00 Muasır 15:30 Tiyatro Dünyası 16:00 Kelimeler Ve Şeyler 16:55 Türkiye Atlası 17:00 İzler Suretler 17:30 Bizim Resmimiz 18:00 Hayat Sanat 18:30 Berceste 18:45 Kısa Bir Ara 19:00 Geleneğin Kalp Atışları 19:30 Geri Dönüşen Sanat 19:50 Çocuklara Yadigar 20:00 Yörünge: Dünyanın Olağanüstü Yolculuğu 21:00 Yerli Sinema “Buğday” (The Grain) (2017) (Yönetmen: Semih Kaplanoğlu) 23:00 Tarih Söyleşileri 00:30 Yörünge: Dünyanın Olağanüstü Yolculuğu 01:30 Yerli Sinema “Buğday” (The Grain) (2017) (Yönetmen: Semih Kaplanoğlu) (Tekrar) 03:30 Hayat Sanat 04:00 Tarih Söyleşileri [/su_tab] [su_tab title=”Salı”] 28 Nisan 2020 Salı: 05:18 İstiklal Marşı 05:20 Geleneğin Kalp Atışları 06:00 Nakkaşın Fırçası 06:30 Hayat Sanat 07:00 Günseli Kato İle Miyako’dan Payitahta 07:50 Çocuklara Yadigar 08:00 Bir Zamanlar 08:30 Sarayın Lezzetleri 09:00 Tiyatro Dünyası 09:30 Resim Sevinci: Bob Ross 10:00 Pera Konserleri 10:45 Yeryüzleri 11:00 Yörünge: Dünyanın Olağanüstü Yolculuğu 12:00 Tarihin Ruhu 12:30 Hayat Sanat 13:00 Bir Resim Bir Hikaye 13:30 Nakkaşın Fırçası 14:00 Anadolu Arkeolojisi 14:30 Koleksiyoner 15:00 Karalama Defteri 15:30 Murat Boncuk’la Atölye 16:00 Tarih Söyleşileri 17:00 Opera Dünyası 17:30 Sinema Dünyası 18:00 Hayat Sanat 18:30 Eskici 19:00 Tarihin Ruhu 19:30 Belgesel: Metin Erksan’ın Tutkusu 21:15 Yabancı Sinema “Serçelerin Şarkısı” (Avaze gonjeshk-ha / The Song Of Sparrows) (2008) (Yönetmen: Majid Majidi) 23:00 İhmal Edilebilir Nasihatler 00:00 Evliya Çelebi 00:40 Tarihin Ruhu 01:10 Yabancı Sinema “Serçelerin Şarkısı” (Avaze gonjeshk-ha / The Song Of Sparrows) (2008) (Yönetmen: Majid Majidi) (Tekrar) 03:00 Hayat Sanat 03:30 İhmal Edilebilir Nasihatler 04:30 Eskici [/su_tab] [su_tab title=”Çarşamba”] 29 Nisan 2020 Çarşamba: 04:58 İstiklal Marşı 05:00 Murat Boncuk’la Atölye 05:30 Bir Zamanlar 06:00 Karalama Defteri 06:30 Hayat Sanat 07:00 Kelimeler Ve Şeyler 08:00 İzler Suretler 08:20 Türkiye Atlası 08:30 Nakkaşın Fırçası 09:00 Opera Dünyası 09:30 Resim Sevinci: Bob Ross 10:00 Belgesel: Metin Erksan’ın Tutkusu 11:30 Destansı Kareler 11:40 Müzelerin Yıldızları 12:00 Tarihin Ruhu 12:30 Hayat Sanat 13:00 Bir Resim Bir Hikaye 13:30 Hülya Koçyiğit İle Film Gibi Hayatlar 14:20 Renkler 14:30 Koleksiyoner 15:00 Sarayın Lezzetleri 15:30 Bizim Resmimiz 16:00 Anjelika Akbar İle Sesler 16:45 Bir Zamanlar 17:20 Geleneğin Kalp Atışları 18:00 Hayat Sanat 18:30 Koleksiyoner 19:00 Müzelerin Yıldızları 19:15 Evliya Çelebi 20:00 Günseli Kato İle Miyako’dan Payitahta 20:50 Destansı Kareler 21:00 Yabancı Sinema “Sahaf” (The Bookshop) (2017) (Yönetmen: Isabel Coixet) (TV’de İlk) 23:00 Edebiyat Söyleşileri 00:00 Tarihin