#❛ MEMOIRE ⁝ written upon white pages ❜

[elenatria]

Exactly a year ago, while Kaunas was still the European Capital of Culture 2022 (and I desperately wanted to make my Chernobyl locations trip to Lithuania for that reason also), I asked the facebook page of Vytauto pr.58 (that was the name of "Valery's apartment" building back then) if I could visit the apartment. They said sorry, the apartment is a private residency. So yeah, Karolis Banys and Petras Gaidamavičius, partners in life and also partners in architectural projects, did "lend" their apartment (not yet renovated) to the Chernobyl crew for the filming of Valery's apartment scenes, but after the renovation they were planning to live there themselves. I was devastated obviously but it was understandable. I mean look at those two, you wouldn't want to disturb their peace and quiet with your crazy artistic Chernobyl-related ideas, would you?

Last August Karolis was making Insta stories about the renovation of the apartment and I was bawling my eyes out that I would never get to see the lapis lazuli of those walls up close. TT__TT But I was like... okay? Maybe...?

Fast forward to today, when I found out that ONLY FIVE DAYS AGO there was an article saying that at the beginning of 2023, a year after my request, they turned their nest into a museum, with guided tours and everything.

😳😳😳

Here are some interesting highlights from these two articles:

We can't wait to see all 5 rooms of the apartment, especially since in 2018 In the spring, HBO filmed the series "Chernobyl" in this apartment.

in 1928 136 sq. m apartment has 5 rooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, a guest toilet, a couple of balconies and a terrace to Žaliakalnis. 

During the Holocaust, almost all the Jews who lived in the house were killed, others were transferred to the ghetto or died in exile. UNTIL THE SECOND WORLD WAR, JEWISH FAMILIES LIVED IN THE HOUSE. IN THE MEMOIRS OF THE YOUNG JEWISH WOMAN SARA GINAITĖ-RUBINSON, IT IS WRITTEN THAT IN 1941 SHE SAW HOW WHITE-COLLARED PEOPLE SHOT FIVE JEWS OUTSIDE THE YARD OF THIS HOUSE. THEY ARE ACCUSED OF COOPERATING WITH THE SOVIETS, ALTHOUGH THIS WAS NOT TRUE.

After seeing the restored colors of the walls, the new owners of the apartment were at first stunned, and then they realized that such beauty cannot be left only to themselves - they decided to open the doors to the public. (my prayers were answered, there was a reason why I saved those insta stories after all 🙏.)

Upon entering the kitchen, the founders of the museum were intrigued by hinting that in 2018 scenes of the HBO series "Chernobyl" (dir. Johan Renck) were filmed in this apartment. The apartment of Valery Legasov, the main character of the series, was located here for a short time. The filmmakers pasted wallpaper on the walls and furnished the spaces with Soviet furniture. About 20 artists created the late Soviet interior for the film. Filming lasted only a few days, but about 180 people worked on it. The desk clock ticking in the film can be seen in the kitchen. (What?? Where?? No pics? Could they mean my precious Valery clock..? 💗)

6. More details about the filming will be provided by the founders of the museum to those who visit the tours.

😲😲😲

7.  The private corridor (which connected the bedrooms, bathroom and kitchen) was also lined with boards. From this corridor you can enter the hall with the help of a waste door .

8. It is the only Amsterdam School building of its kind in Lithuania, built in a modern style closely linked to the art deco and art nouveau movements.

9. Before its restoration, apartment no.6 was used as a filming location for the hit HBO series Chernobyl, with its post-communist interiors appearing on screen. The third-floor residence has since been lovingly restored by its owners and museum founders, Karolis and Petras Banys, for its new public role.

10. ‘Petras and I bought the apartment in 2017 with the idea of living there,’ explained museum co-founder Karolis Banys. ‘But as soon as we did polychromic and chemic research of its colours and restored the entire apartment to what it was like in 1928, we understood that it’s not only our apartment, it’s the home of Henuchas Pumpianskis. [...] ‘We understood that we cannot keep it for ourselves only, but instead, we decided to open it… [to] the public, to show [its original] interior, which is very optimistic, colourful and inspiring.’

11. Through the two-hour guided tour (two hours omg), visitors learn about its colours and the mannered sculptures adorning the building’s columned portico.

12. Photographs of the apartment’s interiors during the post-communist era – and those taken during the production of Chernobyl, when it was used as the home of main character Valery Legasov – as also on display.

PS.: Is this Valery's living room where he talks with Ulana in ep. 5??

[marzipanandminutiae]

these are wonderful women! but they're all 20th-century, so I would like to add:

Edmonia Lewis (1844-1907)

Biracial American sculptor (Black and Chippewa) who was part of a circle of known lesbian artists in Rome, though information about her own personal life is somewhat scarce. Her largest work, The Death of Cleopatra, was featured in the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, PA. She's well-known for several sculpture grouping inspired by Longfellow's poem "The Song of Hiawatha," more sensitive in their depictions of Native people than many contemporary works.

The Chevaliere d'Eon. chosen name unclear, possibly Lia Beaumont (1729-1810; Chevaliere being the female form of the French word for "knight," it is the correctly gendered title for her in her own language, not Chevalier.)

After serving as a spy for the French king from 1756-60, and serving the crown at home for a further 6 years (and in exile for 8 more- long story detailed on her Wiki page), she more or less socially transitioned upon her return to France. Claiming to be AFAB, she got the king to issue an official statement to that effect AND pay for a whole new wardrobe of women's clothing. She wrote a memoir stating that she'd been raised as a boy because her father could only inherit if he had a son- unfortunately, the results of her autopsy made her birth-assigned gender public after her death. I say "unfortunately" because it's clear that was not her wish; we are fortunate to know about her today for the sake of understanding that trans people are not a new phenomenon.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

I mean, I hardly have to describe her situation or fame, right? A noted American poet who maintained a lifelong romance with her sister-in-law Susan Gilbert Dickinson. Sue's name was literally erased from many of her poems, only discovered decades later through graphite analysis of the manuscripts.

Angelina Weld Grimke (1880-1958)

Biracial (Black and white) American writer counted among the notables of the Harlem Renaissance. Her best-known play, Rachel, was written in direct protest to the 1916 film "The Birth of a Nation," which glorified the KKK. Analysis of her work and personal papers suggest that she was attracted to women, possibly exclusively.

Loie Fuller (1862-1928)

American expat dancer and lighting designer who spent much of her life in France. While famous for her "skirt/serpentine dances," which involved manipulating a vast gown around her as she danced, she also pioneered many stage lighting techniques still used today. She and her longtime partner Gab Soere developed new methods of creating colored gels, and experimented with the use of chemical salts for luminescent paint.

It’s no secret that LGBTQ+ women have been breaking boundaries since the beginning of time. Unfortunately, patriarchy and homophobia often leave their identities obscured from history.

While every March marks Women’s History Month, queer and transgender women have yet to get their flowers. There have been attempts to make the month more queer and trans-inclusive, but recognizing the work of LGBTQ+ women goes beyond simply saying that it’s their month, too. It’s our duty to uncover the contributions of queer and trans women throughout history and honor them all 365 days of the year.

[skumblebees]

instrumental

once upon a time there was a book and in the book was a song and everyday the man would sing even if the story around the song came out contrary to popular belief it might sound wrong but the man knew the story well and the song was o so very long in fact it was so long it was longer than the story itself but the story had more words and the words crept silently on and on through pages vast and visions throng and as the words as the page appeared the song remained the words kept changing yet the beginning stayed once upon a time there was a book and in the book, a song, and everywhere the crooked man went he sang the crooked song to his crooked dog and they went along crookedly, but only the title of the book was italic, and only one word in bold, and only ever a cursive handkerchief, I sneezed, while writing the inscription to my finest guest, my fin de sickle cell arrival, just in time and always a dashing step too late, every a word to rhyme and yet none do more elate, than basking in ribbon tied heiresses dirty hands, a white rose for the dining room, a red rose for the bed, hyssop bath to cleanse the tormented poet, memoirs of bitterest memories pull me deep into the loins, gird not thy vilest dreams for me for art thou dirty, art thou, o silly girl, art thou dirty to the never ending bitter core, bite the apple that falls far far far from the tree, pick not the hanged fruit, a feather falls quicker to the visitors delight, poison tastes bitter to the sour apple's core, and seeds thusly planted will grow, o children, seeds will grow into menacing disasters that take hold of the story, and words spill off the pages become creeping crawling things, and ink pots bitter mouths dry up begging salt to lick the feather tip, to cut, and fill pots up with the blood of the flock of doves gagging on the stem and leaf, and there's just never enough because it, all coagulated nonsense, doesn't take to written letters bold statements no better than the song, and the song

The song sings itself, my dear.

[moonlitdiane]

Queen Mother of the Dead The Abyssal — Xiwangmu 西王母.

Tales of a goddess of Death who wore a flowing white hanfu and a mask of bones once filled every corner of Hylaria. Once, she was the Queen Mother of the Dead and now; she is only The Abyssal. Once, people believed death was a chance to start anew, now death is an inescapable nightmare. Death used to smell of chrysanthemums and calming petrichor. Now it is rotten but deceptively sickeningly sweet.

"Xiwangmu once wore a terrifying mask to cover half of her ethereal beauty, the same face that had the mighty Sol falling from his throne. Doashis used to tell me that this was to symbolize the complicated nature of death, that on the surface it might seem terrifying, but if you just bothered to look past its icy surface, you will stumble upon its melancholic beauty—the beauty of the temporary.

Although we know her as Xiwangmu, there are whispers of a name only one pair of lips can utter. Xiao, is what Sol called her. Xiao. His little dawn. My job is not to sit here and dreamily sigh of my deity's matrimony, it is to preserve her in the way her followers remember but I cannot deny the inherently romantic about the goddess of Death being the god of Life's very own dawn. The light that breaks through the darkness of his nights.

Unfortunately, that was once upon a time long gone. We had been forced into hiding after the gods turned their back on her, after the entirety of Hylaria turned their back on us.

Did you know that the reason we play guzheng at funerals is because Xiwangmu herself was an exceptional guzheng player? There is also one tale, of a war forgotten, mostly unimportant. Xiwangmu joined none of the spats the rest of the pantheon got themselves into, but the one time she did—it was said that the sound of her fingers as it roughly, loudly, and terrifyingly plucked the strings of her ivory guzheng had paralyzed the entire world. She had finished a war even before it started. Her fingers bled for days, they said, that the blood that fell to our earth grew what we now know as red spider lilies.

Why do I tell you this? I know none of her followers will ever say it out loud, in fear of being more prosecuted than we already are but we are all desperate to hear the sound of strings playing loud enough to shake the core of Hylaria and strike fear into the hearts of the betrayers.

You know, dear reader? Sometimes I feel my own heart race reading about the things Sol himself had done for Xiwangmu but most times, I feel nothing, knowing that no matter how much they love you, they are still capable of destroying your heart, life, and being."

— excerpt from "Memoir of Shadows" written by Sun Fuchun, a follower of Death.

𓆩♡𓆪 PINTEREST BOARD 𓆩♡𓆪 PLAYLIST 𓆩♡𓆪

So...I might have impulsively made my Death in Sims 4????? The "excerpt" is also a preview of an edit I've been putting off for a while, I've had this idea of making a fake scan of a book about my Death in a while now, I just need to finish writing a few pages. Just wanted to post this one real quick because The Abyssal is still my favorite IF and I really wanted to post something new. And of course, as usual, The Abyssal is written by @theabyssal and their wonderful gorjus gorjus big brain!

[zarzava]

april reads!

books:

a memory called empire - arkady martine

if you’re not a particularly sci-fi person (like me) and if you (like me) enjoy speculative worldbuilding anchored in cultural elements moreso than science, this is THEE book for you. the universe builds on top of conversations on inter-cultural differences, the sapir-whorf hypothesis and what seems like the author’s own tenure as byzantine history scholar--very much a world defined by empire, from center to periphery. for example: within the first pages the narrator observes that in the imperial language, the words for ‘imperial capital’ and ‘the world’ are one and the same.  it also contains A BEAUTIFUL F/F QUEER ROMANCE, and it’s just a delightfully queer sci-fi book all round

my brilliant friend - elena ferrante

in a direct continuation of the ‘gay girls navigating the political complexities of their world’ genre, i was recommended elena ferrante’s neopolitan quartet about the friendship between two italian girls, lenu and lila. while not a queer text per se, it is full of obsession, psychosexual turmoil, hate-to-love vacillations between two girls growing up in mid-century naples where class structure rests on the pillars of patriarchy, access to education, violence and protest movements

nairobi noir - ed. peter kimani

a collection of short stories centered around nairobi, please check out my other review here

in the margins - elena ferrante

others:

heartstopper - alice oseman

small changes over long periods of time - k.m. szpara

the other side of the diaspora - brittany white (in the bosphorus review)

currently reading:

the idiot -  elif batuman 

slowly making my way through this. it’s such a chewy book and an intriguing combination of very little plot, the author’s own anchored sense of place of her time in harvard/boston, and all that the narrator’s unique lens on themes like knowledge, linguistics and writing the Other as a second-generation turkish immigrant. must-read for all the literary girlies

prisoner of the infidels: the memoir of an ottoman muslim in seventeenth-century europe - osman agha de timișoara (translation by giancarlo casale)

one thing about textual history by common people in the balkans is that it doesn’t exist. most written history in the region we have is predictably defined by the upper classes such as nobility and clergy. this 17th century memoir is unique in that it was written by an ottoman soldier who was captured during the ottoman–habsburg wars, and that it gazes upon the west at a time when orientalism (that is, the view from west to east) was sinking its sharp teeth into artistic consciousness.  i found this book through this delightful conversation with the translator on the ottoman history podcast.

my name is red - orhan pamuk

[walks-the-ages]

Article contents:

'Blind Side' subject Oher alleges Tuohys made millions off lie

by Michael A. Fletcher, ESPN

Aug 14, 2023, 12:00 PM ET

Retired NFL star Michael Oher, whose supposed adoption out of grinding poverty by a wealthy, white family was immortalized in the 2009 movie "The Blind Side," petitioned a Tennessee court Monday with allegations that a central element of the story was a lie concocted by the family to enrich itself at his expense.

