#source: not quite what I was planning: six-word memoirs

[augment-techs]

Six Word Starter Prompts (part 2)

Ran away with circus; never returned

Buxom songstress loves love and chocolate

Blades cuts, blood runs, scars remain

Did I miss a deadline again?

Walking the green mile: Finally free

Dreamy visions during extended daytime hours

Love drama, just not my own

I wouldn't change it a bit

Saw the world; now where's home?

Nose broken, beauty queen changes profession

Blinked! Winked! I am halfway through!

Arms: Full. Life: Not so much

Many risky mistakes, very few regrets

Six kids; life is stranger than fiction!

He left me for good eventually

would you like fries with that?

Legs spread, I withheld my intelligence

Traversing Earth together, chasing elusive answers

hockey is not just for boys

never liked the taste of beets

underachieving pleasure punk seeks constant gratification

risked it all; never quite enough

I write because I can't sleep

sperm too potent, now have triplets

Never fear. Truffle season is near.

started small, grew, PEAKED, shrunk, vanished

Mom blames musical theater. I disagree.

and I never did sober up

world backpacking decade ends with minivan

asked and answered, asshole, next question

Really, doing fine, thanks for asking

Oh shit! No way? Yeah dude.

Mistook streetlight for the moon. Climbed.

Boyfriend in bed, still a lesbian?

wanted to live forever, died trying

happy child, wild teenager, adult anarchist

to make a long story short...

My second grade teacher was right.

someone had to pay the bills

Didn't fit in then; still don't.

I love my lady...and bacon.

Revenge is living well, without you.

Outcast. Picked last. Surprised them all.

Became my mother. Please shoot me.

If there's more, I want it.

it's like forever, only much shorter

Cancer for sure. Still no cure.

born lucky, striving to die worthy

tequila made their clothes fall off

I told you I was crazy.

Topless dancer. Circus clown. Spy. Writer.

I play dress-up for a living.

Where the hell are my keys?

They always wore socks to bed.

Well, I thought it was funny.

I died at an early age.

I couldn't possibly fuck him again.

Same mistakes. Over and over again.

Me: fully reformed and halfway happy!

the day just kept getting better

born in city that doesn't exist

shot my penis in photo booth

after which he was never sane

almost nothing was under my control

let me in, you narrative whore

cheese is the essence of life

I waste time looking for love.

straight jacket on the gentle cycle

I secretly read wedding magazines.

my ancestors were accented cow herders

Gin joints. Love affairs. No relation.

slightly flabby, slightly fabulous, trying hard

Thank fuck the suicide attempt failed!

Secretly, I dream of my ex-boyfriend.

unfortunately, there was no other way

My wife made me do it.

Like an angel. The fallen kind.

drew on walls, creative for life

When all else fails, start running.

still waiting for you to ask

My penultimate act is to imbibe.

ordering soup for two, for one

Sometimes at night I lay lonely.

I didn't walk off the roof.

will draw for food and coffee

I fell out of the nest.

I don't nibble. I bite. Hard.

He knew the bruises would fade.

we were married in the snow

lonely, frothy kisses, then only spite

we were each other's favorite person

learned to live with great loss

I'm not afraid of anything anymore.

most successful accomplishments based on spite

He wore dresses. This caused messes.

I will never be quite finished.

I tried. It was not enough.

There will be no beautiful corpse.

Found a demon to love forever.

These words are yours to keep.

#writing prompts #ask prompts #sentence starters #source: not quite what I was planning: six-word memoirs #boom! comics power rangers #power rangers in general

[blogmother793]

Writing A Life Story Examples

Personal Narrative My Life I never really thought about where my life was going. I always believed life took me where I wanted to go, I never thought that I was the one who took myself were I wanted to go. Once I entered high school I changed the way I thought. This is why I chose to go to college. I believe that college will give me the keys to unlock the doors of life. This way I can choose for myself where I go instead of someone choosing for me. I have chosen to go to the local community college to get used to the college experience. College life can be an exciting time but at the same time it can be a challenge. I feel that starting out at the community college would be a better chose than 'jumping' into life at a…show more content… I know this is what I want to do with my life. I want to be a positive influence in the lives of children. I want to be able to stand up and show the children that it is okay to be yourself and stand up for what you believe in. I am a well round student. For nine years I was actively involved in a girls organization. This experience taught me many things. We were actively involved in community service activities, for which I received the Silver Award. ( The second highest award in the organization.) I learned about the value of friendship and patients with others. This organization first introduced me to my future career. I was also involved for three and a half years in a student government club on campus. In this club I learned many life lessons. One of which was the value of hard work. I was one of the few people that organized the Junior/Senior Prom of 2000. My responsibilities included planning corranation, buying and organizing decorations, planning the busing schedule, booking the photographers, fundraising, ect. This taught me about hard work. But the best part of it was going to Prom knowing I was one of the only reasons that it happened. As far as school goes, my schedule is very diverse. I am taking child development lab, which is a class where students from my high school can go to the local elementary schools and work one on one with the students. I have work in the elementary school for two and a half years. I

Writing A Life Story Template

Writing A Life Story Examples Paragraph

Writing A Life Story Examples Essay

Examples Of A Life Story

Your 3-Sentence Life Story. What to write: Try to summarize your life in two or three sentences. Think about your past. “But mostly think about who you are today and how you got that way,” says Roberta Temes, PhD, psychologist and author of How to Write a Memoir in 30 Days. “Maybe you want to focus on a certain relationship, maybe a certain theme.or maybe a feeling that has persisted for years.”. First Person Writing Examples From Literature. When authors use the first-person point of view in their writing, they use I, me and my to show that the narrator is a character in the story.The writer may also use the plural first person: we, us and our.The narrator may be the main character, an antagonist or a minor character observing the action.

A short life story can be an alternative to writing an obituary in advance. When the obituary is needed, all the facts of the life are already at hand.

A life story can be composed for oneself or a relative or friend. It only needs to be a couple of pages long. A life story has the advantage of being able to be reviewed by the person involved. This step is good for checking the accuracy of facts and for the tone as well. A life story also can be a way to trigger and consolidate memories of the older – and the not-so-older – members of the family.

As well, Grandma's or Grandpa's life story (while they are still living) can be presented as a memento to children and grandchildren.

The best way to start is to get started. Get ideas down on paper, and organize them either by timeline, theme, or both. Don't worry about style, it can always be improved later. Many events of any person's life will sound bland and ordinary, but need to be included.

A note here about personal diaries (or journals). A diary is written for the person writing it; a life story or memoir is written for other people. If a diary has been kept, this could be source material in preparing a short life story or a longer memoir. Also, if a diary has been kept: make sure there are instructions for after death to either have it passed down or destroyed.

Because a life story is written while the person is still living (and so of course does not wind up with funeral arrangements), the ending can be happy, and even oriented to the future. Whether the story is written chronologically or thematically, consider finishing the story with a positive theme in any case. Cast the final sentence so it ends with an upbeat or future-oriented word.

Look for a way to end like: 'Belonging to the coin collecting club has been a source of many good memories and continues to bring to his life much enjoyment.'

Or: 'She has participated in numerous running competitions over the years, and is preparing to enter the local senior's event next year.'

Or even: 'He has been greatly interested in the lives of his grandchildren, and looks forward to seeing them grow and change in the future.'

Alternatively, end with three words that sum up the person's life. (Or, think of six words; see the review Six Words To Describe A Life?)

A basic two-page life story also can be a start to a longer memoir. For more on this subject, see the article “Memoir Man” a Born Storyteller.

Of course, having already written the life story, when the time comes for the obituary, the facts, anecdotes, and themes of the life lived are already there.

Life Story Writing Tips

Usethis website. Look at the Obituary Template as a guidefor necessary information.

Getstarted. Themost important thing is to get started. Get your ideas down onpaper. Organize your ideas either by timeline, theme, or acombination. Worry about improvingthe style later. For on-going and current events, use the present tense.

Get allthe facts. While you are collecting ideas, include all the facts, forexample the complete birth dates of ancestors as well as children and grandchildren. This ismore detailed than an obituary needs to be, but can be very useful forposterity. Ideas for details that are often missed: streetaddresses where people lived, locations where deceased ancestors areburied.

Deal with diaries. Incorporate any information from them; confirm instructions for them after death.

End on a high note. Conclude with three words that sum up the life, or with anon-going theme or interest in theperson's life. Make the ending positive, even inspiring.

Read itto others. Read aloud a draft at a family gathering to check facts, togetfeedback on descriptions, and to generate more ideas. This process is away to not onlyconfirm, but also relive and revive old memories.

Edit. As with any writing, revising improvesthe final product. This process not only spots errors, but alsoimproves the style. An excellent way to improve any writingis to set it aside for a few days, then look at it with fresh eyes –your own or someone else's.

Proofread. Then proofread again.

Send itout. Distribute the completed life story as akeepsake to family members. It could even prompt the writing of storiesfor other familymembers.

Consider alonger memoir. A short life story can be the basis of a longer work.

Keep itAvailable. Use the life story as a handyresource for when the obituary is needed.

* * *

See Also: Memoir Writing: Ten Tips Six Words To Describe A Life? “Memoir Man” a Born Storyteller A Family History Writing Workshop Live Well, Do Good

More From Obituary Guide:

Books You May Find of Interest:

Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs

Writing an Obituary Worth Reading: A Guide to Writing a Fulfilling Life Review

Find the Good: Unexpected Life lessons From a Small-Town Obituary Writer

Writing A Life Story Template

Having the Last Say: Capturing Your Legacy in One Small Story

Writing A Life Story Examples Paragraph

Obit: Inspiring Stories of Ordinary People Who Led Extraordinary Lives

For All Time: A Complete Guide to Writing Your Family History

Writing A Life Story Examples Essay

Thrive: The Third Metric to Redefining Success and Creating a Life of Well-Being, Wisdom, and Wonder

Examples Of A Life Story

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[iol247]

Opinionista • Ismail Lagardien • 15 March 2021

Fifteen years along the road to nowhere, and the worst is yet to come

We are at a point, now, where instead of pointing to the perversity of misguided distribution, corruption, theft, maladministration, tenderpreneurs, and State Capture, discussions are deflected – and the spectrum of opinion has been narrowed.