Ruhu 00:30 Sarayın Lezzetleri 01:00 Yabancı Sinema “Sahaf” (The Bookshop) (2017) (Yönetmen: Isabel Coixet) (Tekrar) 03:00 Hayat Sanat 03:30 Edebiyat Söyleşileri 04:30 Evliya Çelebi [/su_tab] [su_tab title=”Perşembe”] 30 Nisan 2020 Perşembe: 05:08 İstiklal Marşı 05:10 İzler Suretler 05:30 Günseli Kato İle Miyako’dan Payitahta 06:30 Hayat Sanat 07:00 Aramızda Müzik Var 07:50 Geri Dönüşen Sanat 08:00 Tiyatro Dünyası 08:30 Sinema Dünyası 09:00 Muasır 09:30 Resim Sevinci: Bob Ross 10:00 Anjelika Akbar İle Sesler 10:45 Kısa Bir Ara 11:00 Anadolu Arkeolojisi 11:30 Karalama Defteri 12:00 Tarihin Ruhu 12:30 Hayat Sanat 13:00 Bir Resim Bir Hikaye 13:30 Evliya Çelebi 14:10 Müzelerin Yıldızları 14:30 Koleksiyoner 15:00 Eskici 15:30 Opera Dünyası 16:00 Konser Zamanı – Dünya Caz Günü Özel Yayını 17:00 Murat Boncuk’la Atölye 17:30 Konsere Davet 18:00 Hayat Sanat 18:30 İzler Suretler 18:45 Sinema + 19:20 Yeryüzleri 19:30 Sarayın Lezzetleri 20:10 Berceste 20:15 Konser Zamanı- İDSO Açılış Konseri 21:15 Yerli Sinema “Oyun” (2005) (Yönetmen: Pelin Esmer) 22:30 Felsefe Söyleşileri 23:30 Anjelika Akbar İle Sesler 00:15 Konser Zamanı- İDSO Açılış Konseri 01:15 Yerli Sinema “Oyun” (2005) (Yönetmen: Pelin Esmer) 02:45 Fotoğraflar 03:00 Hayat Sanat 03:30 Felsefe Söyleşileri 04:30 Muasır [/su_tab] [su_tab title=”Cuma”] 1 Mayıs 2020 Cuma: 04:58 İstiklal Marşı 05:00 Kelimeler Ve Şeyler 06:00 Bir Zamanlar 06:30 Hayat Sanat 07:00 Pera Konserleri 07:50 Yeryüzleri 08:00 Bizim Resmimiz 08:30 Karalama Defteri 09:00 Opera Dünyası 09:30 Resim Sevinci: Bob Ross 10:00 Evliya Çelebi 10:40 Müzelerin Yıldızları 11:00 Konser Zamanı- İDSO Açılış Konseri 12:00 Tarihin Ruhu 12:30 Hayat Sanat 13:00 Bir Resim Bir Hikaye 13:30 Anjelika Akbar İle Sesler 14:00 Konsere Davet 14:30 Koleksiyoner 15:00 Sinema + 15:30 Nakkaşın Fırçası 16:00 Felsefe Söyleşileri 16:50 Türkiye Atlası 17:00 Anadolu Arkeolojisi 17:30 Tiyatro Dünyası 18:00 Hayat Sanat 18:30 Geri Dönüşen Sanat 18:45 Fotoğraflar 19:00 Karalama Defteri 19:30 Muasır 20:00 Müzelerin Yıldızları 20:15 Konser Zamanı: İlahiler Senfonisi 21:30 Yabancı Sinema “Amiral” (Admiral) (2008) (Yönetmen: Andrey Kravchuk) 23:45 Tarihin Ruhu 00:15 Sinema + 00:45 Yabancı Sinema “Amiral” (Admiral) (2008) (Yönetmen: Andrey Kravchuk) (Tekrar) 03:15 Hayat Sanat 03:45 Karalama Defteri 04:15 Geri Dönüşen Sanat 04:20 Çocuklara Yadigar 04:30 Aykut Köksal İle Mimarlık Söyleşileri [/su_tab] [su_tab title=”Cumartesi”] 2 Mayıs 2020 Cumartesi: 05:28 İstiklal Marşı 05:30 Murat Boncuk’la Atölye 06:00 Koleksiyoner 06:30 Hayat Sanat 07:00 Bir Zamanlar 07:30 Anadolu Arkeolojisi 08:00 Pera Konserleri 08:45 Hülya Koçyiğit