The 14-page petition, filed in Shelby County, Tennessee, probate court, alleges that Sean and Leigh Anne Tuohy, who took Oher into their home as a high school student, never adopted him. Instead, less than three months after Oher turned 18 in 2004, the petition says, the couple tricked him into signing a document making them his conservators, which gave them legal authority to make business deals in his name.

The petition further alleges that the Tuohys used their power as conservators to strike a deal that paid them and their two birth children millions of dollars in royalties from an Oscar-winning film that earned more than $300 million, while Oher got nothing for a story "that would not have existed without him." In the years since, the Tuohys have continued calling the 37-year-old Oher their adopted son and have used that assertion to promote their foundation as well as Leigh Anne Tuohy's work as an author and motivational speaker.

"The lie of Michael's adoption is one upon which Co-Conservators Leigh Anne Tuohy and Sean Tuohy have enriched themselves at the expense of their Ward, the undersigned Michael Oher," the legal filing says. "Michael Oher discovered this lie to his chagrin and embarrassment in February of 2023, when he learned that the Conservatorship to which he consented on the basis that doing so would make him a member of the Tuohy family, in fact provided him no familial relationship with the Tuohys."

Oher's petition asks the court to end the Tuohys' conservatorship and to issue an injunction barring them from using his name and likeness. It also seeks a full accounting of the money the Tuohys earned using Oher's name, and to have the couple pay him his fair share of profits, as well as unspecified compensatory and punitive damages.

"Since at least August of 2004, Conservators have allowed Michael, specifically, and the public, generally, to believe that Conservators adopted Michael and have used that untruth to gain financial advantages for themselves and the foundations which they own or which they exercise control," the petition says. "All monies made in said manner should in all conscience and equity be disgorged and paid over to the said ward, Michael Oher."

Oher was a rising high school senior when he signed the conservatorship papers, and he has written that the Tuohys told him that there was essentially no difference between adoption and conservatorship. "They explained to me that it means pretty much the exact same thing as 'adoptive parents,' but that the laws were just written in a way that took my age into account," Oher wrote in his 2011 best-selling memoir "I Beat the Odds."

But there are some important legal distinctions. If Oher had been adopted by the Tuohys, he would have been a legal member of their family, and he would have retained power to handle his own financial affairs. Under the conservatorship, Oher surrendered that authority to the Tuohys, even though he was a legal adult with no known physical or psychological disabilities.

The petition alleges that the Tuohys began negotiating a movie deal about their relationship with Oher shortly after the 2006 release of the book "The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game," which chronicled the story.

The deal lists all four Tuohy family members as having the same representative at Creative Artists Agency, the petition says. But Oher's agent, who would receive movie contract and payment notices, is listed as Debra Branan, a close family friend of the Tuohys and the same lawyer who filed the 2004 conservatorship petition, the petition alleges. Branan did not return a call to her law office on Monday.

In the past, the Tuohys have denied making much money from the movie, saying they received a flat fee for the story and did not reap any of the movie's profits. And what they did earn, they added, was shared with Oher.

"We divided it five ways," the Tuohys wrote in their 2010 book, "In a Heartbeat: Sharing the Power of Cheerful Giving."

Oher's court petition says he never received any money from the movie, even though he long suspected that others were profiting, according to his attorney, J. Gerard Stranch IV. Whenever Oher asked questions, he did not get straight answers, his attorney said.

And since the film's success coincided with the start of his lucrative NFL career in 2009, Oher did not take the time to fully investigate the deal until after he retired in 2016, Stranch said. Oher eventually hired a lawyer who helped him uncover the details surrounding the movie deal and his legal connection to the people he believed were his adoptive parents. His lawyer unearthed the conservatorship document in February, and Oher came to the painful realization that the Tuohys had not adopted him.

The petition marks a sharp break in what had been an inspiring, if unsettlingly stereotypical, feel-good story. As the movie portrayed the story, the Tuohys adopted Oher, a poor, virtually homeless and academically challenged Black teenager. They made Oher part of a functional family for the first time. They helped him catch up in school, taught him the basics of football and how to harness his athleticism, putting him on the road to sports stardom.

The truth, however, was more complicated.

Oher certainly led a hard-knock life growing up. But he also had the smarts, the pluck and plenty of help from the Tuohys and others to rise above his circumstances.

Oher was one of 12 children born to his mother, who struggled with drug addiction. Before his 11th birthday, Oher was placed into foster care, where he bounced around numerous homes, and at times lived on the streets. Although he was a capable student, he attended 11 schools in nine years, and repeated both the first and second grades, leaving him behind academically.

His fortunes changed after a friend's father, impressed with Oher's inner drive and focus, introduced him to the principal of a private Christian school in a prosperous Memphis neighborhood. Oher began attending the school in 10th grade, even as his home life remained chaotic. He was a sports prodigy, excelling in track and field, basketball and football, a game he had studied for years.

He began playing football for his new school in 11th grade, quickly establishing himself as one of the nation's top offensive linemen, and college scholarship offers poured in from big-time football programs across the country.

Because of his unstable housing situation, Oher frequently stayed over at the homes of his classmates, including the Tuohys, whose children attended the school. The petition says that the Tuohys forged a closer relationship with him once Oher's athletic prowess drew wide attention. They invited him to spend more nights at their spacious Memphis home and took him shopping. Eventually, they asked Oher to move in. They encouraged him to address them as "mom" and "dad," and said they planned to adopt him, the filing says.

Oher was delighted with all that at the time, his lawyer said, and he fully trusted the Tuohys.

After the success of "The Blind Side," however, suspicion slowly eclipsed Oher's trust of the Tuohys, his lawyer said.

"Mike's relationship with the Tuohy family started to decline when he discovered that he was portrayed in the movie as unintelligent," Stranch said. "Their relationship continued to deteriorate as he learned that he was the only member of the family not receiving royalty checks from the movie, and it was permanently fractured when he realized he wasn't adopted and a part of the family."

For years, Oher has chafed at how "The Blind Side" depicted him, saying it hurt his football career and clouded how people view him. He has said that based on the film, some NFL decision-makers assumed he was mentally slow or lacked leadership skills.

"People look at me, and they take things away from me because of a movie," Oher told ESPN in 2015. "They don't really see the skills and the kind of player I am."

For their part, the Tuohys agreed that Oher always had what it took to succeed. "If there is a fundamental misapprehension about Michael, it's that he needed saving," the Tuohys wrote in their book. "We discovered that underneath his shyness, his foot shuffling, and his head ducking, he had a tremendous will to determine the course of his own life."

For years, Oher has said, he was content to live with the myth created by the movie, reasoning that its inspirational message outweighed the pain inflicted by what he saw as its inaccurate portrayal of his life. But that has changed.

"There has been so much created from The Blind Side that I am grateful for, which is why you might find it as a shock that the experience surrounding the story has also been a large source of some of my deepest hurt and pain over the past 14 years," Oher wrote in his book "When Your Back's Against the Wall," released last week.

"Beyond the details of the deal, the politics, and the money behind the book and movie, it was the principle of the choices some people made that cut me the deepest."

[monsoonblooms12]

Sirimiri (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

Summary: Reminisces of their first meet from Ethan's POV. Based on OH Book 1 Chapter 1

Sirimiri: (Spanish) A light drizzle, a fine rain🌧

A/N: This is like a band-aid to the hearts I hurt with the Brydia fic on Sat. This is total fluff and has rains, so I hope this nonsense brings a smile to your faces🤎

A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented

Loads of thanks to the amazing @jamespotterthefirst for pre-reading! Love you🤎

If you enjoyed the story, please like it, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going🤎

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Dr Pooja Sharma)

Word Count: around 1.8 K

Rating: General

Category: Fluff

Triggers: A few curse words (Just 1 or 2)

Prompts: @choicesaprilchallenge2021 Day 25: Bliss

A soft breeze blew through his dark brown hair as Ethan sat next to the window, reading one of those detective novels Pooja rambled about endlessly.

And, not that he would admit it to her in any way, he liked the storytelling. Pooja had told him that the stories were originally written for teens, so he was doubtful that it would appeal to him.

But the books had been written in a way that captured the attention of the old and young alike, breaking through the barriers of age.

As the rain began the rhythm of serenity in the background, he took the bookmark and placed it on page no. 45 of Incident on the Kalka Mail.

The rain was soft, gentle and refreshing. He envisioned her, sitting on Alex's couch, watching the rain as Alex played with Comet & Jenner. She was always fascinated by the rain, staring endlessly at it, and bearing that one dimpled smile he was a fan of.

He got up, went to the balcony, and leant on the railing. Occasional water droplets fell on his forehead and cheeks, making it an enjoyable experience.

His balcony bore a multi-chromatic view with the brown of the earthen pots, the green of the plantlets, splattered with occasional whites, pinks and blues of the vivid flowers. All of them planted by Pooja when she moved in here.

She bears the love of gardening in her traits, he thought. Ethan was amazed when he went to Panchmarhi for the first time and saw the vibrant garden her father had grown all around their house, making it majestic and serene at the same time.

Pooja came into his life like an unannounced shower of rain. Just like her arrival made his balcony's melancholy monochrome full of hues of colours, her love made his life multi-hued with the colours of emotions, feelings and care. Life was a bliss for every moment she spent with him.

One after the other, doors of memories opened. Memories that no matter how much he had strived to forget, refused to leave him. And at this moment, he was grateful for them. A light chuckle escaped him as he thought,

Their memories were as stubborn as both of them were.

Like pages of an old journal, remembrances presented themselves before him and he got lost in them, in her, as the rain accelerated from a drizzle to a mild downpour. But Ethan didn't leave his spot. He was too drenched in her to care about the rain.

Slowly the last pages of the memoir of his brain took him to the first day of their meet. A distant memory, but yet crystal clear before his blue orbs. Nothing was particularly significant on that day. Just another day of handling cases and dealing with petty interns.

But there was one. One person due to whom that day still stands atop the others in his life.

It really started like any other regular day. After taking Jenner for a walk, feeding him his Purina ProPlan and becoming the recipient of his numerous licks that brightened up his day, he got ready.

Get a Vienna at the Derry Roasters was his mental note for the morning.

The smooth cinnamon-y taste enamoured his taste buds, as he internally groaned at the sudden remembrance of what day it was.

This day, every year, was the one he dreaded the most.

Why? One would ask.

Because it was the day a fresh batch of petty interns came to test his patience.

Ugh. Mental eye roll.

That's why he made sure that he got his favourite coffee from his favourite coffee shop and grab on any last moments of solace before going to face the mad troupe.

The sun dazzled overhead, glaring at everyone under its blanket. Ethan's mind kept fluctuating between the medical cases and the agony of facing new interns. Step by step, he made his pace quicker, hoping to get to his office before any "fans" started pestering him.

Even today Ethan hated interns just as much as he did 3 years ago.

Or, did he? Oh, whom was he kidding?

His mind, still could not comprehend how, a single person, waltzed into his life and had such a profound effect in every sphere of his character, slowly, tactfully carving him into a new man.

A tolerant man.

Who knew how it felt to be loved.

Who knew how to love.

The two days, today and the first of her intern year, were such a stark contrast to each other.

The blazing sun vs. the drumming rain. The coldness of him vs. his warmness today. The frown of that day vs. the smile of today.

Two different worlds, two different times and two different circumstances.

How grateful he was to become the man he was today.

He still remembers the spontaneous name he called her that day.

That one nickname stuck as a token of his feelings all through the years.

Rookie.

When he called her Rookie that day, he meant it.

She was an intern, after all.

"Hey. Rookie. Get in here."