In 2015, Justice Malala published his book We Have Now Begun Our Descent. Without having read the book I sat down to consider South Africa’s future, and concluded that there was little to no hope for the country. I was in Bonn, Germany, at the time, after four or more years in the secretariat of the National Planning Commission. Although the Covid-19 pandemic has had a dreadful impact on South Africa’s political economy and society – as it has on almost every country in the world – the country’s problems took a turn for the worse at Nasrec at the end of 2017, and Malala’s “descent” gained momentum. 

I want to break with orthodoxy, and say that it is the politics, not “the economy,” as the old canard goes. Homo economicus might believe that the economy is everything, and everything is the economy, but “the economy” is those millions of transactions that humans make every minute of every day, and the personal and public political decisions that enable or disable those people (from making those transactions).

A collapse that preceded democracy

Before I continue, I want to share a passage I wrote between 1991 and 1993, when I was the southern African correspondent for the New Straits Times of Malaysia. I don’t have the exact date of publication, because the person who decided to make a “portfolio” of my work neatly trimmed my reports and columns but failed to include the date. I was going to save it for my memoir, but here it is – written at a time when the apartheid government was losing its grip on power and state institutions in the early 1990s:

“It is as if a villainous character had every day, over the years, gone to the Union Buildings, the seat of government in the capital, Pretoria, and methodologically and systematically undone every single screw, bolt, nut and nail of government. Every day, now, for months on end, a section of government in South Africa is coming apart. It is difficult, now, after a spate of scandalous exposes in recent months to say exactly when the disintegration first started, or when the first door, window or desk in the Union Buildings collapsed. What has become evident, however, is that the state is collapsing bit by bit, in slow motion, while its powers of rehabilitation [are] dissipating with its political might.”

It has been reported, over and again, that the democratic government inherited a state that was on its knees. As the Afrikaner historian Herman Giliomee wrote, a decade ago, March 1985 marked, “the day apartheid started dying”. 

Wrote Giliomee: “Pik Botha recalls: ‘I will never forget the night of July 31 when [Minister of Finance] Barend du Plessis phoned me… [He said]: ‘Pik, I must tell you that the country is facing inevitable bankruptcy … The process has started.’”

We had growth, and increased social spending, but the thieves saw opportunities

The first democratic government of South Africa, led by Nelson Mandela, was fully aware of the terrible state of the economy. They managed, within a decade or more, to provide utilities and access to public goods and services (including social grants) to millions of people across the country (all necessary for a stable, progressive social democracy), while managing the country’s finances, avoiding profligacy – and through it all, produced growth and a Budget surplus. 

This demonstrated that you can reduce poverty, provide social services, deliver public goods and services, as well as manage the country’s finances. The problem that emerged, after the first 12-15 years was not lack of growth, or a contraction of the economy, it was about distribution – much of the growth did, indeed go to social spending, but a lot more began to go into the wrong pockets. Corruption, maladministration, cronyism, nepotism and prebendalism took root – what good was the ANC-led state, if it did not line the pockets of its leaders, and members who were deployed to state agencies, and boards across the country?

Fast-forward to a few years later, and we are at a point, now, where instead of pointing to the perversity of misguided distribution, corruption, theft, maladministration, tenderpreneurs, and State Capture, discussions are deflected – and the spectrum of opinion has been narrowed. Somewhat simultaneously rose the politics of identity (the ugly version), and instead of policies focusing on social problems, they focused on contortions of language, the politics of revenge, populism, scapegoating, and the speeches and statements of leaders were increasingly laced with words like “bloodshed,” and all the while xenophobia, aimed mainly at Africans and Asians, has spread. 

A careful read of Carl Niehaus’s eight-page submission on likely policies of the ruling alliance, suggests we are expected to choose between Radical Economic Transformation by policy (ANC), or Radical Economic Transformation by force (EFF). At what point do the ANC’s radical forces join the EFF? Impossible, but not improbable. 

Are we there yet?

Let’s take stock, briefly, of where we are. We know that “the economy” is in the pits. But what makes an economy stable, expansive, progressive and able to secure social justice? Don’t ask an economist. To them it’s all cost-benefits, assumptions, laws and models which they mistake for truth. And anyway, people who are so sure of their own predictive powers belong on the beachfront with fortune tellers. What makes an economy work is everything else: the people, the institutions, the policies, ethics, food, water, shelter, clothing and, well, energy. If we start just with energy, consider the fact that we may have load shedding  for at least the next five years. 

This week, Eskom’s Chief Executive Officer, André de Ruyter, confirmed that “there will be a shortfall in supply of electricity of approximately 4,000 megawatts over the next five years as announced by President Cyril Ramaphosa. We welcome further interventions announced by the president, which will include a further request for proposals for a further 2,600 megawatts from wind and solar energy.” 

Using non-economic rationalist orthodoxy, us ordinary citizens know, intuitively, that you cannot run a shop, a workshop or any heavy industry without a stable source of electricity. We also know that you cannot get to work without commuter trains running. We also know that we place our lives in danger with every taxi ride. While us mere mortals don’t travel abroad much, if at all, we know that planes belong in the air; that the public broadcaster is meant to serve as, well, a public broadcaster; the police are meant to serve and protect; our military personnel should be able to march in straight lines, and its hardware has to be up to date (you can’t have stockpiles of ammunition that is outdated); along with the police and military, the state security system ought to make us sleep better at night, and criminals need to be prosecuted – even if they are among the highest office-bearers in the ruling alliance. 

A woman walking to work is not safe. A family sitting at home watching TV is not safe. A farmer working his or her fields is not safe. The driver stopping at a red light is not safe. Do we really expect someone to invest in an existing or new industry or fund innovation if a faction of the ruling party calls for “the mass nationalisation of industries including mines, insurance companies, steel and chemical companies”? The future of work is changing, but our major union leaders, supported by barbarous professors, want our workers to stay in the bondage of assembly lines – instead of retraining them for new, more innovative means of production.

All of these represent the life world of everyday people in South Africa. Every time anyone buys a loaf of bread or a bag of oranges they comprise “the economy”. Speaking of oranges, you can return the land to “its rightful owners” and (with the help of the former white owner) farm citrus products, but if individual oranges have a fungal disease you may not be able to export your produce. That’s not a racist conspiracy. (I use this one example because I have some insights into a related domestic issues case, and about the way the World Trade Organisation works.) 

This can go on and on if we can’t guarantee: the safety of investments; a reliable stream of energy; community and personal safety; trains that run; a reliable justice system – with judges who are unimpeachable; a postal service that is functional; public servants who do the jobs they’re paid to do; teachers who teach; nurses who are paid well, and don’t sign in for one another when they want to escape parts of night duty; and if we don’t play our part, as active citizens.

The government can build schools, but parents must make sure their children attend school, and show an interest in the child’s education. The government can provide trash cans, but people must use them. Visit downtown Johannesburg and you may get a sense of how filth has built up – it’s not quite at the levels of Naples, but give it time. While we hold the state and political parties to a high standard, we need to, also, report on citizens who refuse to pay or steal electricity and water, then cry foul if they are brought to book. That, is largely, the result of ANC promises. With another election in a couple of years, do we really think the ANC, or any political party is going to tell people to pay their electricity bills or get cut off? And so, it’s not “the economy” it’s everything we do, and say, every day, that makes the economy work. 

We may have started our descent, as Malala, wrote almost six years ago; my loss of hope has deepened – helped along by #statecapture revelations. But let me turn to the observations I made in the early 1990s, with regards to the National Party:

“What has become evident, however, is that the state is collapsing bit by bit, in slow motion, while its powers of rehabilitation [are] dissipating with its political might.” 

https://www.dailymaverick.co.za/opinionista/2021-03-15-fifteen-years-along-the-road-to-nowhere-and-the-worst-is-yet-to-come/

Submitted by TT

[donavanhall]

The Project will consist of four principal dimensions

I selected the term “dimensions” as a descriptor of the four (little “p”) projects that make up the whole of the Project without any conscious reference to (or memory of) Roubaud’s discussion of dimensions in Bifurcation E of branch 2 (of le grand incendie de Londres), “The Prose of Childhood”.  Since the original Novel took the form of a quartet of books and the idea for how to organize that quartet came from Lawrence Durrell’s Alexandria Quartet where three of the books correspond to the three spatial dimensions (or axes) and the fourth book to the time dimension (or axis), when I began to conceive of how to organize or structure the Project I wanted to preserve that connection, not just my own Novel or to Durrell’s set of novels, but to the theory of relativity (since Physics is principal element or recurring theme in my writings and functions in much the same way Mathematics does in Roubaud’s work).  The Novel consisted of four volumes.  How then did I arrive at a total of sixteen volumes for the Project?  (The historical account is scattered throughout the pages of these books and can be assembled by the interested reader since I have no intention of repeating myself here.  What I want to preserve here is a new justification assigned ex post facto after the (re)discovery of the eight dimensions and the process of doubling referred to by Roubaud in “The Prose of Childhood”.)  I’ll quote Roubaud [p. 475 & 476 of Jeff Fort’s translation of The Loop]: “In the tradition of the Arts of Memory, at least one author, from the fifteenth century, Lodovico da Pirano, seems to have had a similar intuition, organizing his mnemonic space according to eight dimensions associated in pairs along their respective axes, each of which is illuminated at both ends by a sun. [...] I’ll add too that in each of these eight dimensions, inner space is doubled, folding back upon itself by means of its own reversibility.”  While Roubaud makes no explicit reference to (the implied) sixteen dimensions, I’ll assert that each of the sixteen books of the Project corresponds to the eight dimensions plus the doubling of inner space.  So for each book there is both an inside and an outside, an interior and an exterior. (The term book is being used here not to refer to a physical unit of text, but a conceptual one associated with a particular dimension.)

Roubaud’s Project is also a memory project.  Each of his prose moments (emerging from a brief period of meditation) recounts or describes a memory-image.  The intent is not explicitly autobiographical, but practical inasmuch as anyone who is engaging in the investigation/exploration of memory (and its arts) must work upon (in) their own memory.  No apologies are required since the memory-image is not intended to reveal anything other than itself for the purposes of the experiment.  Roubaud’s intention in recording the memory-image as a prose moment is to affect a loss.  Once the memory-image becomes a prose moment, from then on, what is remembered is the prose moment, not the original memory-image.  (Roubaud makes this explicit in his interview with Marcella Durand printed in issue 108 of BOMB Magazine, 2009.)

