why is it always "I love you", but never:
"I knew him well enough to know that if you asked him the right way, at the right moment, he would do almost anything; and in the very act of turning away I knew he would have run after me and hopped in the car laughing if I'd asked one last time.
But I didn't. And, in truth, it was maybe better that I didn't━I say that now, though it was something I regretted bitterly for a while. More than anything I was relieved that in my unfamiliar babbling-and-wanting-to-talk state I'd stopped myself from blurting the thing on the edge of my tongue, the thing I'd never said, even though it was something we both knew well enough without me saying it out loud to him in the street━ which was, of course, I love you."
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What do you think are the biggest influences on your writing? -Mimikyu
i like this question! it really got me thinking. thanks @andromeda-nova-writing <3
dreamology by lucy keating was probably the first ever book i read twice and i pulled an all-nighter to read it a second time immediately after i finished it. i wouldn't say the book's writing is amazing, nor would i praise the romance, but i was hooked. the problem presented in the story was unrealistic, but as an avid dreamer myself, i was curious to know where this problem led the protagonists, because, in a sense, reading about the protagonists’ journey resulted in some sort of… catharsis.
it has been years since i read that book (i never touched it after returning it to the library) and the plot is fuzzy, but i won't forget the feeling it spurred. i guess that was the seed that grew the philosophy in me that stories had more impact than pure wish-fulfilment and fantasizing. that has been my core for… most of the stories i tell on this blog, and i hope the vibes reach across to my readers!
as for writing style, or how i write, i'm not quite sure. there was no writer whose style particularly stood out to me. (although writing style is probably not something i focus on hence my indifference…) since writing has grown to be very personal to me, the way i write is just… influenced by many things. by what i read on tumblr, the news, my homework, etc… i take it all in and spit them out in garbled paragraphs.
i feel like… the biggest thing that impacts my style is the rules i have when writing. like head hopping for example. it's something i try to avoid. or the rule to minimise repeating words (unless absolutely necessary or to prove a point or it is a noun). these rules come from books i read about writing.
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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller
New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/the-art-of-self-destruction/
The Art Of Self Destruction
The two tall men pulled out chairs on either side of me as we sat at the lunch table. Former colleagues from my political days, Covid had severed our connection three years ago. Now we were reviving the contact. Happily, both men looked well though one admitted he was struggling with Diabetes. Diet is critical to controlling the disease, so I bit my tongue when he and his companion ordered hamburgers, fries, and colas. While we waited for the order, the man without diabetes broke into a story. “ My plumber for the last twenty years fixed my toilet the other day and announced he was a transgender woman.”The man who should have ordered a salad laughed. A lifelong Republican, he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “So he/she is giving up plumbing?” “No,” said our friend. “But I expect her to charge less.” Coffee spurted from my nose as I stifled a giggle. It’s wrong to laugh at others, but my vulgarian self wasn’t listening. Afterward, to clear my conscience, I shared what I’d learned about transgenders while writing a blog—that sex expresses itself throughout the body in several ways and that physical differences exist between homosexual and heterosexual brains. Science is challenging cultural norms I told my friends, and those who choose to fight change should heed the Darlek’s warning. “Resistance is futile” What we’ve yet to understand about ourselves is the disconnect between reason and human behavior. Being educated seems to count for nothing. Tucker Carlson and Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas are intelligent men, yet both allow truth and hypocrisy to share the same bed. Carlson confides that he abhors Donald Trump yet is content to earn his supper by praising the man. Thomas dispenses justice to others never doubting his conduct is exempt. “We live in a time of social upheaval,” I assured my friends as I risked another swallow of coffee. What I didn’t add was that not all change was good. Holywood has crafted a more inclusive set of standards for the Oscars, for example, but Richard Dreyfus says they make him want to “vomit.” The aim may be laudable, but my spine also stiffened. Art and political correctness aren’t good traveling companions. In times of unreasoned savagery, art was obliged to offend. Intelligence, as Carlson and Thomas illustrate, lacks the power to overwhelm sentiments like greed and fear. Against these, we have but one defense–Emotional I. Q. It allows us to understand our feelings and use that understanding to interpret the responses of others. Unfortunately, history’s chaos suggests we’ve done little to develop that aspect of our brains. While technology and science propel us into brave new worlds, our emotions are those we’ve carried since the stone age. Greed and fear seem to dominate which leaves us ill-equipped to be guardians of the planet. Even so, we are moving forward with plans to adapt space as part of our infrastructure. An ambition like that gives new meaning to the Greek notion of hubris and raises a new question. How will we confront the life forms we encounter in space? Will we embrace them with wonder? Or will we treat differences as a reason to hate? Art has long been the vessel designed to hold revelation. Pablo Picasso exposes our inhumanity in Guernica. James Nachtwey’s war images beg us to feel shame. Yet the primitive brain knows how to defend itself. If truth is painful, we become blind to it. When our lunch visit is over, I rise to give a hug to my two friends. Peering over the shoulder of one with diabetes, I note he’s consumed his hamburger, fries, and cola. A line from Donna Tart’s The Goldfinch pops into my head. Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it’s going to kill us. Second cover teaser for the memloir, Gettling Lost tp Find Home
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More parts stuff
I woke up still feeling connected to Fox, and with a book in mind. Remembered that Fox really loved that book. The theme of the book is grief and wondering about being bad.