Ethan wasn't paying attention to her. He needed an accomplice and saw her, hence called her.

She had the eyes of a diagnostician, he collected. To notice a mild bruise on the patient on the first day of your residence, that too when you have just arrived is not something many would have been able to do.

He knew from personal experience, that half of them would have been complimenting him when there was goddamn patient to save.

He hated them.

But the first day jitters did get her after all. Her hand trembled with the scalpel in it.

And without much thought, he took it in his.

It was the first and last time he did that with an intern.

How foolish he was, Ethan realizes as he makes himself a cup of hot chocolate.

Nah, not quite as delicious as Poo's, but works.

She was an exception to every one of his rules.

He had made her an exception before even realizing it.

"...Sharma." He scoffed, fury rising through his veins.

Tossing back her ID, he went around, muttering just a single "Arrogant interns" as he heeled back to his office.

The faint mutter of her "What an asshole" had reached him, and he scoffed.

Why are all these interns the same?

He is marking the differences, he thinks.

The differences between how it was then, and how it is now.

The fury of "What an asshole" now subdued to a normal remark she teased him with, ending up in chuckles.

One of the most fascinating incidents, for him, was the Barbara episode.

He had tried being strict, pleasant, stubborn, but nothing, at all, had made her take the meds.

That is, until Pooja came, like the flick of a magic wand, and made her take them.

"What is the blood group of an author?"

"Type-O!"

Memory brightened with the stupid joke she had made with so much enthusiasm made him chuckle.

If there's something that hasn't changed, it's Pooja's sense of humour.

Ethan thought of going out for a walk. A pluvious shower spread a scotch-mist all around, and he thought against it.

Always during monsoons, Pooja made it a point to walk around the city, splashing and dancing in the rain, especially if the rain was a heavy downpour.

It reminded her of the eternal, melodious, torrential cloudbursts that enveloped the hills of Panchmarhi throughout the year.

And Ethan? He would be standing in the very same balcony he was moving towards now, watching her enjoy and feeling her enjoyment reciprocate in himself.

The film roll of reminiscences projected on the misty atmosphere as the vinyl played a harmonious melody of her laughter, the splashes of water and the pitter-patter of the raindrops.

The image is vivid in front of his eyes. He spots the faint dimples on her wet cheeks and his heart dances.

For a moment he forgot that it was just a picture cast by the projector of his encephalon.

Just like he was drenched in the rain, he was drenched in her love.

He had never felt all alive as he does at the moment.

He lets the mist envelop him, just like her memories enveloped his senses.

Relaxing against the cool air refreshing his skin and heart.

"You remembered?", Pooja asks, surprise and curiosity evident in her musical tone.

"Just paying attention." Again that dazzling smile appeared on his face and the dimpled one on hers.

If he had paid attention to his soul that day, he would have sensed the butterflies that erupted in his stomach.

He is still not sure why, or how he remembered her name when he had never made an effort to do so with any other intern, especially on their first day.

It's as if his mind knew that this name would become the jewel of his life, the beauty of his soul, and it stored it, kept it safely between the silken folds of memory.

The thunder crackled and the storm raged. Zeus must be having a good time up there, Ethan scoffed as he hurried indoors.

The thunderstorm was playing a fortissimo orchestra and amidst it, he failed to hear the repetitive chime of his phone on the night stand. It was when he saw the lit screen of the notorious cuboid, that he understood someone phoned.

It was Pooja. With 5 missed calls.

Fuck.

He called her back. It didn't even ring once before he heard her speak from the other side.

Ethan! Oh, God, I was fucking scared. Open the goddamn door!

He mentally smacked himself as he proceeded to the main entryway.

As soon as he heard the click, Jenner pounced up and down. He leapt upon him and licked him all over as Pooja entered, chuckling without a breath.

She loved her boys more than anything.

Once Jenner calmed down, he trotted off to the kitchen in search of any buffets Ethan would have arranged for him.

Pooja locked her arms around Ethan's neck, evidently worried, "Why were you not opening the door, E?"

Ethan brought her close, wrapping his arm around her waist, touching his forehead to her, which he knew would bring an instant calm over her elegant features.

Giving the most ravishing smile Pooja had ever seen, he whispered "Drowned in a certain someone's remembrances."

She gave him a playful wink, "Drowned in love, Dr Ramsey? Oh, What a Misery! My Intern Year Dr Ramsey would never..."

And they both chuckled. Intern Year Dr Ramsey would never.

Placing the most gentle kiss on her forehead, he locked her hand in his,

Let's get something to eat?

PS: Thank you so much for reading my mess and I hope you have a great day ahead🤎

Tags (Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!): @bbrandy2002 @whimsicallywayward15 @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @nervoussaladsludgeopera @trrfanaddict @hopelessromanticmonie @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @lovablegranny @bellcat2010 @gkittylove99 @kingliam2019 @starrystarrytrouble @3riche @chetachisblog @zoehanji @withbeautyandrage @drariellevalentine @mvalentine @aestheticartsx @angela8754 @schnitzelbutterfingers @ao719 @choicesstan1 @neotericthemis @nikki-2406 @anotherbeingsworld @maurine07 @sophxwithers @twinkleallnight @choicesaddict5 @gardeningourmet @mysticaurathings @jessiembruno @stygianflood @aleynareads @choicesbookclub

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[geshertzarmeod]

Favorite Books of 2020

I wanted to put together a list! I read 74 new books this year, and I keep track of that on Goodreads - feel free to add or follow me if you want to see everything! I’m going to focus on the highlights, and the books that stuck with me personally in one way or another, in approximate order. Also, all but two of them (#5 and #7 on the honorable mention list) are queer/trans in some way. Links are to Goodreads, but if you’re looking to get the books, I suggest your library, the Libby app using your library, your local bookstore, or Bookshop.

The Faggots & Their Friends Between Revolutions by Larry Mitchell, illus. by Ned Asta (originally published 1977). I had a hard beginning of the year and was in a work environment where my queerness was just not welcomed or wanted. I read this in the middle of all of that, and it helped me so much. I took this book with me everywhere. I read it on planes. I read it on the bus, and on trains, and at shul. I showed it to friends... sometimes at shul, or professional development conferences. It healed my soul. Now I can’t find it and might get a new copy. When I reviewed it, in February, I wrote: “I think we all need this book right now, but I really needed this book right now. Wow. This book is magic, and brings back a sense of magic and beauty to my relationship with the world.” Also I bought my copy last July, in a gay bookstore on Castro St. in SF, and that in itself is just beautiful to me. (Here’s a post I made with some excerpts)

Once & Future duology, especially the sequel, Sword in the Stars, by A.R. Capetta and Cory McCarthy. Cis pansexual female King Arthur Ari Helix (she's the 42nd reincarnation and the first female one) in futuristic space with Arab ancestry (but like, from a planet where people from that area of earth migrated to because, futuristic space) works to end Future Evil Amazon.com Space Empire with her found family with a token straight cis man and token white person. Merlin is backwards-aging so he's a gay teenager with a crush and thousands of years of baggage. The book’s entire basis is found family, and it's got King Arthur in space. And the sequel hijacks the original myth and says “fuck you pop culture, it was whitewashed and straightwashed, there were queer and trans people of color and strong women there the whole time.” Which is like, my favorite thing to find in media, and a big part of why I love Xena so much. It’s like revisionist history to make it better except it’s actually probably true in ways. Anyway please read these books but also be prepared for an absolutely absurd and wild ride. Full disclosure though, I didn’t love the first book so much, it’s worth it for the sequel!

The Wicker King by K. Ancrum. This book hurt. It still hurts. But it was so good. It took me on a whole journey, and brought me to my destination just like it intended the whole time. The author’s note at the end made me cry! The sheer NEED from this book, the way the main relationship develops and shifts, and how you PERCEIVE the main relationship develops and shifts. I’m in awe of Ancrum’s writing. If you like your ships feral and needy and desperate and wanting and D/S vibes and lowkey super unhealthy but with the potential, with work, to become healthy and beautiful and right, read this book. This might be another one to check trigger warnings for though.

The Entirety of The Daevabad Trilogy by S.A. Chakraborty. I hadn’t heard of this series until this year, when a good friend recommended it to me. It filled the black hole in me left by Harry Potter. The political and mystical/fantasy world building is just *chef’s kiss* - the complexity! The morally grey, everyone’s-done-awful-things-but-some-people-are-still-trying-to-do-good tapestry! The ROMANCE oh my GOD the romance. If I’m absolutely fully invested in a heterosexual romance you know a book is good, but also this book had background (and then later less background) queer characters! And the DRAMA!!! The third book went in a direction that felt a little out of nowhere but honestly I loved the ride. I stayed up until 6am multiple times reading this series and I’d do it again.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon. I loved this book so much that it’s the only book I reviewed on my basically abandoned attempt at a book blog. This book is haunting, horrifying, disturbing, dark, but so, so good. The character's voices were so specific and clear, the relationships so clearly affected by circumstance and yet loving in the ways they could be. This is my favorite portrayal of gender maybe ever, it’s just... I don’t even have the words but I saw a post @audible-smiles��� made about it that’s been rattling in my head since. And, “you gender-malcontent. You otherling,” as tender pillow talk??? Be still my heart. Be ready, though, this book has all the triggers.. it’s a .

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender. This book called me out on my perspective on love. Also, it made me cry a lot. And it has two different interesting well-written romance storylines. And a realistic coming-into-identity narrative about a Black trans demiboy. And a nuanced discussion of college plans and what one might do after college. And some big beautiful romcom moments. I wish I had it in high school. I’m so glad I have it now! (trigger warning for transphobia & outing, but the people responsible are held accountable by the end, always treated as not okay by the narrative, and the MC’s friends, and like... this is ownvoices and it’s GOOD.)

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern. My Goodreads review says, “I have no idea what happened, and I loved it.” That’s not wrong, but to delve deeper, this book has an ethereal feeling that you get wrapped up in while reading. Nothing makes sense but that’s just as it should be. You’re hooked. It is so atmospheric, so meta, so fascinating. I’ve seen so many people say they interpreted this character or that part or the ending in all different ways and it all makes sense. And it’s all of this with a gay main character and romance and the central theme, the central pillar being a love of and devotion to stories. Of course I was going to love it.

Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: A Dangerous Trans Girl’s Confabulous Memoir by Kai Cheng Thom. “Because maybe what really matters isn’t whether something is true, or false. Maybe what matters is the story itself; what kinds of doors it opens, what kinds of dreams it brings.” This book was so good and paradigm shifting. It reminded me of #1 on this list in the way it turns real life experience and hard, tragic ones at that (in this case, of being a trans girl of color who leaves home and tries to make a life for herself in the city, with its violence), into a beautiful, haunting fable. Once upon a time.

I Wish You All the Best by Mason Deaver. I need to reread this book, as I read it during my most tranceful time of 2020 and didn’t write a review, so I forgot a lot. What I do remember is beautiful and important nonbinary representation, a really cute romance, an interesting parental and familial/sibling dynamic that was both heartbreaking and hopeful, and an on-page therapy storyline. Also Mason Deaver just left twitter but was an absolutely hilarious troll on it before leaving and I appreciate that (and they just published a Christmas novella that I have but haven’t read yet!)

The Truth Is by NoNieqa Ramos. It took a long time to trust this book but I’m so glad I did. It’s raw and real and full of grief and trauma (trigger warnings, that I remember, for grief, death (before beginning of book), and gun violence). The protagonist is flawed and gets to grow over the course of the book, and find her own place, and learn from the people around her, while they also learn to understand her and where she’s coming from. It’s got a gritty, harsh, and important portrayal of found family, messy queerness, and some breathtaking quotes. When I was 82% through this book I posted this update: “This book has addressed almost all of my initial hesitations, and managed to complicate itself beautifully.”

Anger is a Gift by Mark Oshiro.  I wasn’t actually in the best mental health place to read this book when I did (didn’t quite understand what it was) but it definitely reminded me of what there is to fight against and to fight for, and broke my heart, and nudged me a bit closer to hope. The naturally diverse cast of characters was one of the best parts of this book. The romance is so sweet and tender and then so painful. This book is important and well-written but read it with caution and trigger warnings - it’s about grief and trauma and racism and police brutality, but also about love and community.

The Prey of Gods by Nicky Drayden.  This is a sci-fi/fantasy/specfic mashup that takes place in near-future South Africa and has world-building myths with gods and demigoddesses and a trip to the world of the dead but also a genetically altered hallucinogenic drug that turns people into giant animals and a robot uprising and a political campaign and a transgender pop star and a m/m couple and all of them are connected. It’s bonkers. Like, so, so absolutely mind-breaking weird. And I loved it.

Crier’s War and Iron Heart by Nina Varela.  I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVED the amount of folktales they told each other with queer romances as integral to those stories, especially in Iron Heart. A conversation between the two leads where Crier says she wants to read Ayla like a book, and Ayla says she’s not a book, and Crier explains all the different ways she wants to know Ayla, like a person, and wants to deserve to know her like a person, made me weak. It lives in my head rent-free.