Even before 1 November 2004, the day I mark as the beginning of the composition of the Novel, I had already been writing the novel.  [Blanchot: in order to write, one must already be writing.]  I recall…  sometime in 1998 or 1999, I flew to Albuquerque to attend a symposium organized at Sandia National Lab.  After spending all day at the lab with my host (a kindly late-career scientist eager to recruit proteges and help them advance their own careers), I returned to my hotel room.  I had nothing that I had to do that evening — I was completely free.  I could do anything I wanted.  So I opened my laptop and began writing.  In a couple of hours I had written five or six pages of a novel narrated by “Adam” about his college days and his troubled relations with his girlfriend “Melanie.”  I don’t know if any of this text still exists, I may have discarded it (I hope so!), but I’d begun (again, for that wasn’t the first time) to transform my memories into instances of fictional prose.  Never did it occur to me that I was writing over my memory.  I’d always assumed that a memory would always be there and could be accessed as many times as one wanted, but I hadn’t taken sufficient precautions to protect myself.  Naively, I knew that I needed to write from my experience, but I also knew that I needed to make stuff up since my intention was to write a novel and not a memoir.  Thus I began inventing new memories about my past.  I expanded on and enlarged the space of memory.  I animated the pictions into movies (images + sound + other invented sensory data) which I notated with words.  To disguise myself, I forced “Adam” to invert the situations I thrust him into.  I made him do the opposite of what I had done in real life (sometimes only just to see what might have happened).  I don’t know when I arrived at the realization that I’d been tampering seriously with my memory, perhaps it was in 2009 when I (temporarily) stopped writing as a result of an episode titled “The Gaze of Orpheus.”  It was the occasion of this glance over my shoulder just at the moment I should have stepped out of the gates of Hades that I understood that my blundering had come at a cost.

One more note about my theft (and translation) of Roubaud’s terminology concerning branches: I’ve resisted referring to the sixteen books of my Project as branches since I didn’t wish to limit each of the books to a single branch.  I’ve always assumed that the sixteen “books” could be divided into many physical volumes (of no set number).  For example, the original volume of the Project bore the title In the Labyrinth of Forking Paths.  Since this volume was intended to be short (not one of the fat books whose number is limited to sixteen), I referred to the volume as a “little tome”, but this was not wholly satisfactory since tome suggests a physical weight that these slim volumes did not (would not) have.  I could have adopted slim volume as the appropriate term (and I may yet do so), but now I’m inclined to think of these smaller (time limited) projects (projects within projects, fractals?) as branches.  After the composition of the first branch (Labyrinth), I immediately began composing the second branch which had a less satisfying but more descriptive title: The Weimar Republic.  Almost immediately (within the first week of my having begun writing the second branch) I planned (and began writing moments for) two other branches: Marginalia on Kerouac and Confessions of an Extemporizing Theologian (the latter concerned more or less with the theological speculations of Philip K. Dick).  To summarize: my use of branches refers to planned reading projects.  Each branch is associated with a curated reading list.  Most recently I organized another branch around a slim volume by another author, The Occult Features of Anarchism by Erica Lagalisse [PM Press].  There are two reasons why I decided to organize a branch including Lagalisse’s book: (1) a large number of the sources Lagalisse drew from to write her 117 page book are already in my rather extensive personal library, and (2) she makes no reference whatsoever to Philip K. Dick or Robert Anton Wilson even though devoted a number of pages to a discussion of the Illuminati, and since I’m something of an expert on Wilson (meaning I’ve read a book), I thought I should expand on Lagalisse’s project with my own contributions.  I have not yet assigned a title to this branch concerning studies of the occult and the Illuminati, but I quite like the sound of “occult origins of…”  If you have any suggestions, send them via tweet to @theangler.

#Jacques Roubaud #memory #illuminati #occult #philip k dick #robert anton wilson

[dragon-fics]

HA: Ch. 5 Knowledge

Chapter summary: Heather sits down with Aaravos to finally get some answers about what she’s going through.

Prologue, Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3 , Pt. 4, Pt. 5, Pt. 6 , Pt. 7, Pt. 8, Pt. 9, Pt. 10, Pt. 11, Pt. 12, Pt. 13, Pt. 14, Pt. 15

“So, how did you become a Dragonguard? Especially so young?” Rayla asked from her shadowpaw. She walked by Heather and Réalta as they moved towards Spireville.

“I guess my drill sergeants noticed me and reported me to their superiors, who told King Avizandum,” Heather replied, looking from Rayla to the humans beside her. King Ezran and Prince Callum shared Janai’s twin-tailed inferno-tooth tiger, while Soren rode a moonstrider, whom he had completely under control—which impressed Heather.

To her other side were Khonsu and Elara. Heather knew that if these two weren’t by her side, she’d be walking to the barracks, as Réalta would not be willing to stay near Rayla—for any amount of time.

Khonsu glanced at Heather, subtly shaking his head.

“Still, you need to prove yourself in the Dragonguard trial, a test unlike any other. That is the deciding factor as to whether you are worthy of wearing the uniform,” Heather continued, looking forward in her rugged posture.

“Not at all cocky, are you?” Aaravos asked rhetorically in all but a whisper. Heather smiled to herself.

“What’s the Dragonguard trial?” Rayla asked.

“I cannot tell you. I am sworn to secrecy; as is every other Dragonguard.” She pulled her Dragonguard necklace out from under her sash. Dragonguards used it to find each other and to know if the Archdragon they watched over was in danger. Most wore it as a badge, but Heather wore it as a necklace for convenience.

Rayla inclined her head. “I understand.”

Heather ran her hand over Réalta’s black and red coat, feeling his intense heat against her skin. “But if you’re anything like your parents—and if I remember correctly, you are—you’ll be fine and you’ll pass first try.”

“Can I prepare for it?”

Heather nodded her head. “With the proper training, yes.”

“What type of training would that be?”

“I find military training is best. Soldiers have to face threats head-on, with their weapons and nothing more. Assassins use their enemies’ senses against them; that will be useless against in the Dragonguard trial.”

Rayal hesitated, wounded by Heather’s words. “Can you teach me?”

Heather hesitated, glancing down at Khonsu. “I can’t. I have to guard the Archmage for the time being,” she gestured to the caterpillar on her shoulders. “I’m sure one of the other Dragonguards will be happy to train you. Or you can wait until we find Tiadrin and Lain; whichever you prefer.”

“You can do that?”

“Queen Zubeia has many plans.”

“What does that mean?”

Heather stayed silent.

I’ve said too much! I wasn’t supposed to mention anything from this morning’s meeting.

“That’s all I can say.”

They stopped in front of the walls of Spireville.

“Do you want to go into the town? Or would you like to explore the forest nearby?” Heather asked them.

“Well, Queen Zubeia was made it quite clear that we should stay in the barracks before we travel to Xadia. So we should probably go to the barracks,” informed Prince Callum. “So, can you bring us there?”

Heather looked at the gates. “The barracks are inside the town. I’ll lead you there.” She looked up at the stone turrets on either side of the enchanted wooden gates.

Heather slipped her forefinger and thumb into her mouth and whistled and three times. A yellow dragon-shifter in silver armour looked over the wall and saw Heather in her uniform.

“Open the gate!” He bellowed.

A moment later, the sound of chains clinking and wood creaking filled the area. The two wooden gates slowly separated, opening for the group to see what was inside the wall. Houses, shops and inns all lined the streets. Shops and markets stands primarily lined the innermost street, with large inns every few shops apart. The farther out there were more residential areas, with fewer shops and inns.

“Alright, let’s go,” Heather said, nudging Réalta forward through the gates.

*-*-*-*

Heather stroked Réalta’s face as she sat cross-legged in the ‘star cave’, listening to the water gurgle outside of the crystal cave. It was a quaint cave with tiny crystals in the walls, and roof of the cave walls practically looked like the night sky. Heather had found the cave soon after moving to Spireville, and so she and her father would camp here every weekend until winter—then the cave was unbearably cold.

“So, what exactly is happening to me?” She asked, looking at the caterpillar curled up on the opposite side of the firepit.

“Haven’t you looked into this already?” Aaravos asked. Heather still found the way its beak moved unnerving.

“I... wasn’t completely sure how to look for answers.” She looked down at her crossed legs and took a breath.

Aaravos hummed. “You are going through a strange transformation, one few go through, to become one of the most powerful beings on earth. You are changing into a Startouch elf-dragon halfling.”

“But I never wanted this,” she whispered. She looked up at him with wide eyes begging for mercy. “Is—is there a way to undo it?”

“There is no way to un-learn an arcanum.”

Heather sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She quietly removed her moonstone necklace and placed it in one of Réalta’s saddlebags. “So, what do I do now?”

“You must learn how to use the sun, sky and moon arcana and then I will help you learn the earth and ocean arcana and how to use them.”

“What about the star arcanum?”

“I can guide you towards its secret, but only you can discover it.”

“Aren’t all arcana like that?”

“The meaning of the star arcana changes depending on whom it grants its knowledge.”

“So, every Startouch elf has a different understanding of the star arcanum? And no one knows the true meaning of the star arcanum?”

“Yes,” Aaravos breathed. The caterpillar looked around.

“I’ve had no one use my knowledge in this way.”

Heather tilted her head. “How so?”

“People—human’s mainly, have used my knowledge for power or revenge or something equally sinister. No one has ever asked to learn what I know, only to use it. You are very different.”

“I’m still using your knowledge for personal gain, though.”

“People rarely learn without wanting to gain something. Otherwise we would learn nothing at all.”

Heather paused. “You make an interesting point.”

“I know,” Aaravos said, with a smile in his voice.

“Have you ever had an apprentice? Or a student?”

“No. You’re my first. And I promise to be nothing like my former master, Kalani.”

“Was he as bad as you say he was?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

Heather smiled. “You were one of the elves nominated for the Year of the Star celebration on the equinox this year. We had to do some research on your life, but every book we looked at was destroyed. So, we... uh, broke into your home to see if we could find anything, and we found your memoirs.”

“How considerate of you to break into my home?” Aaravos said sarcastically. “And what memoirs?”

Heather dug around in Réalta’s saddlebag for the book she had read last night. Finally, she found it and showed it to the caterpillar.

“Ah, my diaries,” he perceived. “Have you found them useful?”

“For the show? Yes.”

“I meant with your arcanum education.”

Heather glanced down at the leather-backed book. “Yeah, I guess they have.” She ran her finger over the embroidery of the cover. “Did you do this yourself?”

“Yes. It required a lot of focus, but it was calming and helped me stay on track, even in my prison.”