İle Film Gibi Hayatlar 09:45 Yabancı Sinema “Niilas’ın Öyküsü” (Cloudboy) (2017) (Yönetmen: Meikeminne Clinckspoor) 11:20 Renkler 11:30 Aramızda Müzik Var 12:15 Kısa Bir Ara 12:30 Resim Sevinci: Bob Ross 13:00 Sarayın Lezzetleri 13:30 Evliya Çelebi 14:15 İzler Suretler 14:30 Sinema + 15:00 Müzelerin Yıldızları 15:20 Türkiye Atlası 15:30 Tarihin Ruhu 16:00 Tarihin Ruhu 16:30 Anjelika Akbar İle Sesler 17:00 Konser Zamanı: İlahiler Senfonisi 18:20 Kısa Bir Ara 18:30 Kelimeler Ve Şeyler 19:20 Müzelerin Yıldızları 19:30 Eskici 20:00 Belgesel Beethoven 21:00 Yeryüzleri 21:15 Film Önü 21:30 Yabancı Sinema “Çavdar Tarlasındaki Asi” (Rebel in The Rye) (2017) (Yönetmen: Danny Strong) (TV’de İlk) 23:20 Film Arkası 00:00 Belgesel Beethoven 01:00 Konsere Davet 01:30 Film Önü 01:45 Yabancı Sinema “Çavdar Tarlasındaki Asi” (Rebel in The Rye) (2017) (Yönetmen: Danny Strong) (Tekrar) 03:45 Film Arkası 04:15 Nakkaşın Fırçası 04:40 Yeryüzleri [/su_tab] [su_tab title=”Pazar”] 3 Mayıs 2020 Pazar: 04:58 İstiklal Marşı 05:00 Anadolu Arkeolojisi 05:30 Bir Resim Bir Hikaye 06:00 Anjelika Akbar İle Sesler 06:30 Bir Oyundan Fazlası 07:00 Sinema + 07:40 Eskici 08:10 Fotoğraflar 08:20 Bir Resim Bir Hikaye 08:45 Aramızda Müzik Var 09:45 Western Sineması “Sundown’da Karar Günü” (Decision at Sundown) (1957) (Yönetmen: Budd Boetticher) 11:15 Evliya Çelebi 12:00 Hülya Koçyiğit İle Film Gibi Hayatlar 13:00 Konsere Davet 13:30 Pazar Konseri 15:00 Müzelerin Yıldızları 15:20 Berceste 15:30 Tarihin Ruhu 16:00 Tarihin Ruhu 16:30 Belgesel Beethoven 17:30 Muasır 18:00 Pera Konserleri 18:45 Geleneğin Kalp Atışları 19:30 İzler Suretler 19:50 Dünya Müzik Gelenekleri 20:00 Sarayın Lezzetleri 20:30 Müzelerin Yıldızları 20:50 Renkler 21:00 Fotoğraflar 21:15 Film Önü 21:30 Yerli Sinema “3 Yol” (2013) (Yönetmen: Faysal Soysal) 23:30 Film Arkası 00:00 Hülya Koçyiğit İle Film Gibi Hayatlar 01:00 Western Sineması “Sundown’da Karar Günü” (Decision at Sundown) (1957) (Yönetmen: Budd Boetticher) (Tekrar) 02:45 Film Önü 03:00 Yerli Sinema “3 Yol” (2013) (Yönetmen: Faysal Soysal) (Tekrar) 05:00 Film Arkası [/su_tab] [/su_tabs]

TRT2 kanalının uydu frekans bilgileri ve platform kanal numaraları ise şu şekilde:

#gallery-0-4 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-4 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

TRT2 Frekans 01

TRT2 Frekans 02

TRT2 – 27 Nisan – 3 Mayıs 2020 – Haftalık Yayın Akışı TRT'nin yeniden yayın hayatına başlayan kültür ve sanat kanalı “TRT2”nin 27 Nisan - 3 Mayıs 2020 tarihleri arasındaki, haftalık yayın akışına bu başlıktan ulaşabilirsiniz.

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