Queen’s Shadow by E.K. Johnston @ekjohnston . I listened to this book on Libby and then immediately listened to it at least one more time, maybe twice, before my borrow time ran out. I love Padm��, and just always wish that female Star Wars characters got more focus and attention and this book gave me that!! And queer handmaidens! And the implication that Sabé is in love with Padmé and that’s just something that will always be true and she will always be devoted and also will make her own life anyway. And the Star Wars audiobooks being recorded the way they are with background sounds and music means it feels like watching a really long detailed beautiful Star Wars movie just about Padmé and her handmaidens.

Sissy: A Coming of Gender Story by Jacob Tobia. I needed to read this. The way Tobia talks about their experience of gender within the contexts of college, college leadership, and career, hit home. I kept trying to highlight several pages in a row on my kindle so I could go back and read them after it got returned to the library (sadly it didn’t work - it cuts off highlights after a certain number of characters). The way they talk about TOKENISM they way they talk about the responsibilities of the interviewer when an interviewee holds marginalized identities especially when no one else in the room does!!! Ahhhh!!!

Bonds of Brass by Emily Skrutskie. Disclaimer for this one that the author was rightfully criticized for writing a Black main character as a white author (and how the story ended up playing into some fucked up stuff that I can’t really unpack without spoiling). But also, the author has been working to move forward knowing she can’t change the past, has donated her proceeds, and this book is really good? It has all the fanfic tropes, so much delicious tension, a totally unexpected plot twist that had me immediately rereading the book. This book was super fun and also kind of just really really good Star Wars fanfiction.

How To Be a Normal Person by T.J. Klune. This book was so sweet, and cute, and hopeful, and both ridiculous and so real. I had some trouble getting used to Gus’ voice and internal monologue, but I got into it and then loved every bit after. The ace rep is something I’ve never seen like this before (and have barely read any ace books but still this was so fleshed out and well rounded and not just like, ‘they’re obsessed with swords not sex’ - looking at you, Once & Future - and leaving it there.) This all felt like a slice of life and I feel like I learned about people while reading it. Some of the moments are so, so funny, some are vaguely devastating. I have been personally victimized by TJ Klune for how he ends this book (a joke, you will know once you read it) but it also reminds me of the end of the “You Are There” episode of Xena and we all know what the answer to that question was.... and I choose to believe the answer here was similar.

You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson. I wish I had this book when I was in high school. I honestly have complicated feelings about prom and haven’t really been seeking out contemporary YA so I was hesitant to read this but it was so good and so well-written, and had a lot of depth to it. The movie (and Broadway show) “The Prom” wants what this book has.

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth. I never read horror books, so this was a new thing for me. I loved the feeling of this book, the way I felt fully immersed. I loved how entirely queer it was. I was interested in the characters and the relationships, even though we didn’t have a full chance to go super deep into any one person but rather saw the connections between everyone and the way the stories matched up with each other. I just wanted a bit of a more satisfying ending.

Honorable Mention: reread in 2020 but read for the first time pre-2020

Red White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. I couldn’t make this post without mentioning this book. It got me through this year. I love this book so much; I think of this book all the time. This book made me want to find love for myself. You’ve all heard about it enough but if you haven’t read this book what are you DOING.

In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan @sarahreesbrennan​ . I reread this one over and over too, both as text and as an audiobook. I went for walks when I had lost my earbuds and had Elliott screaming about an elf brothel loudly playing and got weird looks from someone walking their dog. I love this book so much. It’s just so fun, and so healing to read a book reminiscent of all the fantasies I read as a kid, but with a bi main character and a deconstruction of patriarchy and making fun of the genre a bit. Also, idiots to lovers is a great trope and it’s definitely in this book.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz. This book is forever so important to me. I am always drawn in by how tenderly Sáenz portrays his characters. These boys. These boys and their parents. I love them. I love them so much. This is another one where I don’t even know what to say. I have more than 30 pages in my tag for this book. I have “arda” set as a keyboard shortcut on my phone and laptop to turn into the full title. This book saved my life.

Last Night I Sang to the Monster by Benjamin Alire Sáenz. This book hurts to read - it’s a story about trauma, about working through that trauma, healing enough to be ready to hold the worst memories, healing enough to move through the pain and start to make a life. It’s about found family and love and pain and I love it. It’s cathartic. And it’s a little bit quietly queer in a beautiful way, but that’s not the focus. Look up trigger warnings (they kind of are spoilery so I won’t say them here but if you have the potential to be triggered please look them up or ask me before reading)

Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine.  When asked what my all time favorite book is, it’s usually this one. Gail Carson Levine has been doing live readings at 11am since the beginning of the pandemic shut down in the US, and the first book she read was Ella Enchanted. I’ve been slowly reading it to @mssarahpearl and am just so glad still that it has the ability to draw me in and calm me down and feels like home after all this time. This book is about agency. I love it.

Radio Silence by Alice Oseman @chronicintrovert . I’ve had this on my all-time-faves list since I read it a few years ago and ended up rereading it this year before sending a gift copy to a friend, so I could write little notes in it. It felt a little different reading it this time - as I get further away from being a teenager myself, the character voice this book is written in takes a little longer to get used to, but it’s so authentic and earnest and I love it. I absolutely adore this book about platonic love and found family and fandom and mental illness and abuse and ace identity and queerness and self-determination, especially around college and career choices. Ahhh. Thank you Alice Oseman!!!

Leia: Princess of Alderaan by Claudia Gray @claudiagray​ . I have this one on audible and reread it several times this year. I love the fleshing out of Leia’s story before the original trilogy, I love her having had a relationship before Han, and the way it would have affected her perspective. I also am intrigued by the way it analyses the choices the early rebellion had to make... I just, I love all the female focused new Star Wars content and the complexity being brought to the rebellion.

[sentientbook]

aliferos replied to your post: #if you’re not a textbook, he’s not interested in...

book s.mut is now the new thing;;;; u touch his pages tenderly………he shivers at ur touch………

[heirherinc]

1994 Rema, Mimi Harlem, NY “Skate Key Queens” Today we turn the page through the archives of queens and stumble upon some of Harlem’s most memorable moments captured at the world famous Skate Key, the skate key was and remains one of the Empire States most memorable monuments when you travel counterclockwise down memory lane. White Pains Road near Allerton Avenue was the highlight of many skating rinks that would then reign supreme and have the city clinched in the palms of those who made such an impact under the night lights. Some of the best music, under the night lights as the cameras flashed upon Harlem’s own now seems to be a thing of the past, though these golden moments have began to resurface and age backwards year to date. When you speak of Harlem, you can’t forget to mention the queens who reigned supreme above. Like many, these queens still sit upon the throne with roses at the feet that have been well deserved and earned many years clockwise. Pioneers who made such an impact on the golden era which was the 80s and 90s didn’t really understand the statement they were making then, because life was so fast yet so pure. Looking back today we truly understand that these women were ahead of their time. The fashion as we know was at its apex. The “jogging suit era” was most memorable amongst many iconic looks the original woman wore during their reign. Along with EK shades, Laura Biagatti glasses were the thing of the era and a must have amongst the kings and queens when they stepped out to make a statement. Most memorable 35mm film captured the essence of queens that will never be tarnished. These legacies are carved in gold in the valley of the queens. The early 90s aura just came with a different energy that is hard to match, yet such a beautiful memoir when we travel down memory lane. Crossing paths with pioneers who could reflect for endless hours as we gather around these archives unified and reflect on the stories from the golden years. Peace Queens 💋 WRITTEN BY: @HEIRHIM CREATIVE DIRECTOR: @CEOHEIR PHOTOS BY: @remarozay_nyc Harlem,NY #HEIRHER (at Harlem New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVs6jKKFQO1/?utm_medium=tumblr

[steak-n-popotoes]

FFXIVWrite ‘21 24

Never did the Garlond Ironworks’ remaining members remain in one place for long - safety and research both compelled the scholars to be ever on the move. Thus did they travel as light as they might dare. Yet one text, bound tough to ensure its survival unto perpetuity, was never far from the reach of those who wished to consult its contents:

The Illustrious Lineage of the Spellgrave Family

~An Incomplete Compilation of Historical Texts and Firsthand Accounts~

Accounts of the Spellgraves’ renowned aptitude for magic are quite numerous, but very few possess concrete information regarding the origin of such noteworthy natural potential. It is the author’s opinion that the theory outlined in these pages bears the most credibility when cross-referenced with information offered by individuals who were known to be companions of Eryna Spellgrave (known to many as the Warrior of Light) and her husband Caranar.

During the Fifth Astral Era, at the climax of the War of the Magi, fragments of each warring nation began to splinter into small factions that were opposed to the war effort. Among those factions were the earliest known members of the Spellgrave line. One White Mage of Amdapor, and one Black Mage of Yafaem. The lovers condemned the actions of their respective brethren, and along with an ally of Nym, set out to escape the maelstrom of blood and death that their homes had become.

However, though their bonds ran deep, their journey was short-lived, as the Sixth Umbral Calamity saw fit to wipe away their path. As the churning waters rose, the marine chose to give their life that the lovers may escape to safety. The two went on to have a hand in the establishment of the Crimson Duelists as well as the school of Red Magic, and set about remapping the broken realm, aiding survivors as they traveled. These accounts are made particularly compelling due to a set of treasured heirlooms passed down among the Spellgraves’ heirs - one Soul of the Black Mage, one Soul of the White Mage, and one Nymian codex of remarkably ancient pedigree - all currently in the possession and employ of one Cirina Spellgrave.

The accomplishments of the contemporary Spellgraves and their companions are well-known and well-loved in this era of deep shadow. Eryna Spellgrave was born to retired adventurers who had chosen to live the rest of their days peacefully on a humble farmstead in Vylbrand. She inherited her parents’ talent for magic, and though she mastered the schools of Black and White magic at a remarkably young age, it was not until she set out for Limsa Lominsa to train in Arcanima that she truly came into her own. In time, her repertoire would expand to the titles of Summoner, Scholar, and Red Mage as well. The sight of a champion who was not only immune to primal influence, but bent such dangers to her own will was a salve upon the newly reborn realm, one I am grateful to have witnessed firsthand.

Of course, her exploits in Central Eorzea were but the beginning of the story. Heavensward, the memoirs of Lord Edmont de Fortemps, remain the most faithful account of those events that put an end to the Dragonsong war. For a blessing, the Skysteel Manufactory was able to complete work on their printing press and distribute the work far and wide. It is the ingenuity of Stephanivien de Haillenarte that you have to thank for the surviving copy you may read from around your campfire. Eryna and Caranar scarce had time to marry before they once again thrust themselves into the cycle of conflict. With each retelling our champions’ role in the liberation of Doma and Ala Mhigo grows - but if the written records of my late colleagues are to be believed, the truth is even more grand than the legends. Indeed, ‘twas their storied bravery that led Eryna, Caranar, and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to fall while leading the offensive. But that tragedy is one we all feel keenly.

The story you are likely not acquainted with is that of the Spellgraves’ living, breathing heirs. Though the Warrior of Light is no longer with us, her children carry her legacy unto the next dawn. U’bifu Tia, more popularly known as Beef, was the first of Eryna and Caranar’s children. His role in the aforementioned tales will ring familiar to many, but many more will be shocked to learn that U’bifu narrowly escaped the effects of Black Rose with the aid of his familiar Gale. It was, in fact, his firsthand account that served to confirm his parents’ passing. U’bifu and the Spellgraves’ closest ally, L’kozu, were forced to retreat from Gyr Abania in a desperate bid to safeguard the lives of the Spellgraves’ infant twins, Cirina and Khojin. According to U’bifu, L’kozu’s passing was not caused by Black Rose, but from the exhaustion they suffered by staunching a number of their own grievous battle wounds via conjury. The monumental loss of the beloved philanthropist, the ‘Saint of the Firmament’, was a price they chose to pay in exchange for the lives of their comrades’ children.

With L’kozu’s death, U’bifu, Khojin, and Cirina were able to rendezvous with representatives of Garlond Ironworks, and between U’bifu and Cid Garlond himself, the twins were raised in secret. U’bifu came to study the tradition of his fallen home, Ul’dah, and follow the path of a Paladin. According to Cirina and Khojin, their elder sibling made the change in discipline because he ‘found something he could not bear to lose’. Indeed, the potency of both his blade and his healing magic earned him the title ‘The White Wind’, and were it not for his noble sacrifice, the twins would never have survived the raid on Garlond Ironworks’ main encampment during the fall of Ishgard.

But do not despair to learn of so many fallen heroes, dear reader. Though they remain unsung, the scions of this story yet travel the realm, and together they continue the tradition of selfless courage that defined their parents. Cirina, a peerless healer dedicated to easing your suffering; Khojin, a tireless knight bound by blood to shield the weak from the wicked. Though their road be endless, ever will they walk. For those they have lost, for those they can yet save.