“I guess I could say the same about archery.” She looked over the gold and silver thread, it looked almost perfect and was smooth to the touch. “You must have been good at a young age... Or did you do all these years after you wrote this diary?” According to the inside cover, Aaravos had been thirteen when he started it.

“I suppose so—I did it as I wrote it,” he paused. “You must have more questions.”

Heather drew in a breath. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The caterpillar leaned its head forward, telling her to continue.

“Why are the sun and moon arcana on the diaries?” She asked.

The caterpillar sighed. “You’re not very interested in your education, are you?”

“Like I said; I never wanted this.” She practically spat out the words.

"It was a mistake; something that never should have happened. I’m strong enough as it is, nevermind throwing four more arcana into the mix."

“Many mages would kill for your gift,” Aaravos informed softly.

“Then let them. I’d gladly give this power away.”

“But they give few the opportunity.”

Heather eyed him.

“The stars enjoy being thought of as powerful and all-mighty. In other words; they relish being feared. The first Startouch elves were connected to all the primal sources—“

“—like the first Archdragons,” Heather interrupted.

“Yes, and when Startouch elves only had one arcanum, others believed to have all six arcana—“

“—and when others found out that they no longer had that power, they no longer feared them.” The caterpillar tilted its head at her. “Dragons and elves are pretty similar—at least the ones connected to the stars.”

“So to through this change is a gift from the stars, allowing you to reach your full potential—it makes you an archetype and prodigy of a Startouch elf.”

Heather glanced aside.

“The stars rarely ever grant their power and knowledge to anyone who isn’t born a Startouch elf. They see something in you, much like Réalta did all those years ago.”

Heather sighed. “You sound like all the other mages I talked to.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I don’t want this. Tell me there’s a way to travel through time and stop what happened from happening. Tell me there’s a way to stop this! Or reverse it! Or stop it from happening at all! Please!”

Aaravos stayed quiet. “You’re scared. You’re scared this transformation will change you negatively.”

Heather wanted to crush the caterpillar. But he was right. She sat down again beside Réalta. “I don’t want to be a mage.”

“Who said you had to be a mage?”

“Everyone I’ve talked to has mentioned magic or being a mage.”

“That’s just so you can find a practical use for your power. The energy you will create while being connected to all six primal sources will be immense, you will need to disperse some of that—even just a little.”

“So...?”

“No, you don’t need to have a new profession, you just need to have a means of using your power—no amount of archery or fencing will use up the energy you create daily; not to mention should there be a storm or if you’re travelling underground, and your arcana are stronger during these events. They will create many inconveniences if you are not educated properly.”

A smile formed on Heather’s face. “Alright then, that makes sense.” She looked out the mouth of the cave; the sky was now an orange colour. “We should get going. The kitchens should be serving again now that everyone has been called back into duty.”

She looked at the caterpillar. “Thank you, Aaravos.”

The caterpillar inclined its head and crawled over to her as she stood up. Réalta rose to his hooves as well. Heather crouched down and offered the caterpillar her hand to climb up. As it settled on her shoulders, Heather hoisted herself onto Réalta’s saddle. She removed their Dragonguard uniforms; leaving only Realta’s saddle and bridle on him and Heather’s vest, leggings and thigh-high boots. She slipped on her necklace once again and packed away the diary.

“Yip yip, Réalta,” Heather said, nudging him forward.

They ambled through the forest as the evening chill set in.

“As for your question; I’m a halfling.”

“Huh?”

“Your question about the embroidery,” Aaravos paused. “I’m part Sunfire elf, part Moonshadow elf—a Moonfire elf if you will. That’s why the sun and moon symbols are on my diaries; they’re my original arcana.”

“Oh...”

“I know it’s not the same, but I went through the same transformation you’re going through—except I was older and it was a choice for me.”

“That explains most of your memoirs,” Heather mused, looking up at the sky. She could feel the moon rising in power as the sun set—it confused her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you get around that, so it doesn’t irritate you anymore.”

#the dragon prince #tdp #wormavos #aaravos #tdp aaravos #tdp fanfic #his apprentice #ha #tdp rayla #tdp oc #the dragon prince aaravos #the dragon prince rayla #the dragon prince soren #the dragon prince callum #the dragon prince ezran #startouch elf #startouch elf oc #sunfire elf oc #halfling oc #fanfiction #EmmaPRIME

[shalebridge-cradle]

Bisclavret Round-Up

Unholy took about three months to write. Fairy Tale took five. Hindsight took six.

Bisclavret took nineteen, and that should be the biggest indicator to you that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

This was my first venture into another fandom, and out of my comfort zone (though not entirely – supernatural elements for life). I’m not sure whether or not I did the source material and its characters justice, however, especially with the supernatural element I went with (Wolves are believed to have gone extinct in England in the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century), but I will try to explain my reasoning behind some of my decisions here.

The Characters

My main concern.

We get a good view of Monty’s thought process throughout the show, through the framing device of writing his memoirs and views of his private affairs. Phoebe and Sibella, on the other hand, are characters we don’t get much of in the way of examination – we only see them through Monty’s eyes until the very end, where they reveal themselves as more than that.

Sibella is a bit self-centred, and extremely practical when it comes to how she sees her place in society, which implies some self-confidence issues. Phoebe is more idealistic, and independent, but still hopes for a match fit for a storybook. But, towards the end, Sibella demonstrates she is more than a vain god-digger, afraid of losing the man she loves and willing to potentially compromise her image to save him, while Phoebe shows that she is not nearly as innocent or naive as the people around her consider her to be.

I interpreted the two women’s characterisations as thus; Sibella believes she is bound by society’s view of her. Phoebe does not. This, I believed, needed to be the focus.

Which is where we introduce…

The Whole Werewolf Thing

“[Post-modern Gothic] warns us to be suspicious of monster hunters, monster makers, and above all, discourses invested in purity and innocence. The monster always represents the disruption of categories, the destruction of boundaries, and the presence of impurities and so we need monsters and we need to recognize and celebrate our own monstrosities.”  - J Halberstam, Skin Shows: Gothic Horror and the Technology of Monsters

I gave a number of possible causes of the D’Ysquith ‘family curse’, if it is one – the actions of the first countess, Gregory D’Ysquith burning down a monastery (divine punishment is a possible cause), but I never gave a specific answer. I think I might be operating on the logic of the original Bisclavret – it’s irrelevant.

The reason there isn’t is because I intended it as a metaphor – which I think I’ve made clear with my chapter updates here (though you don’t have to read it that way, Death of the Author and all that), but I never quite decided and what it was a metaphor for. In terms of this particular narrative, it can be read as a metaphor for feminism, and/or a metaphor for same-sex attraction.

Feminism

Edwardian Era England, where A Gentleman’s Guide takes place, is not overly-represented in fiction. Not surprising, considering it’s a pretty short time period between the surprisingly long Victorian era and the world-changing events of World War One. However, when you think of that time period, a certain group tends to come to mind – the suffragettes.

(Just a note. Agatha D’Ascoyne, the character from Kind Hearts and Coronets who inspired Hyacinth D’Ysquith in the musical, was a suffragette. She has no lines, apart from “Shush!” – Deeds, Not Words.)

We know what these people wanted – Votes for Women. They were not prepared to wait for society to change to get it, and when peaceful protest was ignored, they began to act out. They refused to fit into their role of quiet, demure, loyal wives, and for some groups, this was seen as threatening. Anti-suffragette cartoons of the time often depicted these women as old, ugly and/or selfish for wanting similar rights to men instead of accepting their place as a ‘lesser being’.

The point I am trying to make is, being in defiance of the role you are expected to play – which Sibella is afraid to show – was seen by many to be ugly. Beastly.

Phoebe runs Henry’s country estate for him. Phoebe flaunts societal expectations by proposing to Monty, instead of waiting for him to propose, the ‘proper’ way to do things. While she is feminine, she does not fit the idea of what a woman ‘should be’.

Sibella makes a point to meet her obligations as a wife, though she does surreptitiously carry on an affair. She sacrifices her own happiness to get what she wants in a socially acceptable way. She has no intention of leaving Lionel in the source material, but she convinces herself that a rich, good-looking, polite man – what society thinks of as the ideal male – is what she wants, and realises on her wedding day that it isn’t.

And goes through with it anyway.

When she can no longer fit that mould, when she refuses to go along with Lionel’s plan to leech off the countess, when she undermines and argues with her husband, that’s when things start happening. Indeed, her ‘beastly’ outbursts manifest as standing up for herself. She ends the story as a much happier and self-assured person than she was at the beginning, and attempts to bring justice to other women.

Same-Sex Attraction

This is a bit more straightforward. We’re coming right off the back of the Victorian era here, where Oscar Wilde and others like him got their lives ruined. Same-sex relationships aren’t viewed in a positive light at all at this time – you like the same gender? Off to prison with you, deviant!

As people that were (and often still are) villainised, misunderstood and attacked for the crime of existing, some members of the LGBT community reclaim monsters such as vampires, werewolves and the Babadook as their own as a means of subverting their image in a heteronormative society. Being ‘monstrous’ is not bad. Being different is fine. You may feel malformed and wrong, but you are not. You and your quirks are accepted.

For some, the ones to fear are those who appear in the daylight.

Sibella, for all her talk of being a monster, only fights back when threatened. Morton has a heart attack when put in the position of his victims, subverting the formula he’s used to. Lionel, fearing that Sibella will leave him and damage his image, resorts to violence against Sibella and several other women he sees as substitutes for her. Mary attempts to murder Sibella for getting in the way of a monogamous man-woman relationship. In her eyes, Sibella is an irredeemable villain, but Phoebe can be ‘fixed’.

If you want to look deeper into this link between horror and the LGBT community, here’s a video essay discussing gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender representation in horror films.

There are only a few non-metaphorical references to werewolves. The wolf head in Eugenia’s dower house is a family member – as previously mentioned, wolves went extinct in England during the reign of Henry VII. St Hubert’s Key is a charm that more often than not looks like a nail, and was supposed to be able to rid the body of disease caused by a dog or wolf bite. There is some science behind this – the metal was heated before being pressed to the wound, and, if the subject was at risk of contracting rabies from the injury, the heat would likely sterilise and cauterise the potential infection site.

Not the First Murder-y Heir

There are a couple of characters named or directly taken from Israel Rank – Autobiography of a Criminal, the inspiration for Kind Hearts and Coronets and A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder. I’ve compared these works before, so I’ll just go over those that appear here.

Esther (Lane) – The third object of Israel Rank’s affections, and a governess. Knows more than she’s letting on in Israel Rank, and in this story as well.

