rosesutherlandwrites

[rosesutherlandwrites]

[rosesutherlandwrites]

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how’s that house that raised you?

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I haven't purchased a HP item in close to a decade - I use the books I already had as doorstops or to prop a laptop up for meetings nowadays.

There is NO "death of the author" with JK Rowling - she controls and continues to profit from her IP, and uses that money to fund hate groups.

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few things more humbling than the realization that you really do write the same fic(s) over and over again

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I think I have my new and improved structure! ....now I need to edit the actual content, dammmmmmn.

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what a way to announce your skills issue anyway how long is y'all's longest internet friendship, mine is 14 years

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I have to stare down one heck of an authorial challenge today: This book's climax is a massive set piece involving an often-overlooked, truly awful (and downright shameful) tragedy that took place in Halifax in 1882, and I wanted to show as much of the scope of it as possible, by letting readers see it through the eyes of two different characters—particularly as one of them is trapped in a situation that limits her knowledge of what is going on beyond her immediate surroundings— while also keeping things suspenseful. In my zero draft, I put at least one thing in the wrong place, but more than that, the POV switching got confusing, I leaned on it more often than I should have—so now, I need to figure out how to move a reveal, keep the flow and urgency going, and make sure we ALWAYS know exactly who's shoulder we're sitting on.

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Three Women In Marshall, Texas C. 1899.

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Snow day? I would love a snow day. I'm waiting to hear—all my coworkers are snowed in, so it seems likely. Frankly, I'm pretty sure that the only reason the road in front of my house is passable is because it's the direct link between two towns that employ a lot of people locally(tire plant in one, fish processing factory in the other) and that as soon as I turn onto the coastal route to get the ferry I'll be hooped so. Let's cross our fingers I can stay home and write in my pjs ETA WOOHOO SNOW DAY

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Happy “Fantine rides a Rollercoaster” Day to everyone reading Les Mis along with @lesmisletters ! In this chapter, Fantine and her friends ride the “Russian Mountains” in the Beaujon pleasure gardens. The “Russian Mountains” was actually an early 1817 roller coaster, which looked like this:

Here’s a tiktok video explaining more about how that roller coaster was invented and brought over to France!

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Hugely curious about the stats of this. I'm testing a theory. Elaborate in the tags if you please.

Please reblog!

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NGL the past week I have been back and forth between "utterly unable to work on my book because I can't stop staring into all of *gestures vaguely with increasing rage*" and "complete hyperfixation where I'm so in it that I might as well be on the next planet over" Tonight I'm stuck on the first when I had been hoping all day to get home and fall straight into the second

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I don’t know why that affected me so strongly, but I’m watching a youtube video on disasters on Lake Huron, and the first one involves a coal freighter that was lost in the White Hurricane of 1913 called the SS Argus. Everyone on the ship was lost. But it’s mentioned that the captain’s body washed up later, and was found without a life jacket. So they thought, based partly on testimony of another ship that thought they saw them go down, that it just happened too fast for him to have time to get his jacket. But then another body was found, that of the second cook, and she was found wearing the life jacket marked ‘captain’. And that’s …

It didn’t work. It didn’t save her. But it’s so very possible that he spent his last moments alive trying to save someone else, one of his crew, and they probably both knew that it wouldn’t work, that there wasn’t a lot of hope in a blizzard on the lakes in November, but he tried … he tried anyway. Even if it did nothing but maybe make her body easier for her family to find.

You know that Mr Rogers thing of ‘look for the helpers’? How many times has someone, facing the end, done something tiny and fragile and maybe hopeless just to try and help someone else? Whether it works or not. How many people went to their graves at least trying?

That has to say something about us. As a people. As monstrous as we sometimes (perhaps often) are, so many times we were also …

Whoever saves one life, saves the whole world.

And sometimes you can’t save one life, sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes there’s no getting out of this for anyone, but … try anyway. Because it matters anyway.

And maybe no one will ever know. But maybe also some day more than a century down the line, maybe some idiot will be crying into her coffee because of what you died trying.

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it’s called having a heart of gold you fucking idiot