On the inside cover of the tome’s timeworn binding, one finds the following dedication - brilliant crimson ink still shining brightly as the day it was penned:

Cirina, Khojin,

I gathered these texts for the sake of any who struggle to hope that this realm is yet blessed with heroes, and you serve as the core to that belief. I hope that should you ever find yourselves wanting, you too may seek comfort in the truths contained within these passages.

If you lose sight of your path, look to those who walked before. Doubt not that the thread which bound your parents to this wounded world’s hope has continued, unbroken, unto you.

May their love and my departure prove as much. G’raha Tia

[daylightsun]

What I Learn from Years of Reading and Collecting Books and Letting Some of Them Go

These past few days, I "KonMari" my room and decided to rearrange my bookshelves. While sorting out all of my belongings, I discovered a box filled with books I manically collected during my college years sitting underneath my bed. After opening it, the books seem to be staring at me while I stare back at them like we are having a confrontation of sorts. For a moment, it made me reflect on my life as a reader and book collector, and this sense of nostalgia hit me.

After snapping out of this nostalgic state, the fact remains that my shelf space and room space are precious and limited, and I only want to fill my life with things that “spark joy” within me. I need to decide which books would stay and which would eventually go to the bin. So in honor of literature month and the books I am about to throw away, I would like to write some piece to honor my journey as a reader and book collector.

Starting Years as a Reader and Book Collector

My fascination with books started early in my childhood. I remember holding my small hardbound fairytale books, a book set with stories like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Three Little Pigs. But it was the illustrations at first that engrossed me. It's like my eyes can't get enough of the colors and drawings. I look at them again and again, committing them in my memory. Then there was my childhood best friend Grimm's book of fairytales. The book was enormous and heavy. It contained more words and the occasional one to two pages of illustrations, like the naked butt of the king in The Emperor's New Clothes, the candy house of the witch in Hansel, and Gretel other beautiful illustrations inside that book.

However, it is in my teenage years that I started to enjoy reading literature, and book reports ignite my interest in book collecting. Books like Ella Enchanted, The Little Prince, and Thieves of Ostia were carried inside our classroom boxes after boxes. A sheer excitement overcame me, forgetting the fear I felt days before asking for extra money to buy something outside the average family expenses, even if it is for school requirements.

I did not grow up in an environment that encourages me to read books outside the typical academic obligations. It is usual for Southeast Asian households to be thrifty, so buying books for leisure is a luxury. Moreover, since it does not involve cleaning and moving around the house, reading for my parents is a lazy activity. Not to mention what damage it can do to your eyesight, they would add. However, I continued to read in secret and went against the general expectations.

I have read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince while holding a flashlight while everyone in the house is sleeping at night so no one could scold me. I read with my friends at school. We exchanged novels, particularly stories about young adults. I bought my first novel, L. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables, in a book fair inside my school using my savings. And even after my childhood best friend, who was four years older than me, went away to college, I marched to their house and borrowed books from her mother like Louisa Alcott's Little Women.

Reading helped me to cope with my deep-seated feeling of isolation and loneliness because of being an adopted child. I found out pieces of the truth through indirect hints and silent whispers between adults and childish banter between cousins. So I was left alone on my own devices to understand and stitch the truth. But in reading, I started to find solace and identity with the people I meet in stories. Books became for me houses I visit to explore and get to know the people living inside. And sometimes, I leave too early out of boredom or just out of an inability to comprehend the house. But sometimes, even after the visit, a piece of my heart stayed inside those pages. When I read, I have companions, and when I buy a book, I have something of my own.

Moreover, in books, I found girls like me, like Anne in Anne of Green Gables or Mary in The Secret Garden. Orphaned and neglected at a very young age and adopted, they were able to find acceptance and love. In those stories, they eventually mattered and belonged to the people around them. And in my heart, I wanted the same assurance these characters have that I am going to be OK despite my "oddness."

Not encouraged to read, buy books for my leisure, and being an adopted child in her young adolescent years made me want to form a personal path of rebellion. I decided to be a bookworm and persist in reading and building my book collection even if I am discouraged! Talk about being brave and revolutionary. Though I developed a deep affection for reading and books by this time, this "rebellious" way serves another personal purpose, and that is instead of being single out because ofbeing an adopted child, I can be single out because of my "bookish-ness." This identity gave me a powerful feeling of being significantly different from the crowd. I am somehow special but without the burden and constantly feeling the need to fight the pity of the people around me.

College Years

When I went to college, I develop an unhealthy impulse of excessively buying booksbut not reading them. There is a Japanese term for this impulsive behavior called "tsundoku." My obsession with buying books can be attributed to two main culprits. First, I started to attend and participate actively in church, and second, the store Book Sale.

In our church, we have a statement I wrote in the tablet of my heart with great faithfulness and love. It goes this way "Great leaders read books," which is a remarkable statement unless someone went overboard with trying to read books by purchasing them. This someone is, of course, is me. Ooops.

On multiple days within a week, I would visit and sit on the SM Baguio's Book Salefloor, hunting and obsessing over books. I would gladly move stacks upon stacks of books desperately looking for a purchase treasure. And most of us know, books are sold at Book Sale at a meager price. It became a standard for me to go home to my boarding house with three to five books. And oh boy, the stacks of books in my room just grew and grew. By the end of my seven years in college, the heaviest of my baggage is the one enormous box where I managed to fit all the books I have acquired.

Even though my college years were a time of my compulsive and unhealthy behaviors in reading and book buying, these were also the years I familiarized myself with what types of storytelling I would enjoy and who are my favorite authors. Neil Gaiman and Haruki Murakami cast their spell on me, and I would read again and again stories like The Little Prince, Memoirs of A Geisha, and The Last Time I Saw Mother.

But what I am most thankful for reading around this time is the opportunity it gave me to connect to other people through knowledge sharing. When I read an excellent book that gave me a lot of insight, there is an internal urge to pass it to someone else or talk about it with a friend. So I either talk about it or give the book. Giving that well-written book will sting a bit. Still, the disappointment of not having someone to undergo the experience of reading it is more painful than letting it go because I've discovered that there are types of books that cannot stay only in one pair of hands but have to travel to the next pair to be held and read. Some stories and books are personal to me, and they will stay on my shelves as long as they can, but there is another type of book that the knowledge they contain needs to be passed on and shared.

Working Years

Buying books using the allowance from your parents are far easier than using your own hard-earned money. Being a young professional and just started to manage my finances made the reality of my unhealthy addiction hit hard. I can not longer afford to go to book shops without thoroughly thinking if the book I am picking is something I should buy. "Adulting" has forced maturity in me.

Putting some healthy breaks on my general attitude towards reading and book collecting is just one part of the exciting times ahead of me as a bibliophile. Going back to my hometown and having more personal freedom have opened the doors to uncharted territories. As a reader and book collector, I've been officially and finally introduced to book fairs and Philippine Literature.

When I talk about book fairs that I participate in this time, these are the mega fairs that involve many publishing houses. Book fairs with book launching, book signing, live-reading, and writers' meet and greet events. The Manila International Book Fair (MIBF) and Big Bad Wolf are an example of these fairs. The experience was exhilarating and magical, and I would like to think that every reader and book collector would agree that book fairs are sort of heaven or nirvana on earth.

But so far, the greatest book fair I get to experience must also be the most challenging endeavor I undertook professionally, the Frankfurt Book Fair 2019. Imanaged to be a part of the team that organized the delegation that represented the Philippines in the largest international book fair. FBF is annually held during October in Frankfurt, Germany, with participants worldwide and boost to be the most extensive platform for digital and printed content. So even though I did not personally go to Frankfurt, being part of this massive event as a production assistant and being part of the early planning stages to post-prod was a dream come true. Seeing over 500 books published by the leading publishing houses in the country and written by Filipino authors showcased in the entire world in a beautifully designed stand made me very happy and proud.

Working in a government agency that primarily serves the Philippine publishing industry also gave me a closer look into the local literature. Unfortunately, I did not grow up reading books written by Filipino writers. Aside from the usual piece of local literature my Filipino textbooks in high school and college courses offered, Philippine literature did not become part of my early reading and book collection. But my ignorance of Filipino authors and literature ended when  I worked at NBDB and when a friend lent me Philippine literature books. As I started to read the literary works of Eliza Victoria, Nick Joaquin, Luis Joaquin M. Katigbak, and other amazing Filipino authors, I felt both shame and relief. I finally got to experience my national consciousness and Filipino identity through literature by Filipino authors for Filipinos.

But my bad habits in college still are present and had managed to erode my psyche. Surrounded by so many book-related things, I got back to the same dangerous pattern. I acquired more books but have no diligence and genuine interest in reading. In the process, I become a hoarder like the Businessman from The Little Prince, who cannot stop owning and counting every star he sees in the sky but never understood its value. After all, what is a book without its reader?

And as a result, something bad happened. The words in the pages started to leave me, I slowly lost the ability to build worlds in my head, and my insatiable thirst for knowledge had dwindled. Then one day, I lost all of my interest in books. For one and a half years, I would not touch any books on my bookshelves and stop actively reading and looking for books to buy. I had enough.

                                                           *** Going back to the present time and Marie Kondo, she mentioned in her best-selling book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up (and yes, I have the book), that the KonMari method encourages only to keep around thirty books. Thirty books seem to be awfully few, and how can a person who loves reading and collecting books find the courage to let go.

But as the book explained, you need to ask oneself the fundamental question of the KonMari method, "does this spark joy?". Does this book spark joy? Have I read this, and if I happened to have, does it aroused my intellect? And I have asked these hard questions to every book in my belongings.

It is almost four years after my time at the university. I am currently in a work-from-home setup which is a very fortunate situation while in the middle of a global pandemic. And yes, I am about to throw books, a lot of them, which you might think is a waste, but deep down, I know I will never reread these, nor will I ever start to read them again.

Honestly, I cannot remember the exact day I pick up a book on my shelf and read again, nor the reason behind it. But having the courage to declutter and purge my book collection, I realized a few months ago that I started again to read and purchase books, but this time there is an effort to be mindful with every reading and purchase made. This subtle change in behavior gave my reading and collecting a better sense of purpose and direction.

My life is composed of limited time, meaning I can only read books that much. But I've been in a relationship with books for many years now. Collecting books became a form of personal art, and reading stories helped me become a better person. It healed me, became a catalyst to learn a couple of life lessons, and taught me to give. And I do not see myself stopping at any point in my life. So might as well keep and read books that only truly capture my spirit, challenges me, and, if I was lucky, changes me. Because that is the thing about it, books are powerful.

[lveclouds]

i have not been on your blog for too long but imy and for the fic title game; memoirs of a angel

i miss you too dee!!!! + i hope you like this<3

tw: mentions of blood, depiction of war, major character death, heavy violence

an angel/reincarnation au, in which you stumble upon an ancient-looking journal, its leather cover worn with time. you try not to peek inside, for you knew it was rude to look at something so personal. eventually, though, your curiosity gets the better of you and you look inside.

the "journal" turned out to be a diary of sorts. whoever had written in it had gorgeous penmanship, the scrawl looping yet elegant, and you couldn't help but let your eyes scan over the pages.

after you'd read a few pages, you soon realized it was a memoir of some sorts, recounting the events of a horrible war that had occurred thousands of of years ago, and a love lost.

you had felt yourself tearing up at how the writer had described the pure heartbreak he'd experienced, and how he had to watch as the love of his life died right before his eyes.

the war had devastated the world, taking away the lives of not only innocent people, women, and children, but the one woman i ever loved. as an angel, we are forbidden to love, for such a thing should not be possible for us. however, she showed me that love was indeed possible. i loved her as if she was the only star in the sky, and she did the same for me. however, our love was doomed to fail. carnage surrounded me, and one by one, like uprooted trees, bodies fell.

a sword was clutched in my right hand, and i was using it as if it were an extension of my arm. i had never thought that i, an angel, would be fighting alongside humans for some lost cause, but there i was, waving my sword around like a madman.

blood covered my white robes, and some even got onto my skin at some point, but the adrenaline of the battle had filled me, and i barely felt it.

my mind was screaming for me to stop, to stop killing, to stop blood from spilling, but my body moved on its own, weaving and twirling through the onslaught of soldiers, narrowly avoiding bullets and blades.

i had just killed yet another man with a slash to the stomach, when a piercing scream filled the air, full of pure anguish. i turned to see the love of my life with a dagger through her heart, falling to the dirt below, blue robes billowing out around her.

pure rage and visceral anger filled my veins as i quickly eliminated the soldier who had killed her, and i gathered her limp and bloody body in my arms. tears, golden tears, streamed down my face as i pressed my body to hers, heedless of the blood that covered her own.

my heart had felt as if it were breaking into two, and despite the battle raging on around me, i screamed and screamed until my throat felt raw and sore. from that day forward, i vowed to never love again, for destruction would only befell me.

unable to take any more of the tragic story you'd just read, you hastily closed the journal firmly, burying your face into your hands, letting the tears fall. you didn't even know who this man was, so why did you feel as if you did?

and why did your heart feel as if it were breaking?

send me a made-up fic title <3 

[thepulta]

“Faaaaaaaire?”