James “Jim” Morton – Appears for about a page to explain Israel’s disillusionment with the ideal male – while Morton seems great to some, he really isn’t. Since Jim only appears as a child in the book, his characterisation here is drastically different.

Lord and Lady Pebworth – Almost directly lifted from the book, with Lady Pebworth being a bad singer and Lord Pebworth an older gentleman who lets his wife get away with a lot. The difference here is that Israel introduces the Hollands to the Pebworths, while the Pebworths are hoping the Hollands introduce them to Lord and Lady Navarro.

Sir Anthony Cross – Quiet, very well-off, slightly older gentleman who is quite taken by Sibella, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Acquaintance of the Pebworths. Pretty much the same guy.

Ethel D’Ysquith (Gascoyne) – An ancestor Israel is quite taken with, not only due to the resemblance between the two. He’s made the 3rd Earl of Highhurst because I didn’t feel like making an imaginary preceding title (Monty is only the 9th Earl, while the 10th Earl Gascoyne is about five generations before Israel – Ethel was the 6th Earl) and the 2nd Earl, Roland, had already been named in the musical. Phoebe’s description of him is meant to heavily imply he was also a werewolf. If I had read the book before fleshing out the D’Ysquith family tree, he would have taken the role that the first countess plays in the narrative’s events (Ethel Gascoyne hid in a tower with an Italian magician for 20 years).

Kate Falconer – The character who would later be known as ‘Boat Girl’ in Kind Hearts and Coronets and Evangeline Barley in A Gentleman’s Guide. Her great crime is to go on holiday with her boyfriend, and gets poisoned for her troubles. She survives here, and I used her to try a formatting technique (while she speaks, none of her dialogue is in quotes: in a way, she is voiceless).

(Sir) Cheveley Drummond, (Lady) Enid Branksome, and Catherine Goodsall – only mentioned briefly. Drummond is described as handsome and ‘interesting’ by Israel, Lady Enid is a young woman from a penniless but aristocratic family, and Catherine Goodsall in an actress whose abusive husband was beaten so badly by a Gascoyne he joined the navy and never came back to land.

In addition, Lionel’s later characterisation comes directly from Kind Hearts and Coronets, since he gets  almost none in the musical. His breakdown in Chapter 11 follows his emotional journey when asking for a loan – affability, begging, threatening suicide, insults and physical violence.

Literary References:

Not always relevant, but there is a wide enough variety that I’m collecting them.

Every chapter title, and the tagline of the work, comes from Manners and Social Usages by Mary Elizabeth (Mrs. John) Sherwood. It’s a bit out of date by the time of this story (written in 1884), but Sherwood does have some great phrases in her etiquette handbook.

Ruddigore is mentioned in chapter 2, only because it is a musical theatre production (opera) where ancestors play a role and family expectations are subverted.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Hamlet. It’s Hamlet.

When in the chronicle of wasted time, I see descriptions of the fairest wights, and beauty making beautiful old rhyme in praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights...  Shakespeare’s Sonnets, Number 106.

I desire, and I crave… Fragment from Sappho’s poetry.

The countess closes her book; something by a George Reynolds. George W. M. Reynolds wrote Wagner the Wher-Wolf (with that spelling) in 1857.

I met a lady in the meads, full beautiful, a faery’s child: Her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild. La Belle Dame sans Merci (The beautiful lady without mercy) by John Keats.

Sibella also briefly mentions Algernon Blackwood, a supernatural fiction writer who wrote a short story about a werewolf (portrayed quite differently here) that a character in 1909 could have possibly read (the story was first published in 1908).

In addition, the whole story is named after a very early depiction of a sympathetic werewolf, Bisclavret by Marie de France (and the most direct I think I’ve ever been with a title). It depicts, naturally, a werewolf (who is also a knight, because not being human doesn’t disqualify you from doing that – cutting social commentary for the 12th century) who is trapped in his wolf form after being tricked by his wife and her lover. Through chivalric behaviour to the king on a hunt, he works himself back into the royal court and, when his former wife pays a visit, bites off her nose. The king thinks the sudden aggressive behaviour from his pet prompts further investigation, the wife reveals all, and the knight is restored to human form. Also, all of the wife’s children are born without noses from then on. Lionel getting his nose bitten off is a reference to this poem.

Uncategorised Trivia

This work was written with the UK spellings of certain words, because it takes place in England. Previous works all took place in the US, and so used US spelling.

Les Patineurs Valse is French for The Skater’s Waltz. Reference to Asquith Jr. and Evangeline Barley.

All of the racehorse names Sibella finds are either variations, anagrams or synonyms of actual racehorses in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. Sir Hugh is Sir Huon, Gil Owen is Neil Gow, Irish Lass is Irish Lad, Supervision is Oversight and Pinnacle is Meridian.

Lionel was right to be concerned about Phoebe’s flower arrangement. Red begonias represent love, lavender-coloured heathers represent admiration and loneliness (and are a reference to another fandom I write for), tuberoses are symbolic of wild or forbidden passion (and was commonly used as a funeral flower), and verbena is reference to romance and sweet memories. The dead foliage is meant to mean sadness. Overall, the intended meaning is I miss you, my love.

#the cradle will write #bisclavret:work

[carmenlire]

LISTEN, someone who hasn't seen Magnus in decades spotting him in a club, it looks like a shadowhunter is following him when he's leaving the club and when the person decides to go after them both, they think the shadowhunter is attacking Magnus but really Alec is just pushing his husband to a wall to make out with him😂😂 I know this is very specific but wbk I'm weird

Julia, darling, do you know how hard it was to synthesize this prompt on ao3? skjfghsdg thank you for sending me this— it is definitely right up my alley lmao

read on ao3

Never let it be said that Magnus Bane’s standards weren’t up to snuff.

Bartholomew St. Vincent, the High Warlock of Manchester, takes a long look around Pandemonium. It’s been ages since he last set foot in the downworlder club– not since its opening night in fact, over twenty years ago.

Ah, how time slips away when one’s immortal.

While Manchester wasn’t the hive of activity that London or New York was known to be, he still kept himself busy. The quiet afforded him time to attend to his plants and write his memoirs– a task that he’s been working on for the past thirty six years, off and on.

But, alas, Magnus had wanted to meet with him– something about making sure his beloved petunias didn’t strangle him in his sleep– so, here he was, across the pond for the week while Magnus caught him up on all the gossip that he’s missed since he last left his city.

He’d just portaled over a few hours ago, directly into his suite at the Ritz-Carlton. He’d enjoyed a leisurely dinner at one of his favorite French bistros before deciding to stop by Pandemonium on his way back to his hotel.

While clubbing wasn’t really his scene, he couldn’t deny that Bane was an excellent businessman. While there was an extended dancefloor and lovely ebony granite bar, Magnus had planned for patrons whose grand idea of a fun night wasn’t gyrating against strangers.

There was a cigar room in the back that mostly catered to fellow immortals, Magnus offering dozens of different types of tobacco with the complementary liquor.

St. Vincent spends a pleasant hour or two unwinding in the room, enjoying a few glasses of port and tipping the cigar girl lavishly.

Eventually, though, he stands up, making his way to the door. The room attendant jumps in to smoothly open the door for him and he’s immediately assaulted with a wall of bass-thumping dance music.

He grimaces in distaste– what ever happened to the swing era?– and carefully makes his way to the cloakroom, trying to touch as few people as possible.

As he reaches it, he turns and just takes in the scene for a minute. There’s a line of people waiting to get in and people are packed in like sardines. There’s a crowd at the bar, four deep and the bartenders are working their asses off.

Magnus is in the middle of it all, dancing to something god-awful, everyone trying to get near him– he’s the life of the party even when he’s not trying. A talent, that.

He’s in something revealing, his shirt completely unbuttoned but tucked into skin tight leather trousers. His makeup is as dramatic as his moods and he’s grinning, feral and satisfied.

He looks like a king amidst his people.

St. Vincent’s attention catches on the one spot of stillness in Pandemonium– there’s a man, no a shadowhunter, staring at Magnus with single-minded focus. He’s leaning against the bar, untouched drink in hand, and it looks like he doesn’t even register anything going on around him.

He only has eyes for Bane.

St. Vincent watches as the shadowhunter gives Bane a slow onceover, pausing at the necklaces catching the light on his chest.

He raises a brow, chuckling a little. So it’s like that then, is it, he thinks. He didn’t know the blessed nephilim were allowed to swing that way.

Deciding the shadowhunter isn’t a threat– though not to say that he isn’t wasting his time, as if Bane would ever deign to sleep with one of those sanctimonious, rigid creatures– St. Vincent lets his gaze keep moving.

Magnus has quite the little enterprise here, boasting style and elegance with the touch of debauchery he’s so notorious for, and St. Vincent is proud of him. They only had a passing acquaintance through Ragnor but trust Magnus to keep in touch– to keep him from becoming too much of a recluse.

As he shrugs into his coat and puts his hat on, he sees Magnus leaving through the front doors, the bouncer holding the rope open so he can pass.

St. Vincent’s gaze sharpens, though, as he sees the shadowhunter follow close behind.

Good grief.

Shadowhunters just don’t know when to stop, when to admit defeat.

Grumbling, he starts moving, walking at a brisk pace towards the front of the club. Lilith knew that Magnus always protected his people– it was only fair that St. Vincent be there in his hour of need.

He exits the club and immediately takes a deep breath of the fresh, cool air. Up the block he sees Magnus walking, the shadowhunter– good God, how tall was the man?– silently following.

St. Vincent has a moment to think how peculiar it is that Magnus hasn’t caught on– he was one of the most powerful warlocks the world over and his sixth sense should definitely be tingling right now– but he pushes that to the back of his mind to discuss with him later.

The shadowhunter is a few paces behind, a looming shadow on a deserted block. He looks lethal, capable of their kind’s usual violence, and Bartholomew is set to call out a warning when the shadowhunter makes his move.

He must have one of his runes activated because he’s a blur of movement as he closes the distance to Magnus.

Bartholomew starts jogging to the two men but he stops in his tracks as he hears… laughter?

The shadowhunter’s wrapped an arm around Bane’s waist, spinning him, pushing him back until he collides with the brick wall.

Bane, for his part, doesn’t look alarmed. Instead of seeing crushing waves of crimson, St. Vincent watches, stunned, as he winds his arms around the shadowhunter’s neck, relaxing against the wall, pulling the other man closer.