"Why am I made the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? Or, to tip it another way: how can I see clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet – for me, anyway – all that’s worth living for lies in that charm
A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don't get to choose our own hearts. We can't make ourselves want what's good for us or what's good for other people. We don't get to choose the people we are.
...
A self one does not want. A heart one cannot help."
(From The Goldfinch, by Donna Tart).
It connects to Fox, but to younger parts as well. I felt that conflict so strongly, that who I was was bad. And that, at the same time, there was no escaping it. I could try and try and try, control as much as I possibly could, but my real self would still shine through. I still cared too much, cried too much, loved too much. The best I could do was hide it, but I could never change it - no matter how much it disgusted me.
Fox carries that sense of being unable to escape it and being rejected by adults. Longing for people to please, please care. Please be kind. Please love me. Please welcome me with open arms. Please tolerate me.
I was lucky that my sister tried to help me when she got older. I could feel that she felt sorry for me, that she realized something unjust was going on. She was constantly nauseous, which later turned out to be psychosomatic. She must have been super stressed out from how unsafe things were. My brother was too small too understand. He was very much in his own world.
When I feel connected to Fox, I feel connected to those heavy feelings of badness. It is a responsibility that does not belong to me. It does not belong to you, dear Fox. You don't have to make yourself as small as possible in the hopes of not being offensive. Yes, you are a teenager and teenagers can be difficult to connect with for adults. But perhaps you can think of your sister - she saw something in you that was worth helping? And our mom's new boyfriend, he also connected to you, didn't he?
He must have seen *something* in you, right? And was it hard to connect with him? No, it wasn't. So were you *really* that hard to connect with? What did it take? It only took him showing you where constant snacks were available, that he had a very shy cat that he still loved nonetheless, that he had a gay daughter who was still more than welcome, that he asked questions and read a book you mentioned, that he asked you if you wanted to join for activities. Those things felt threateningly nice. Heart-meltingly, devastatingly, terribly nice. It still makes me cry to think of it. *Someone* saw you and didn't think you were terrible, too much, needed to be reduced. Most adults in your life, Fox, they were overwhelmed. They had no space in their hearts to connect - and that was not your fault. You could have been much happier in different circumstances and much more loved. I'm with you in this shame and grief that was not your fault. I'm with you in the anger about how much it still holds you back. I wish I could scoop you up and save you. You're not too old to be saved, darling. I think you might like to read another book. It's called "A Closed and Common Orbit".
A quote:
"In that moment, she could feel a bridge stretching between her as she was right then – giggling and gasping in a spaceship kitchen – to her at four years old, sucking algae gunk from her nails in the dark. She felt as though she could reach out to that little girl and pull her through the years. Look, she’d say. Look who you’re gonna be. Look where you’re gonna go."
I'm not saying that life is perfect now, but we are more comfortable now. More accepted. Less scared. And you are welcome here as well, Fox. You don't have to carry the pain and bury it along with yourself. I'm sending cozy blankets and hot chocolates and hugs and caring looks and peace and quiet. I'm sending the message along that in this moment, right now, things are alright.
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tired of sad bell jar core books. pls give me non-YA adult fiction book recommendations! (any genre) :D
I was really into reading in middle school and I found that in later high school/beginning college, I lost my enjoyment for reading and started doing it a lot less. This made me really sad since reading and writing were always such a huge part of my life, but reflecting, I find that it was definitely because I was in an "in between" stage of my life and I couldn't find an appealing "genre" of book to me anymore. The books I used to enjoy, which was mostly YA fantasy hunger games types or romance John Green type books (yk like every middle school girl), started feeling too immature and predictable for me. But on the other hand, "adult books" seemed daunting and while the books I tried were very well-written, most of them left me with this empty pit in my stomach. I've talked about this with a couple friends, and I'm not sure if its a shared/relatable experience here but I find that while YA fiction definitely makes reading enjoyable, lots of adult fiction has the opposite effect: it often has very negative tones and portrays life from a negative perspective that leaves you feeling sad or unsettled. (eg: I tried reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath or Ottessa Moshfegh novels and I definitely enjoyed them to an extent and don't regret reading them, but they left me feeling very empty while authors like Sally Rooney left me with almost a "nothing" feeling of being unsure why I read the book in the first place and that it was almost a waste of time). While this can be good to read and I do enjoy it sometimes, I do also miss more "happy" books that left a more positive impression or lingering feeling on me or even just books that have a more centered "plot" where things actually happen rather than just focusing on one character's inner ruminations. I do believe that a book needs to make you think and learn something, but I don't think that always has to be something that is inherently depressing and I find that those books are often triggering.
For this reason, I wanted to make a post asking for recommendations on fiction literature aimed for a college student/ 20 yr olds audience that have more of a plot focus and cover other topics outside of mental illness! (I did re-ignite my passion for reading with authors like sayaka murata and donna tart (LOVED a little life, life cycle, convenience store woman, the goldfinch) so if you could recommend anything similar I would love to read those! any genres from realistic fiction to fantasy to psychological horror. just like not sci fi or mental illness focused.)
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