Westlie jumped in her seat and whirled towards the screeching. There was a child loitering around the front arches of the library, casually kicking the carpet. It had to be what, eight? No older than ten?

“Faaaaaairee?”

She smashed her hip jumping out of the chair and nearly tripped over her skirt. Westlie strung out several whispered curses and made a flying tackle in the lobby, clamping a hand over the child’s mouth just as it inhaled for another screech. “You’re in a library you little shit! Jesus, don’t scream.”

“ ‘ah can talk as loud as ‘ah want!” The little goblin raised the letter with one arm and fucking punted her shin as hard as its little legs could. Westlie squeaked in pain and shot a glance around the rest of the library. The struggle was being watched by several students.

“God damn it, just give me that.”

“Pay me!”

“Jesus Christ, I paid in advance.” Westlie fished in her pocket and found a penny with some lint. She shoved it forward. “Don’t spend it all on candy.”

The urchin had the nerve to blow raspberries in the middle of the library entrance. It tossed the letter at her - Westlie snatched it midair - and raced away. There were a few polite coughs around the room and some less polite snickering. Westlie’s face burned as red as her hair as she slipped back to her seat.

She opened the note, laying it out flat so she could read it and straighten her desk at the same time. It was written in the same neat, pointed script she remembered from London. Fitzroy did not write unnecessarily.

.

Welcome to Port Prosper, Miss Faire. I’m glad to hear you arrived safely, and I apologize for The Pyrrhus’ tardiness. I hope you spent a comfortable evening at The Shroom.

The crew is currently loading a shipment of hours, which will most likely take the rest of the afternoon. I’ve decided to give them the night off since our passenger hasn’t arrived, which of course, extends to you as well. If you desire, you can meet us on the dock, port 2, at 8am tomorrow morning after another night at The Shroom or this evening at 5pm simply to get acquainted. You may also feel free to sleep on board the Pyrrhus, although it’s unlikely anyone else will be aboard the ship.

The next port of order will be the Eleutheria Transport Relay whenever our passenger arrives.

              Your Captain,

               Fitzroy

.

Funny, the Eleutheria Relay was the one place she hadn’t obsessively practiced navigating to. Westlie resisted the urge to open her books back up and pour over the seasonal wind speeds, trying to weigh her options for the night. She didn’t particularly feel like spending the night alone on board a ship she didn’t know. Then again, she could be at risk of looking tardy. Fitzroy had given her the option though, and it seemed like everyone else would be doing the same. Westlie puffed out a breath and folded the note back up, taking the opportunity to glance around the library. The students from earlier had gone back to their work, bent diligently over thick dictionaries and maps. The place was quite lovely, not as big as the one in London, but close. The entrance was grand and domed, with three wings to the right, left, and front. Books lined the walls of the bottom floors with desks lined towards the entrance. Three spiral staircases granted access to each of the three upper levels with bookcases where one could look down upon the massive (Surface-made, Westlie knew) Pakistani rug at the entrance. The walls were white, blue, and gold; there were a lot of Tuscan columns. ...a lot of them. The architect’s dreams must have been supported by Tuscan columns.

Westlie shelved her maps, absently drifting to another section and running her fingers over the titles. Flora and Fauna of Northeast Albion, A-N. Pteridophyta (Ferns and Horsetails) and their relatives in the southern areas of the Reach: a biologist’s memoirs. Edible varieties of fungi, 5th Edition. Geography and Biology of the Prosper Mountains, Revised and Selected by the Author with Illustrations. She selected that one. That was probably the reason for the gravity abnomaly around the island’s southern tip. Not that the biology of the mountain would help with that, but she was still killing time.

She took the book back to her seat, fanning the pages as she got settled. It opened to several depictions of the mountains around Port Prosper, lovingly illustrationed with several different angles. Gravity... gravity... Westlie yawned as she scanned through the pages, scribbling notes every so often as she found something useful. It ended up being mostly plants with a brief foray into naturalism about the shape of the mountains compared to others in the Reach (fairly large, minus Lustrum’s positive menagerie of peaks and valleys) while having nothing about the gravitational pull. At least she knew the abnomaly existed. Westlie shut the book and glanced up at the clock. 4pm. Well, she’d done enough for one day, hadn’t she?

Port Prosper was in the throes of dusk as she stepped out of the library. People thronged the streets, bustling to and from factories. It reminded her of London. Westlie slipped between the crowds, greeting a peddler and trading pennies for several hotbuns. She munched on one as she made her way back to the hotel, absentmindedly browsing the shop windows. The styles here were slightly different. A little higher on the ankle, a little wider in the hip, a little smaller in the chest. Westlie peered at one jacket with an upright collar. It buttoned down the front like her vest, but it had sleeves and the the collar was enticing. ...it was also a lovely shade of burgundy.

... it was ‘a night off’, wasn’t it?

Westlie slipped inside the shop and waffled over the decision for several minutes before finally giving the shopkeep the sovereigns. The jacket fit like a glove and did a fairly good job of matching her hair. Westlie felt like glowing as she walked down the street, dodging pedestrians and occasionally running children. Her time was her own; there was no sister, no Arthur, no Mary to reign her back. No judgement.

She’d wasted so much time, hadn’t she. A memory of Morgan popped up, unbidden, per usual - and in a bar, also per usual. Westlie had had one of her abysmal days; something about missing deadlines. There’d been a lot of screaming; a lot of accusations. She remembered not even wanting to drink, just huddling in the corner as Morgan sat there with her. They’d been older teens at that point, maybe. “You know,” Morgan had hesitated. “You could come with me on my next trip. You don’t have to stay here.”

“Father would murder me.”

Morgan had hesitated again. “... we don’t have to come back.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Westlie snorted, because it did seem ridiculous. “I have to work. I can’t just fuck off.”

They sat there in silence for a long time. Morgan finally leaned over and curled on her shoulder. It wasn’t a hug, but something akin to it and possibly more meaningful in their affectionless world. She’d let out a soft sigh as they huddled together. “...you’re so unhappy, Wes.”

They hadn’t said anything for the rest of the evening.

Westlie had forgotten about that whole encounter until now and there was a deep, sudden pang of longing for the weight of her sister on her shoulder. She let it settle, heavy in her heart. There was always the possibility they could bump into each other at a port. Morgan travelled voraciously. It was all she did, honestly. Westlie wasn’t sure if she did it to put a small dent in Arthur’s enormous sums of cash, to escape London and that horrid house, or just because she loved travelling and mischief. Regardless, from eighteen years onward she did all three things quite well. When she came home, it was a daily coin flip until she’d leave again. Westlie came to expect a note on her dresser with the lump sum of travel money taken, an address (occasionally), and some form of cheery goodbye. Sometimes, it was in person, like the last time she’d seen her a few months ago.

Westlie’d been woken up at 2am by a knock at the window to find Morgan sitting on her carpetbag in the garden. She remembered thinking it was a distinctly Morgan way to leave town at 2am. She kept throwing pebbles until Westlie opened the window. “Goodbye, Wes! I took a few thousand sovereigns this time!”

Westlie remembered making a rude gesture, half-asleep. ...Annoying but not surprising. Morgan just laughed.

“Don’t tell, but I packed that box of sunlight from the shop too.”

Westlie’s eyes shot open. “That- Fuck, Morgan, that’s expensive!”

“Don’t worry about it! It’ll all take care of itself.”

“You’re going to get robbed blind by some asshole carting around a fucking box of sunlight- What the fuck- What do you even need it for? You’re such a dipshit. Why do I have to deal with this? You know those take months to get in. Goddamn it, Morgan.” Westlie considered grabbing the rope and taking the box back but in the time it’d take to tie it Morgan would absolutely be gone. That was probably why she hadn’t said goodbye normally in the first place. Fucking sneaky.

“Shhh, shh shh shh~” Morgan spun around and blew her a kiss. “Westlie, you worry too much.”

“I worry for both of us. Fucking give me that sunlight. Father’s going to skin you alive when you get back.” Westlie hung halfway out the window, debating if it was worth jumping and squashing the fuck out of the little kleptomaniac.

Morgan gasped in pretend horror. “Oh, I forgot, I have thousands of sovereigns and I won’t be back for months.” Her mouth turned up into a cheeky grin. “Westlie please, you know me better than that. The old bastard won’t remember a thing.”

“I’ll remember!”

“You love me though~” Morgan grabbed her carpetbag and blew Westlie another kiss. “I’ll see you later! Sorry I left so soon. Don’t miss me too much.”

“Morgan!”

Morgan slipped into the darkness with practiced ease, and Westlie glimpsed a cheerful goodbye hand wave before she disappeared into the shadows. Saucy prick.

Westlie remembered going back to bed pissed as hell she’d have to pick up the pieces from stolen sunlight no less. Jesus Christ, there was embezzlement and then there was that. She did remember going to sleep after that and opening up the shop in the morning, but the memory grew a bit fuzzy. Westlie scowled at the irony because she’d tried to forget about it to save her blood pressure, regardless of the outcome she couldn’t quite remember. God, Morgan did the dumbest shit. 

Westlie was not going to miss that.

Even with the memories she was still more relaxed than usual as she approached The Humble Shroom. A few skyfarers milled about now after arriving from various ports, footmen moving boxes in and out of the lobby. Westlie took a moment to appreciate the soft touches of civilization they put on display. A rug, a lamp that had probably lived a former life in a grandmother’s cabinet; several crystal sconces on the wall that flickered appealingly. The rooms were off to the right, but there was a soft concerto playing off in the corner from the left where a doorway opened into another room. A bar? Probably where breakfast had been offered earlier. There were more skyfarers milling in and out. Westlie hesitated. She didn’t feel like going to her room and studying, but she didn’t want to stay out and about either. She didn’t need to drink, just... people watch. Tea would be nice.

The bar was excellent for her chosen past time; there were faces from all walks of life. A few stovepipe hats huddled in the corner while miscellaneous groups of suits - with patches or tears and without - circled about at random. There were three shelves of drinks, the aromas of mushroom wine and hard liquor circling about; a waiter handed off a plate of steaming something that smelled delicious. Westlie took a seat in the back and ordered tea, pulling out a piece of paper to work on navigating to the relay. It was far, but it wasn’t that far; a few days to a week or so. There was a bit of tricky gravity somewhere in the region and she tapped the pencil on her lips, staring up at the ceiling as she struggled to recall the numbers.

Someone cleared their throat nearby and she blinked, jerked back to reality. “Hello-?”

Jesus Christ it was Fitzroy.

He looked the slightest bit more worn with a bit of coal dust on his jacket, but otherwise quite the same and unmistakable. “Good evening, Miss Faire. You look well.”

“Thank you. You... you too.” ... she could die on the spot, or she could just die later after she made a complete fool of herself. Or she could have a normal conversation like a normal person. Westlie cleared her throat and folded up the paper while Fitzroy made a questioning motion to the chair across from her. “Yes, please, feel free- have a seat.”

He sat down and crossed his legs, pulling out a pipe from his pocket and taking his time stuffing it. After a good long minute he put up his hand to flag a waiter and glanced at her. “Would you like something.”

“No- ah, thank you. I have tea on the way.”

“Excellent.” His face betrayed nothing if that was the right or wrong answer. “Is that a 1890 Elegant on the shelf? I’ll take a small glass of that, please.”

There was heavy silence until the waiter brought both the tea and mushroom wine. Fitzroy lit his pipe and the smoke puffed lazily, adding to the rich scents around them. Instead of handing it off like the wine, the waiter chose to pour the tea himself. (He did not pour it the way Westlie liked it; she could already tell it’d been seeped too hot and it gave off the slightly acidic odor of a burned teabag. She held her tongue and comforted herself that the bitterness would keep her insides awake as she worked.) Fitzroy took a sip of his wine and savored it. Westlie did not enjoy the tea but she kept her face neutral.

When he placed his drink back down he faced her, dark eyes scrutizing. “I assume you received my note earlier?”

“Yes, sir. About an hour ago, I think.”

“I know the rest of the crew has divided themselves up across the city, so it was a good choice to stay put for the night.”

Westlie couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just nodded.

“As far as introductions go, you’ll meet them all tomorrow. I recently accepted another applicant as Navigator, an Owen West. I understand he’s been a reliable skyfarer for some time. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” Westlie hadn’t. “He seems a bit shakey, but capable. I’ve known the rest of the crew for significantly longer. Marion is quite the ingenious engineer; Selmer is relable and loyal to a fault. Elijah is the kind of man who should be into politics but makes an excellent signaller instead.” He chuckled at a private joke and took another sip, re-crossing his legs and focsing on her. “I can’t speak for Owen, but the others were needling me about you.” There was a thin, not unkind, but not wholely trusting smile and Westlie could very clearly see the impression her interview left on him. “I was going to simply wait until morning, Miss Faire, but if you pardon me for noticing, you are not quite the same person I met in London and I know very little except your father is the kind of man I rarely associate myself with.”