Magnus laughs, a little breathless, as Alec settles against him. “Someone can’t wait until we get home?”

The man hums as he starts mouthing at Magnus’s neck, sucking a bruise over his pulse point. Magnus’s hips buck, heading falling back, granting easier access.

St. Vincent is speechless at the intimate display. Magnus Bane, renowned for his reluctant tolerance of shadowhunters, voluntarily letting one so close?

It’s absurd.

The shadowhunter pulls back and St. Vincent barely catches the words that leave him in a hoarse baritone.

“Well, husband, what do you expect me to do when you were dancing like that?”

“Like what, Alexander,” Magnus demands, playfully outraged.

“Like you knew I was watching,” is his growled reply and St. Vincent is taken aback as they both dive into each other, kissing with a fervor infinitelymore suited to a bedroom than directly under a streetlight.

Magnus sweeps his hands from the shadowhunter’s shoulders down to his ass, copping a feel with one as the other slides into his jeans. Magnus then proceeds to hitch a thigh over his lover’s hip and they start grinding in earnest.

For pity’s sake, it’s distasteful. Magnus is letting out these little whimpers and the two of them are putting on quite the display.

Wait. What in blazes?

Husband?

In his shock, he must make a noise because the two break apart, Alexander going for his pocket and Magnus’s eyes gleaming gold in the darkness.

The next second, he lays a hand on the shadowhunter’s chest as he takes in the onlooker.

“Bartholomew?”

St. Vincent sighs and takes a few steps closer.

“It is I,” he agrees.

Magnus looks confused and so does Alexander, staring between the two high warlocks in surprise.

“You know each other,” he asks warily.

Magnus nods before he gets a chance to.

“We’re old pals, darling. St. Vincent is actually in town for the week to catch up.”

The shadowhunter relaxes as he hears the name.

He steps back from Magnus and clears his throat, sticking out a hand.

“Good to meet you, St. Vincent. I’m Alec Lightwood.”

St. Vincent throws a startled glance at Magnus before slowly returning the handshake.

“Lightwood? Of the Lightwoods?”

Alec nods even as he looks rueful. “Yeah, but try not to hold it against me.”

Magnus takes a step closer to him, wrapping an arm around his back. “Alexander, here, is the Head of the New York Institute.” He winks at St. Vincent. “He’s also my husband.”

He knows his mouth is opening and closing like a fish, but he can’t help being so gauche.

“Husband?”

Magnus just arches a brow, blasé. “Husband. We’ve been married for seven years.”

“To a shadowhunter?”

Magnus laughs, nodding even as he winces. “I know, St. Vincent. If you’d asked me the last time we’d seen each other if I thought I’d ever get married, let alone to a shadowhunter, I would have laughed in your face. But, here I am.” He looks up at Alec, wonder in his gaze as he continues. “I definitely never saw this one coming my way.”

He tilts his head a little, switching to give St. Vincent a considering look. “You spend too much time at your estate, dear. I can’t believe you haven’t heard a single word about me and Alexander. We’re a constant source of gossip among the downworld.”

Alec chuckles. “And it’s definitely not limited to New York.”

Magnus turns to look up at him and St. Vincent can’t help but notice the look that passes between them, full of warmth and humor, obvious even to a stranger.

“How right you are, darling. Remember when that pair of wolves watched us the entire evening in that tapas in Madrid? You’re really too captivating, Alexander.”

Alexander scoffs. “Me? No one would give me a second look if it weren’t for you, babe. You command attention wherever you go, especially when you dress to impress.” Alec’s gaze dips down lecherously and Magnus chuckles, patting his chest.

He looks at Bartholomew, winking. “I think someone’s had a little too much to drink tonight.”

Magnus nods at him, tilting his head in Alexander’s direction. “We’d best head home now, but I look forward to lunch tomorrow. I assume you’re staying at the Ritz?”

St. Vincent nods, watches as Bane’s husband leans down and starts nosing along his hairline. “Of course, Bane, there’s not another acceptable hotel in the whole damned city. I’ll meet you at the restaurant tomorrow.”

Magnus nods distractedly as he reaches up and runs a hand through the shadowhunter’s hair.

“Have a safe walk back to the hotel, Bartholomew.”

He nods as Magnus turns Alec and they start walking back down the block. The two are in step, Alexander’s arm across Bane’s shoulder, hips touching.

They look like a team, in sync.

He hears their voices, growing quiet in the distance, and shakes his head, rueful.

Trust Bane to defy everyone’s expectations.

He can’t wait to catch up on what he’s missed tomorrow.

#exposing my kinks for fuck's sake kdfjgsdfg #i hope you like this!!!!!! #it was fun to write and definitely made time go by at work this evening!! #julia tag #asked #answered #my writing #against the wall #malec fic #malec fic rec #malec prompts

[thegloober]

The Underserved Life: A Self Publishing Success Story

Would you believe that a small town girl starting with zero blog subscribers sold 1,000 copies of her memoir in the first two weeks of its release?

Only nine months after setting off to build her email list while writing and self-publishing her memoir, this same small town girl hit #1 New Release in over five Amazon categories. And then it remained in the top 10 for multiple categories its entire first month.

And while all this happened, she had two infants under age one and a husband working full-time while in graduate school.

This small town girl is me, Natalie Brenner, and I’m here to tell you about my self publishing success story and how you how to write your first book.

I wrote my first book when I was in third grade. Sure, it was pieces of lined paper ripped out of an old notebook, stapled together, and only about 35 pages long, but it was a book.

From that moment forward, I knew I wanted to be a writer. I dreamed of piecing together stories, crafting together experiences, creating lessons-learned, and inspiring others to live their fullest life.

In high school I started my first blog, where I strung words into poems. These poems were depressing and quite dark, dripping with pain but also hope. Eventually I began dating my now husband and we got married. The blog turned into our documented journeys together sharing wisdom gained and mistakes made.

Secretly, I wanted someone fancy to reach out to me and ask me to write a book. I smiled every time a reader, friend, or mentor asked me when I was going to write a book. Shyly and without confidence, I waved them off, saying I wasn’t good enough or I didn’t have anything that good to share.

But really I did have something to share. We all do… if we want to.

4 steps to self-publish your book

One evening I sat in bed feeling helpless. The story I was living felt important and the things I was learning along the way needed to be shared.

The pain I was walking through and the healing I encountered through simply being honest felt life-changing. I wanted to shout to the world that I found the secret to a full life and I wanted it to be shared through a book.

But my social media platform was minimal. I wouldn’t even call it a platform.

I had a whopping 56 subscribers on my sacred little WordPress blog I had created over five years prior. So to my 300 precious Twitter followers, I asked,

Does anyone have any sort of literary agent connection they could hook me up with?

Luckily, my friend was working for a best-selling author at the time. She messaged me and asked if I would be open to self publishing. I scoffed and half-heartedly heard her out.

Self publishing seemed so silly, so amatuer, so overwhelming. But as her words, tips, and resources settled into my mind over the coming days, I thought, “Maybe, just maybe this is the route I need to begin my author career.”

Laying the groundwork

Before I was able to fully dig myself into drafting and ultimately publishing my first book, I needed to grab ahold of and claim my identity as a writer.

Until this point, I had been pretty flaky about calling myself a writer even though I was being paid as a freelance writer. Once I made that mental shift, I began taking myself seriously.

Asking ourselves “why?” about any major adventure is integral to its success. Without knowing our why, we won’t have the motivation needed to push through the hard days (and there will be hard days!).

I wrestled through:

Why do I want to write this book?

Why does the world need this message?

Why will my book be different than what’s already been written?

I then studied the pros and learned from the many authors and creators who have gone before me. Free quality resources are everywhere. I listened to podcasts, read free eBooks, researched all things memoir writing, marketing, and community creating.

Budget breakdown

Have you seen a self published book that looked self published? Me too.

I didn’t want my book to be unprofessional, which meant I needed to invest all of myself and a chunk of budget into it.

Let me be clear: we had zero extra funds for any sort of “book budget.”

We were living paycheck to paycheck, utilizing the gift of food stamps, my husband was in school, and I was working hard as a photographer and freelance writer. We had two babies…TWO under age one.

After seeking counsel, I set a budget of $3,000.

This was more than our monthly income, but I knew it wouldn’t be all in one chunk. Here is the breakdown of how my budget was spent:

Editor — I researched and interviewed a handful of editors. Something I’ve learned as a photographer is someone will always do something cheaper. But cheaper doesn’t mean it’s the right choice. I ended up hiring Ashley Ormon, and have been incredibly thankful for her.

Editor (copy editing, developmental editing, proofreading) — $1650

Editor for two free eBooks used on website — $300

Designer, both interior and jacket — again, I interviewed a handful of designers and landed on two. I was not willing to have a DIY looking book. I chose the designer (Manda Julaine Designs) I had been working with for my brand for my cover, but she had never done an interior so I found Melinda Martin for my interior. Melinda worked so well with the jacket and made the interior cohesive to the exterior.

Exterior jacket with social media and stock images — $300

Interior formatting + design — $400

Online marketing — $300

This may be different for each individual and where your main social platform is. But I used some of this budget to promote on Facebook Pages and Instagram ads.

I paid to promote my free downloadables as well as my book itself! I spread this out over the months and used it to grow my list as well as promote my book.

Website — $250

Create deadlines and meet them

At the end of the day, as a self publishing author, you are the boss of you. You have to create deadlines and meet them.

Personally, I need clear cut ways to process things, so I picked a release date — about nine months out, which is quite rushed — and worked backwards. I also worked with my editor as well as designers to talk about when they needed what done.

Deadlines to pen into your calendar:

Release date!

Mine was September 18, 2017

Book completion — jacket and formatted manuscript

My goal was August 1 — this gave me time to order author copies and give to people to share on their social sites and with their email lists on release day

Manuscript edited + proofread

Before a manuscript can be typeset, it must be fully edited. Ask your designer how much time he or she needs.

My due date was August 1. My designers needed my manuscript by July 1.

My editor and I needed to be finished with my manuscript by July 1.

But what about your non-existent platform?

Valid. I revamped my website in January 2017 and lost my sacred 56 subscribers. My release date was nine months away, I had zero subscribers, and only 1,500 social followers.

Since my memoir is about loss and learning the freedom found in grieving, I created a 3,000 word grief guide, Wholeness Despite the Brokenness, as a free downloadable. You can see how this works here, but essentially, anyone can enter their email address and download it for free.

My goal was to make it to 1,000 subscribers by launch weekend– and I did it!

Along the way, I gained a couple thousand people in my social community as well.

Book launch and release

While listening to Tim Grahl’s podcast The Book Launch Show, it became very apparent that I needed a book launch plan. I focused on building my online community, primarily through my email list and also through Instagram.

In these spaces, I regularly invited people to a private Facebook Group dedicated to my Book Launch Team which I started approximately six weeks before my release day.

My Facebook group only had 131 members in it, but they were active and on my team to launch this book into the world come release day. So they knew exactly what they were promoting, I uploaded a free copy of This Undeserved Life for anyone in this group to read.

During the few months leading up to release day I also had a three-tier list of influencers I hoped would read and endorse my book, either for the front cover or on their space.

The bottom tier was made up of friends and influencers I already had an existing relationship with — people I knew would say yes!

The second tier were influencers I had somewhat of a relationship with, but I was not sure they’d say yes.

The top tier was made up of influencers I was sure wouldn’t even read my email, but boy would it make my day to have them endorse my book!

I had people from every single tier respond, receive a free copy of my book, and endorse it.

This was all woven together as a part of launching This Undeserved Life because I needed other voices to validate what I had written. By the time my book had launched, I had given over 500 free digital copies to people to review, endorse, and share about on their spaces come launch week.

Ready to self publish your book?

If I can find the time, budget, and courage to write a book, so can you. And it can all start with just a few simple steps.

Here are four things you can do today:

Tell someone you are a writer

Answer these questions in written form:

Why do I want to write this book?

Why will this book change the world?

Why is this book different or unique?

Update your website — Make sure you have these pages available at the header:

Contact

About

Blog

Also make sure you have an active and working SUBSCRIBE button

Begin brainstorming what your downloadable freebie could be!

Make sure it is in tune with your brand, makes sense for your audience, and shares your voice.

The post The Underserved Life: A Self Publishing Success Story appeared first on ConvertKit.

The post The Underserved Life: A Self Publishing Success Story was shared from BlogHyped.com.

Source: https://bloghyped.com/the-underserved-life-a-self-publishing-success-story/

[funnythingshere0-blog]

I'm W. Garth Callaghan, 'Napkin Notes Dad,' and This Is How I Parent

New Post has been published on http://funnythingshere.xyz/im-w-garth-callaghan-napkin-notes-dad-and-this-is-how-i-parent/

I'm W. Garth Callaghan, 'Napkin Notes Dad,' and This Is How I Parent

Photo: Napkin Notes Dad

Ever since his daughter Emma was in elementary school, W. Garth Callaghan would jot down inspirational quotes and bits of dad wisdom onto napkins and slip the notes into her lunchbox. It became their special thing, their way to connect. He wanted to make sure Emma could read a note from her father every single school day until graduation—even if was no longer around to write them.

Callaghan has been diagnosed with cancer five times since 2011. He believed that these napkin notes might eventually be the only thing Emma would have left of him. He wrote the memoir Napkin Notes: Make Lunch Meaningful, Life Will Follow, which Reese Witherspoon is adapting into a film. As he prepares to send Emma off to college this fall, Callaghan reflects on how he parents.

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Name: W. Garth Callaghan Location: Richmond, Virginia Job: Napkin Notes Dad and author Family: Wife Lissa and daughter Emma (18)

Tell us how Napkin Notes began.

When Emma was younger, I worked in a typical office setting, and missed eight to ten hours of her day. I wanted to connect with her more than my schedule allowed, so I started writing napkin notes and sticking them into her lunch when she was in kindergarten. Sometimes I’d pop in a cookie or a piece of candy to make her lunch special. I wasn’t sure what mattered to her, the note or the treat.

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When Emma was in 2nd or 3rd grade, I was in the kitchen prepping her lunch while sipping my morning cup of coffee. I hadn’t yet written a note. Emma scooped up her lunch bag, peered in, stomped over to me, and asked, “Napkin note?” That’s when I knew it mattered to her, and I committed to putting a note into each lunch.

Photo: Napkin Notes Dad

I have been diagnosed with cancer five times. The first diagnosis came out of the blue and turned our world upside down. After my third diagnosis in 2013, I made a promise to write out all of the napkin notes Emma would need up until high school graduation.

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I am by no means perfect, and there were days life just didn’t work in my favor. I have driven a note to school more than a few times. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to ask the principal, “Can you please get this note into Emma’s lunch bag?”

Take us through your morning routine. What are your best tricks for getting out the door?

I have been taking daily chemo now for well over four years. My chemo brain is strong and I easily forget things. The key to any successful morning is planning, and that starts the night before. I review my schedule as well as the family schedule. I follow the same routine each day so that I am less likely to forget something.

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Once everyone is set, I take a few minutes and write at least 800 words before starting work.

Photo: Courtesy of W. Garth Callaghan

How much outside help do you get as a parent? Who or what can’t you live without?

I’d like to think that we don’t need more help than any other typical family, but I know that my health impacts so much of our lives that it’s impossible to survive alone. Our friends and church family step up to help with carpooling, delivering egg drop soup when I am nauseated, fetching prescriptions or groceries, and even raking our yard. I am happy to say we don’t have to lean on everyone all of the time, but we couldn’t make it without this strong support circle.

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What are the gadgets, apps, charts or tools you rely on?

I am a self-professed geek and love gadgets. I can’t remember everything I need to, so my Google Pixel is never out of my sight. I love the pictures this phone takes! I use Wunderlist for to-dos (chemo brain!) and Evernote for cataloging. I keep all of my medical records on Evernote so they are easily accessible for me at any time. I track health issues with PatientsLikeMe to help others with kidney cancer.

Has becoming a parent changed the way you work?

Being a parent has made me realize that work is important, but not nearly as important as raising the next generation. I work so that I can be the dad who never misses a softball game. There was a time when I traveled quite a bit for work, and I wrote out napkin notes before each trip so Emma always had a note in her lunch.

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What does your evening routine like?

Fatigue is the biggest side effect from my treatment and I really need to wind down after 7 PM. During the school year, we’d often be at the ballfield until late evening and I’d spend my time doing my favorite thing: cheering Emma and her team on. Now that we’re in a permanent off-season, I am an avid reader and try to read a few chapters of something. I am in the middle of Mindset by Carol Dweck. Next up is Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson.

How do you decompress?

I love to play video games. I play any version of Halo on my XBOX One, and I play Star Wars Galaxies on my PC.

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I’d like to say I am also an avid gym-goer, but I am not as good as I should be. My oncologist told me today that I should act as if I am training for a marathon and has motivated me to step up my game.

What’s been your proudest moment as a parent?

A single moment??? I can’t. I just can’t. I am tearing up even remembering all of the moments that I can easily list off. Like …

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… the time when Emma was the incredibly kind and gentle coach playing Buddy Ball with the special needs team.

… the time when an impossible-to-stop hard grounder was hit to Emma at shortstop, and she caught it and effortlessly backhanded it to the third Baseman without even looking where the player was.

… the time when I asked her if it was okay to write a very personal book about our lives and she responded eagerly, “Oh Dad, I want you to write the book!”

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I work so that I can be the dad who never misses a softball game.

What moment are you least proud of?

Emma was about 18 months old and was jumping on her bed. I told her to stop jumping there. Why did I do that? Did it really matter that she was jumping on her bed? I lost my cool and told her if she jumped on the bed, I’d spank her. She stopped, looked me straight in the eye, and jumped some more. What could I do? We sat together in her room, both of us crying and I swatted her bottom once with just enough force to crush my heart.

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What do you want your kid to learn from your example?

I want Emma to know the value of trying and failing, then trying better and failing better.

What are your favorite funny/weird/special family rituals?

We have this weird thing for an overabundance of fall produce. We pick pumpkins at an “All You Can Carry” pumpkin patch and have perfected the art of carrying more pumpkins that we can remotely use, all for $10. (The trick is to load the first layer of pumpkins stem side down.) We also pick our own apples at an orchard in Charlottesville. We pick so many that I have to make two trips to the car! I think our family record was over 70 pounds.

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One very funny, weird thing about us and our dear friends: We sing the diarrhea song together, but only when camping. I don’t think we’ve ever actually had bowel problems out there, but the song is funny to sing around a campfire.

Has anyone ever given you a piece of parenting advice that has really stuck with you?

Rachel Macy Stafford wrote a piece on the most important six words you can say to your child and I took that advice to heart. It changed my perspective immediately and I started to practice it at the very next softball game I attended.

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The six words: “I love to watch you play.”

What’s the hardest part about being a parent?

Learning to fail well in front of your child.

What’s your favorite part of the day?

I know this will be corny, but every part of every day. I have metastatic kidney cancer and the likelihood to become cured is practically zero. Whenever someone asks me how I am doing, I always respond with, “Each day on this side of the grass is a good day” and genuinely mean it.

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How can parents find ways to connect with their kids?

Find the small thing, the ritual, that’ll be just between you and your child. It could be anything! Try flying paper airplanes from the second story window, wearing the same T-shirt to the movies, memorizing a favorite story word-for-word, or learning how to dance in tandem like they do in the movie Big.

Any other wisdom you’d like to share?

Write a note on the napkin. You can use a sticky note or regular paper and put in somewhere safe if you don’t pack a lunch. Last year I wrote about 180 napkin notes for Emma. Five were super successful and were brought back home to be tacked onto the message board in the kitchen or placed on Emma’s dresser.

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I had put this one on her car seat one random morning and it stayed on her dresser all year:

Photo: Napkin Notes Dad

Oh, and your kids absolutely know when you’re looking at your phone during their game/meet/performance. Don’t think you’re fooling them one bit.