Westlie took another sip of bitter tea, purposefully scalding her tongue as she tried to think. She drew on the remains of her evening, the calm purposefulness as she walked from the library back to the hotel. Why not be honest? She met his eyes and they were supicious, wary, but not unkind. He was being honest in his observations, and she wasn’t the same person in London. “I ran away.” That seemed the most straightforward, blunt way she could put it. Westlie sat the tea cup back in its saucer, half wondering if she was required to give more information. Fitzroy didn’t say anything. She tried to collect her thoughts. ‘I couldn’t take it anymore’ didn’t seem like the best phrase to describe it. Neither was ‘I’m nobody’, or ‘I don’t know who I am’, even though that was absolutely the truth.

Westlie hated sweet tea. She forgot, put two sugar cubes in her half-drunk cup and stirred it.

“Were you working on the Eleutheria Relay route?” Fitzroy broke into her thoughts and Westlie met his gaze again, briefly.

“Oh, before you came. Yes, actually.” She dug into her pocket and handed over the sheet of paper. Fitzroy browsed it. The look wasn’t quite like the interview; there was no judgement, just thoughtful acknowledgement. He was trying to distract her - he was actually quite good at that. Westlie stored that information in the back of her mind.

“You mapped this from Tratinson, didn’t you?”

How-?

“There’s a small abnomaly about three leagues in.” Fitzroy placed the paper on the table and pointed out the column of numbers halfway down. “Tratinson ignores it, because he considers abnomalies smaller than .5 newts to be immaterial. However, it’s enough to increase speed and throw off the trajectory of your second curve here.” He pointed to another set of numbers. “It’s never a big issue because the pull is small enough it doesn’t run you into any islands, but still. I have to look at the book, but Richards takes more of the northern abnomalies into consideration despite his occasional miscalculations.”

Westlie felt a deep flare of respect feed the hunger inside her. She could learn from him. She opened her mouth, couldn’t find which questions to ask, and settled on looking deeply appreciative. “Thank you.”

Fitzroy bobbed his head and took another drink. “It comes with experience.” He paused. “You were obviously well-trained.”

An image of her father brushed across her mind and Westlie’s hatred for the man flared deeply and uncontrollably. “I received a 102 on my piloting exam.” (For the fourth time, because Arthur kept forcing her to retake it, even though she passed the first exam without problems.) “And charting courses is... a hobby.” (It was an obsession. Definitely an obsession, probably unhealthy; kept her from losing her mind after hours of numbers in the ledgers.) “It helps me stay focused.”

She took another sip of tea and nearly spat it out. The sugar made it completely undrinkable. Westlie settled on refilling the cup until near overflowing, hoping between the bitterness and the hot substitute she could scald her tongue and ignore it some more. Between all of it she felt a minute, calmer spark of anger and she grabbed onto it, meeting Fitzroy’s eyes. “I was a navigator on one of my father’s ships. I think that’s what he planned for me to do until he realized I couldn’t take his commands mid-voyage and I wouldn’t save half a crate of supplies by driving through a shitload of scrive-spinsters.” Westlie reigned herself in. “After several instances like that, I worked in the shop instead for a... significant amount of time until I decided that... didn’t suit me.”

She glanced at Fitzroy and his face was blasé, but attentive.

“I won’t let you down.” Westlie remembered her stupid fucking mantra from the morning before and it just felt like something needed to be said. “I know I’m... quiet, and I know...” she hesitated, because it was a bitter pill. “I know my father. Nobody knows him better than I do. I can’t help where I came from, but I want to learn.” Please. She hoped it went unspoken. “And I learn quickly.”

Fitzroy finished his drink and there was the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “You have the job, Miss Faire.”

“Well I-” Westlie moved to take a sip of tea, remembered the saccharine taste in her mouth already and thought better of it. “-You asked,” she tested the waters with a hint of a dry look. “Sir.”

“And I am grateful I know more about you than when we started.” Fitzroy stood up to take his leave, pulling out several coins for the wine. “For the record, Miss Faire, I don’t question your abilities. Anyone who can chart a course by memory under the duress you were under deserves second attention. However, I feel an understanding between us that your father’s company does not require nor, if I may be so forward, deserve special attention, is in order.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Westlie interjected, before she realized what the hell she said.

Another barely visible hint of a smile played on Fitzroy’s lips. “Well my drink is done, but it appears we are firmly in agreement. If you have time after getting settled tomorrow, I might be available to discuss the Richards and Geralt maps if that suits you.” He made a brief bob of the head. “Goodnight, Miss Faire.”

Westlie stared at his back and then at her incredibly shitty tea as he walked away, finally downing the rest of the cup in one disgusting shot and pouring herself something vaguely more palpatable. She slumped back in her seat. That... went well. Tentatively? Possibly? Jesus she needed to go to bed. Getting tea was supposed to be relaxing, and- gods this was shit. Westlie resisted the primal angry urge to dump all of the tea on the ground, dance on the ashes, and refuse to pay; instead she put down coins for her tab and slipped out of the room, trying to decide if Arthur or Fitzroy was more dangerous when angry.

-=-

In her room that night, Westlie dreamed about something peaceful. She woke up after midnight but she couldn’t remember it, just... something about flowers, something about returns. There was a subtle longing for a name, a face; it itched at her mind, making her sleepily tousle her curls. Fucking dreams. Westlie yawned, pulled the pillow closer, and fell into a now deep, dreamless sleep and the feeling was gone in the morning.

-=-

Selmer was a beast of a man. Owen looked horribly nervous. Marion looked... chipper. Elijah looked like he could murder someone in his sleep but probably wouldn’t because he was the nicest of all of them. He’d tipped his hat a bit as Westlie arrived, discerning something as she searched for Fitzroy and headed for the small group of people on the dock around him. That was probably what Fitzroy meant about his alternate self in politics; that was a niche skill. She joined the group, lurking a bit on the outer edges as Fitzroy muttered into a clipboard. After several minutes of writing and scribbling he looked up, unemotionally scanned each of their faces, and made several more notes. It seemed like a lifetime before he put it away.

“Westlie Faire, your crewmates:” Fitzroy nodded to each punctually. “Selmer Gallway, Marion Gascoigne, Elijah Fry, Owen West. Feel free to chat a bit to each other before boarding. I need to submit these reports to the Ministry.”

Westlie felt a rush of euphoria that she wasn’t submitting the reports. Jesus Christ she was free. Fitzroy walked away towards shore and everyone eyed her silently, expecting her to say something. “... Hello.”

Selmer looked like he was going to explode after another five seconds of silence. “‘s a bright day gov’nr! You from around these parts?” He grinned, and he showed all his teeth, flashing a blinding giddy white.

“Ah, from London, actually. I assume you are as well.”

“O’aye, but I packed me bags a long time ago. ‘ah followed Marion on board. A capt’n always needs ah good shov’lah. An a wrench!” He hip-checked Marion and she rolled her eyes.

“Right, right. Well, welcome aboard, Faire.” Marion gave her a little casual unofficial salute. “The Pyrrhus is a great engine! I know you’ll love her. Have you been aboard any others?”

Westlie hesitated, “I ah- some Bediveres.”

Marion’s eyes gleamed. “Now there’s ships! Nothing’s better than the Pyrrhus, obviously, since I’ve helped make our own improvements, but ahh, the Bediveres are gorgeous. Have you driven them? I hear their handling is a little rough around the edges since one of the steam propulsion gaskets blocks the radius grav hinges.”

Westlie had heard about radius hinges exactly once when she and Morgan were shit-faced drunk in a pub on Elinore St. and an equally drunk engineer following Morgan around started bitching about radius hinges and Altanis locomotives for a full hour before they all passed out. She remembered absolutely nothing of that conversation. “I uh- I have driven one.” I was seventeen; please don’t ask about turning radii. “I do remember how fast it was.”

Elijah patted Marion on the shoulder as she opened her mouth to ask more questions. “I’m sure there’ll be time to show her the improvements once she’s settled. Speaking of which-” he gestured a bit into the ship. “The crew’s quarters are to your right from the hatch. Would you like some tea?”

“I would, actually, yes please.” Westlie gave a brief little nod to Owen as she passed by, following Elijah gratefully, and Owen nodded back, his face grave but not unkind or unwelcome; he’d just seen a bit too much. She knew that look.

When she stepped through the hatch, the Pyrrhus itself smelled of hours and cinnamon. It wasn’t a heavy scent, just enough she noticed. The air was wet though, steamy, like Marion had been warming up the engine earlier. There was thin wood panelling on the sides of the walls, polished to a soft sheen through multiple scratches. (Four claws had been dragged down the wood with deep, deep indents at one point.) It was all very orderly though. The crew obviously took great care with their upkeep; the same with their quarters. It was neatly swept, no cobwebs, electric sconces lining the far wall between the bunks. Elijah motioned to the bed at the end of the row where her trunk was sitting, to the right this time, right against the hull; it was opposite the engine, so was probably at least in port, the quietest end of the ship. Westlie glanced around at the bare walls, wondering absently if she could fit them with shelves like the other engine had.

“None of us care to decorate,” Elijah offered helpfully, reading her mind. “But I’m sure Fitzroy wouldn’t mind. I’m-” he gestured at the door, “-going to make that tea if you’ll excuse me.” He stepped back, spinning around for a moment in the doorway. “Oh the passenger should be here soon, Selmer just carried in her trunk. We don’t know her name yet, but she’s sleeping in the Captain’s Quarters, across from the hall.”

“Oh, excellent.” Westlie had no idea what to do with her hands. What did a first mate do with their hands? She settled for a curt nod of the head. “Thank you, Elijah. That helps.”

His lanky frame disappeared from the doorway, and Westlie took a breath as she opened her trunk. Everything was there (of course it was there; she’d just re-packed it forty minutes before) so she closed it and sat down on the bed. A deep sting of fear hit her as she looked around; the casual, not-quite perfect orderliness of the bunks. Selmer’s? messy pillow. Either Elijah or Owen, they both seemed like good candidates, had repurposed a crate by their bedside and stacked several dozen books on top of it. There were a few more bunks but they seemed untouched. Marion must have moved her quarters somewhere else - which was eccentric actually. Westlie vaguely mused if Fitzroy would let her sleep in the map room. Did they have a map room? They probably had a map room.

She puffed out a breath and looked around the room once more, trying to memorize the small details. The iron bedframes bolted to the floor (advantage: no creaking) the wooden floors fitting snugly against iron walls, the four bare walls curving into an iron ceiling. A soft breeze whispered around the hull and Westlie had a feeling she would get some very nice whistles in the middle of the night being right in the corner. That was alright. This was ‘home’ now, wasn’t it? It was what it was.

A deep pang of not-quite-loneliness, not-quite-sadness hit her and Westlie pushed up her chin a little. No emotions allowed now. She was done here; it was time to work.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself, brushing off her skirt and heading out of the room.

The very first thing she learned on her own was that the Pyrrhus echoed, deeply. The metal walls carried sound; literally carried, where if you leaned in close you could probably see the tiny vibrations of the sheet metal. No whispers were safe. There was the hiss of the kettle in what she assumed was the mess quarters  and a roaring, boisterous laugh from Selmer. There were quick footsteps above her - possibly Owen.

“She’s very quiet,” Marion said from the kitchen, and a jar rattled with crackers or some sort of foodstuff. “Do you think she’s alright?”

“Juz giv’ ‘er time to settle in; Willy was pre’y quiet too,” there was a vigorous thump on the table. “Tea man!”

“Gods, you’re so impatient. It’s not ready.”

“You bloody know, Mar’on, you need to make ‘lijah a little thingamabobber that’ll heat the tea up twice as fast. Hook it up to the engine all fancy-like-”

Westlie hesitated at the open doorway to the mess hall, wondering if she should knock to announce her presence, but it absolutely was not necessary as she was almost blown over by the force of Selmer’s, “OI GOV’NAH.” He thumped the table again. “’e got apples, an we got ‘ese kipper snacks and if ‘lijah ever finishs that ‘ere bloody tea ‘e’s got some ought lovely black. Captain says ‘s from India but I think i’ tastes the same as London’s. Once ‘e finishes you can be the judge.”

Marion smiled and patted the table (in a much, much softer, friendly way). “Westlie, right?” she nodded. “We didn’t have breakfast earlier - or Selmer did-”

“But ‘ah’m always down for second breakfast.”

Elijah visibly, almost audibly rolled his eyes.

“-but we were going to have something if you’d like to join us.”

Westlie sat down closest to the door a little grateful for the offer so she didn’t have to figure out where to place herself. “Tea and a few snacks would be lovely, thank you.”