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Source: https://offspring.lifehacker.com/im-w-garth-callaghan-napkin-notes-dad-and-this-is-ho-1827618994

[thedeadshotnetwork]

Biden sees one Democrat who can beat Trump in 2020: Joe Biden Joe Biden thinks it’s critical that Donald Trump not get a second term — and though it’s early, he doesn’t yet see anyone else who could stop that from happening. So, he's been telling people privately, that might mean he’ll just have to run himself. After beginning the year both teasing a 2020 bid and ruling one out — sometimes on the same day — Biden in recent months has shifted unmistakably in favor of running, say multiple people who’ve been in touch with the former vice president and his team. For the first time in what would be the sixth presidential campaign that he’s either seriously flirted with or launched, Biden sees an argument for a candidacy for which he is the only answer: An elder statesman who can help repair the damage and divisions in the country and around the world, unite the competing wings of the Democratic Party, and appeal to traditional Democratic voters who fled last year for Trump. “He’s a great respecter of fate,” said one person close to the former vice president. “At some point, it may turn into fate and planning.” Many Democrats are wary about pegging the future of the party with Biden, who will be 77 by 2020, the oldest potential candidate in the field other than Bernie Sanders. Though a clutch player in both Obama campaigns, he has proved to be bad at running for president himself, and would likely be facing a raucous and crowded primary full of candidates determined not to step aside and repeat the Hillary Clinton coronation. Next week, Biden will launch a tour for his new book, “Promise Me, Dad,” a memoir of his relationship with his son Beau, whose death in May 2015 triggered both the last-minute exploration by Biden of a 2016 run and the emotional devastation that ultimately caused him to pull the plug. People familiar with the planning describe the tour as deliberately structured to avoid politics. Biden's staff is pushing off nearly every request to appear at fundraisers or other political events while he’s traveling for it. But there’s another, more subtle purpose, some acknowledge: to test Biden’s emotional stamina, should he decide to throw himself fully into a presidential run. “Right now, he’s pretty laser-focused on the book tour. Get through that and go see what we can do in ‘18, and see where things are then,” said a person in touch with Biden’s advisers, who have stayed in close communication since leaving their government jobs in January. On top of an already busy travel schedule, his book events will kick off with an Oprah Winfrey interview and keep him on the road through mid-December. He has stops scheduled in New York, Washington and Boston, but also Tennessee, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Texas and Michigan. With former President Barack Obama largely sitting out politics and many Democrats wary of reaching out to the Clintons, Biden’s appeal as a party leader has grown since January. He has received at least five requests for endorsements or events each week, sources close to him say. Biden is planning to spend the first quarter of 2018 focused on fundraising for old friends in the Senate, with possible additional appearances for state parties or directly backing House candidates. Twelve of the 14 candidates he backed in Tuesday's election won, including a Washington state Senate race that flipped the chamber to Democrats and the Manchester, New Hampshire, mayor’s race. He also supported, Danica Roem, the transgender candidate who won a seat in the Virginia House of Delegates. Roem first met Biden after traveling to Wilmington, Delaware, for the Beau Biden wake. Another person close to Biden stressed that his focus now is on helping elect other Democrats. “The VP is out working furiously to support and promote Democrats at all levels because he believes the future of the party is bright,” the person said. In op-eds and speeches, Biden has gone after Trump without mentioning him by name. He uses words like “incoherence” and “inconsistent,” and notes that many foreign leaders have reached out to him, confused by Trump's actions. He’s also keeping tabs on how other people are hitting the president, reaching out to members of Congress whom he sees on TV to cheer them on. Rep. Ted Deutch (D-Fla.), who got his start in politics as a college student volunteering on Biden’s 1988 presidential campaign, described getting one of those calls. “It was Vice President Biden just calling to tell me he was watching and he saw me on CNN, I was strong, and I should keep it up,” Deutch said. “This is clearly a guy who’s paying close attention to what’s going on and wants to be a part of it.” Biden’s PAC, American Possibilities, launched in May. It has raised money only through emails, but the group expects to have between $500,000 and $1 million in its coffers by the end of this year. It will begin doling out more of that money in 2018. So far this year, Alabama Senate candidate Doug Jones, governor and lieutenant governor candidates in Virginia and New Jersey, and six state statehouse candidates have received donations from the group. Among Obama alumni, there’s deep skepticism that Biden will go through with a run. And while Obama and Biden have seen each other somewhat regularly since leaving office in January, they have not had any in-depth conversations about 2020, sources close to both men say. While some big money Democrats have been wary about pegging the future of the party with a former two-term vice president, some former Clinton donors have reached out with interest, as have former Obama donors. “If someone emerges that the former VP believes can beat [Trump], I think he is at peace with that,” said one Biden-friendly donor. “On the other hand, if that person doesn’t exist or doesn’t run, you can expect Joe Biden to take a very serious look.” Biden spokesman Bill Russo declined to comment. The chatter has gotten so intense in some corners that there’s even scuttlebutt among Democratic operatives that Biden could launch his candidacy with California Sen. Kamala Harris as his running mate from Day One. People people close to both of them insist that talk didn't start with them. When Biden was exploring a 2016 bid, there was similar speculation that he would run with Massachusetts Sen. Elizabeth Warren. Biden has been reading articles about Trump's dealings abroad and the Russia investigation, and getting more upset. He outlined this thinking in a speech last week to the Chicago Council on Global Affairs peppered with projections. “How many of you — I mean this sincerely — how many of you, when the president was elected, were either happy or bemused or a little embarrassed or not quite sure, but now are really fundamentally worried about our democracy or the prospect of an international conflict or nuclear war?” Biden said. “How many of you now, whether you voted for him or not, are beginning to wonder whether or not the very roots of the invisible moral fabric that holds everything up is eroding in a way that’s going to be dangerous for democratic institutions?” Barely a mile away, the Obama Foundation was holding its inaugural summit, where Biden had been in talks to make an appearance. Instead, he headed to Chicago City Hall, taking up an invitation for coffee from Mayor Rahm Emanuel, the former Obama chief of staff who’s renewed his role as a behind-the-scenes strategist for what the Democratic Party should do next. A spokesman declined to comment on what they discussed. November 10, 2017 at 10:34AM

#Blogger

[augment-techs]

Six-Word Starter Prompts (part I)

Watching quietly from every door frame.

Catholic school backfired. Sin is in!

Savior complex makes for many disappointments.

Nobody cared, then they did. Why?

Some cross-eyed kid, forgotten then found.

Born in the desert. Still thirsty.

I asked. They answered. I wrote.

No future, no past. Not lost.

Joined army. Came out. Got booted.

Almost a victim of my family.

The psychic said I'd be richer.

Painful nerd kid, happy nerd adult.

Fourteen years old, story untold.

One long train ride to darkness.

Wolf! She cried. No one listened.

I'm my mother and I'm fine.

All day I dream about sex.

I still make coffee for two.

I like girls. Girls like boys.

Never should have bought that ring.

Stranded by ten-thousand-mile crush.

Time heals all wounds? Not quite.

Made a mess. Cleaned it up.

Says deaf boyfriend: You're too quiet.

My family is overflowing with therapists.

Boy, if I had a hammer.

Followed white rabbit, became black sheep.

Followed Yellow Brick Road. Disappointment ensued.

Nerdy girl smutmonger. Now, baby fever.

Recent doctorate means overeducated and underemployed.

Taking a lifetime to grow up.

Bad breaks discovered at high speed.

In the office. It smells here.

I am trying, in every regard.

Happiest when ignoring huge financial debt.

Not pretty enough, so now unemployed.

Mistakes were made, but smarter now.

Likes everything too much to choose.

Curly haired sad kid chose fun.

Now I blog and drink wine.

Egomaniac with inferiority complex defies odds.

I thought I was someone else.

Dancing for now, one day farming.

I grew and grew and grew.

Starving artist. Lucky break. Life downhill.

The Hustle: turn champion into sucker.

I was born 'some assembly required.'

I drank to much last night.

Took scenic route, got a date.

I like big butts, can't lie.

I'm enjoying even this downward dance.

Without ideas, intelligence could not exist!

I hope I outlive my regrets.

All night phone calls complete me.

Tragic childhood can lead to wisdom.

Which comes first: tequila or accident?

A sundress will solve life's woes.

I recognize red flags faster, now.

I sucked even the lobster legs.

Nothing profound, I just sat around.

Others left early: he continued cooking.

Quiet guy; please pay closer attention.

I sell hamburgers and french fries.

the shit invariably hits the fan

and he nerded as never before

tow truck drivers are my psychiatrists

should have used condom that time

infinite calm beset with emotional architecture

won the fight; lost the girl

slightly psychotic, in a good way

found true love after nine months

Afraid of everything. Did it anyway.

I wrote it all down somewhere

lost and found, rescued by dog

afraid of becoming like my mother

What the hell. Might as well.

Hexed: curse of the happy childhood.

Can't tonight, watching Law & Order

my life's a bunch of almosts

It's not you. It's me. Honest.

Thought I would have more impact

this is aggression in pink, bitch

oh, to have just one puff!

at the end of Normal Street

found great happiness in insignificant details

spent life looking for dead people

enjoying my fuck ups too much

an unusual turn of gender circumstances

hiding in apartment knitting against depression

they kissed me and said yes!

always dreamt of kissing pretty girls

everyone who loved me is dead

it was embarrassing, don't ask

Verbal hemophilia. Why can't I clot?

the car accident changed my life

burned my bridges and my britches

Batteries are cheap. Who needs men?

Clueless meets Ophelia, without the suicide.

anything possible--but I was tired

I ate, drank, and was hairy

still have not learned to swim

glass half full; pockets half empty

you are all in my imagination

school geek married a luscious cheerleader

I couldn't protect me from myself

aspiring lady pirate, disillusioned, sells boat

I was and now I'm not.

oh sweet nectar of life, coffee

no shit I'm critical--you're flawed

It's pretty high. You go first.

Wasn't noticed so I painted trains.

running away: best decision I made

when she proposed, I said yes

Nobody knows how I have suffered.

Dweeb, pussy...stronger than anyone knows.

too many lovers--too little time

couldn't cope so I wrote songs

long lost girl recently found, unharmed

born a twin, died a loner

It was worth it, I think.

Dorothy Gale had the right idea

take a left turn, then fly

I was never the pretty one

born at 23, childhood doesn't count

memory was my drug of choice

gay physician designed life-saving AIDS drugs

never lived up to my potential

never really finished anything, except cake

cursed with cancer; blessed with friends

crappy parents killed my self esteem

lonely artist turned waitress in love

my life is just like yours

lucky in everything else except love

I'm just here for the beer

With three cats I'm never unloved

came, saw, conquered, had second thoughts

the weather up here is better

baby dyke now raising two babies

Stoned. Boned. Where am I now?

town car, tailored suit, dirty nails

I fell far from the tree

the image was large with silence

after you jump, the net appears

I colored outside the lines

should not have eaten those mushrooms

Wanked furiously. Married. Furious no more.

even the quietest sounds make noise

many hands have kept me afloat

all of my students hate me

I managed not to destroy anything.

#source: not quite what I was planning: six-word memoirs by famous and obscure writers #writing prompts #sentence starters #GIMME #boom! comics power rangers #power rangers in general