The conversation fell silent with just the hum of the kettle and Selmer tapping the table and fidgeting. Westlie vaguely wondered in the uncomfortable quiet if she was too attuned to it. There was a lot to be said in silence. Selmer very clearly did not think the same way. Finally he leaned forward. “Yous ‘ear the Captian was thinking about a new gun?”

“He did mention it to Owen the other day.” The kettle finally whistled and Elijah moved to pour. “We don’t encounter problems too much though. Is it worth it?”

“Eh, it won’t be too hard to install. Can’t hurt to have a nice bit of firepower now, can it?” Marion took her mug and sipped it gratefully, even though it’d barely seeped. “Absolutely worth it. Thanks, Elijah.”

“Thank you,” Westlie took her mug and settled back, letting the warmth flow through her hands as Elijah handed the next mug off to Selmer. There was a much more comfortable pause as they sipped, Selmer grabbing kipper snacks from the bowl in the middle of the table and tossing them tournament-style into his mouth. He crunched loudly. Westlie wasn’t sure why she wasn’t annoyed at his behavior. He was the spitting image of some of the skyfarers in Morgan’s bars; loud, obnoxious, bustling, but there was a sweet cheerfulness too. Maybe she just needed to be around someone that relaxed right now.

A knock at the hatch startled all of them.

Selmer bounced up, “I got it,” and he was out before anyone could put down their mugs. The hatch opened, and there was an unintelligible, questioning voice. “Oi yas, right this way, gov. I’ll carry in your cargo don’t bother with it. Step right this way.”

“Should we...?” Westlie made a vague gesture to the door. “Help...?”

Marion shook her head with a quick smile. “Selmer’s got it. He likes to feel busy.”

The room was significantly quieter after Selmer left and nobody felt like breaking it. Westlie considered asking where they’d been before London, but it seemed like such an empty question. Or any tales; maybe there’d be something useful. Fitzroy did say they’d been on the longest. For some reason she couldn’t quite muster up the words. The silence was comfortable at least though, Marion seemed to see she didn’t feel like talking and Elijah seemed comfortable with the silence as well. They listened to the footsteps reverberate about the Pyrrhus until Selmer hollared down the hallway. “Cap’ains back!”

Marion offered for Westlie’s tea mug and she handed it over, a few sips left. She tossed them in the sink before going through a back door into what Westlie assumed was the engine room. The cab. Fitzroy said they’d be taking off after the passenger arrived. She nodded once to Elijah before heading out and to the side, climbing up the tight stairwell on her left to the second floor of the Pyrrhus.

Owen was already inside the cab, a few maps spread over the table in the middle of the room, steam hissing from a pressure gasket. He glanced up as she walked in, smiled, and then refocused on whatever he was doing. Numbers, it looked like. Westlie hesitated before pulling the scrap of paper she’d been working on the night before out. “I ah- I did some crunching last night if you want to use this.”

Owen glanced up and blinked. “Oh... Oh, Tratinson. That’ll help actually, thank you.” He took the sheet and Westlie was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room again.

It was a lovely cab. There were some references and maps in small bookshelves in the back, the familiar panels for navigating in the front. The Pyrrhus had bronze handles, steel interworkings with pipes of steam and cables welded to the sides of the cab, leading to the nav panel. The top was slightly domed with curved, arching blue windows for less drag, riveted along all their edges. It was somewhat soothing, Westlie mused, looking at the world through blue-tinted glasses rather than red ones. All the Bediveres had rose or yellow tinted glass. Something about looking more professional and yellow light being bad for your skin; turned the crew sallow.

There were footsteps up the stairs and she somehow picked out Fitzroy’s step in the hall, firm, patient, cat-like. He nodded to her and Owen as he entered the cab. “Everything ready? The cargo is on board. Adelia is settled.”

Westlie instinctively looked for the pressure valve, noting it’d only been a few minutes since the engine grumbled to life under her feet. “Almost. 50 psi to full capacity, sir.”

Fitzroy nodded acknowledgement, checked a pocketwatch, and went through the backdoor, letting a burning blast of steam and soot into the cab. His voice was almost drowned out. “MARION, NEW RECORD TO 250.”

There was a barely intelligible cheer from somewhere in the engine room which Westlie had to assume were Selmer and Marion. She found herself smiling a little as Fitzroy shut the door, brushing off his collar. “She’s done excellent work,” he informed Owen and Westlie without looking at either of them. He browsed the numbers on the table, checking the maps. “Mm, this looks good too. Pressure update?”

Westlie glanced again. “285, sir.”

“Close enough. Owen, take us out, please.”

Owen was already at the controls. They lifted with a lurch, the engine giving an angry hiss as the locomotive released steam from below. Westlie turned and stared out the window, resisting the urge to press her nose against the glass as they rose above Port Prosper. The library shown in the distance, the morning glinting off the glass in the dome with the mountains stretching beyond that, little plants dotting the slopes. Homes cuddled about the city, painted in red, grey, yellow, blue; Prospans weren’t picky. They grew ever more dotted and sparce further from the center, farms drawing lines in the landscape. The wind picked up as they rose higher.

Owen pushed the engine forward and Westlie felt the whisper of the breeze as it brushed the windows. Through the blue tint it was all so very alive, and it felt like... like being in love. Westlie had no idea how to confirm the feeling, but her heart squeezed and the rest of the world fell away. It was so beautiful. This was what she wanted. The love ached like a new happy fire in her chest and she embraced it, pulled it tight around her. It was easier to handle than her anger since it just glowed without burning, with a soft tender warmth. There was no action to it either, no demands, just a deep well of peace. She was never going to let this go, she swore quietly as Port Prosper faded away. She would die before she stopped traveling with the wind, watching these islands pass by, blessed by the soft glow of the fungi along their edges. She’d worked hard and she’d gotten so lucky. So very, very lucky. She would make every single second count. Damn the man who tried to take it from her.

[myfriendpokey]

the 2019 my friend pokey year in review!!

released a game i was happy about. started work on a new game i'm not sure about yet! went through a few months of false starts, switching game engines and ideas and approaches.

at one point i decided i wanted to spend about 2 years making nothing but "clown games", games where you played as a little mr. do figure navigating these abstract tile mazes a la chip's challenge. these games would all have titles like clown thing, clown city, moon clown, clown deluxe. i put this idea on hold when it was pointed out to me that all of my games were clown games.

at a different point i decided to try making an rpg maker horror game. i spent a month reading as many ghost stories as i could but then when i actually started the work i realised i'd immediately lose interest when the game was meant to become scary as opposed to just being a strange space full of funny text descriptions. but, one day i hope i can return to this game.

i made physical cd rom boxes for 10 beautiful postcards and took them to a zine fair. i think i forget the extent to which cds are a legacy format, now... people seemed interested but noncommital. i need to remember the last time i tried doing this was in 2014!! still interested in the idea of more "local" ways of releasing these things but will need to reconsider my approach.

also for the fair i made a short zine of romantic comedy reviews from my big romantic comedy review thread. i think i started that last year... over time i've become more jaded... i think i want to put that aside for a while so that i don't become the romcom equivalent of a joyless youtube guy. i don't know if it comes across in anything i've written about them but i do get a certain charge from the studio romantic comedy format. these things were on TV all the time when i was a kid. they fit sort of the same role as horror films and action movies to me, in that the real appeal wasn't so much the nominal genre as the weird vague visions of "everyday life" that the genre had to clothe itself in. the idea that these could be examined for clues to that life... and of course romcoms offer up a different version of that terrain than other genre movies, one that's almost studiedly bland in such a stylised and artificial way that it becomes seductive. when i was a kid i dreamed about being one of the night watchmen patrolling the warehouse in the opening minutes of a horror movie; now i have at least some kind of fascination with the eerily benign and conflictless parallel universe of spunky yet hapless romcom heroines running around accidentally dumping coffee on people.

i wrote another few big blog things. my favourite is probably the one on easy games - as prolix as ever but basically light and drifting in scope. my attempt to get at what i find exciting about the specific category of "videogame writing" in Monster Party... i dunno, we always kill the thing we love etc. writing on modernism and vgames i found interesting though it's possibly unintelligible to anyone who doesn't have my particular haphazard reference points for what modernism even refers to (more biased to writing than painting etc). i enjoyed trying to figure out what morality means in this weird context.

I also wrote dictionary to the known world for emilie reed’s lost histories jam. this was an attempt to get across the sort of strange insular reference systems which existed in hobbyist game spaces at a point immediately before they were all grouped under “indie”. 

i spent the last two years kind of obsessively returning to the idea of videogames as speculation, videogames as financialisation, videogames and the market. videogames thru the lens of the crash in 2008. i don't completely know why i got so fixated for so long, but feel like i was finally able to burn myself out on the subject in the course of this long piece. i dunno, maybe in future i can swing more into the other direction - the non-economic, mystical, etc. this year i bought a little clear glass pyramid with a star embedded into it for £1.50, and if you look through it and turn it around you get these vivid translucent fields of colour... it's interesting and it's pleasant to look at. clear glass pyramid is the game of the year.

oh, I also did the ball with feet fanpage this year. come with me and appreciate one of the format’s most powerful critters.

books: i can never remember what i read, but here are the ones i most remember out of 2019.

val wilmer - as serious as your life: a beautiful book about free jazz, or "the new music", worthwhile less for the descriptions of same than for the careful contemporary reportage of how it came about: the people involved, the influences and ideas that moved and changed from place to place, disagreements and developments, across rehearsals and performances and such clubs as would book it at all: what sun ra refers to here as the "unmanufactured avant garde", the kind that emerges when people in a commercially disregarded form quietly find space to explore their own interests. and to respond to one another's work - possibly the most surprising aspect of this book in 2019 is the way seemingly none of the musicians felt the now inescapable obligation to respond to the commercial culture of the day, to describe their work in the preferred language of that culture rather than on their own terms. instead we get reportage of black avant-garde musicians attempting to unionise in hopes of extracting concessions  from a white pop media establishment - think about reconciling THAT with the recieved ideas of culture 2019, in which anything that's not a disney movie is presented as elitist. solid paperback reissue means it's suitable for throwing at the heads of passers by.

other books i remember:

jane bowles - collected works. these are very mysterious and funny - i don't know how to describe them other than as sort of having the tone of a screwball katherine hepburn comedy in which she gets the job of becoming a beckett protagonist. max haiven - art after money, money after art. a feast on every page... extremely sharp and restless thinking about art, financialisation, the shifting and ongoing interdependence of the two. roberto calasso - the marriage of cadmus and harmony. content warning for greek myths and all that this implies. got this one on a whim not caring anything about the subject but was immediately drawn in by the terrifying strangeness of the symbolic universe that he explores. jean debuffet - cultural asphyxiation. collection of miscellaneous debuffet writings. vengeful attacks upon official culture. ford madox ford - memories & impressions. an extremely unreliable but entertaining memoir about growing up in the circle of the pre-raphaelites. there's a good bit where he describes the terror of walking around london as a child when you've been made to dress like a cross between little lord fauntleroy and oscar wilde. b.s. johnson - christy malry's double entry. the title character applies the basic principle of double entry bookkeeping - for every debit, a credit - to work and life, killing thousands in the process. funny and  strangely melancholy in the manner of at swim-two-birds.

other 2019 things: first time visiting sligo, saw some megaliths, got some nice books. first time casting a vote for a political program i was sincerely enthusiastic about! they got crushed!! tomorrow is another year.

[vices-aand-virtues]

2020 Popsugar Reading Challenge

The new year is upon us! Which means it was time for me to decide how I wanted to go about my reading challenge for the year. In 2019, I pretty much read whatever I wanted, with the intent of reading more authors of color, romance, and books by women. While I didn’t quite reach my specific goal, my numbers were much higher than in previous years. So this year I decided to up the ante and not only raise those numbers again, but participate in the Popsugar Reading Challenge once more. 

When I did this challenge in 2018, it exposed me to books and authors I hadn’t thought to read or intended to read but just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. It also helped me realize that if a book isn’t enjoyable for me, I don’t have to read it. 

So here’s my list for the coming year. Fingers crossed it gets finished! Happy 2020 and happy reading!

-------

1. A book published in 2020 - The Worst Best Man by Mia Sosa (changed from original list)

2. A book by an trans or nonbinary author - The Map of Salt and Stars  by Zeyn Joukhadar

3. A book with a great first line - My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite

4. A book about a book club - The Naughty Girls Book Club by Sophie Hart

5. A book set in a city that has hosted the Olympics - Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams (changed from original list)

6. A bildungsroman - With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo (changed from original list)

7. The first book you touch on a shelf with your eyes closed - Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain

8. A book with an upside down image on the cover - This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar (changed from original list)

9. A book with a map - Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha, #2) by Tomi Adeyemi (changed from original list)

10. A book recommended by your favorite blog, vlog, podcast or online book club - Every Heart a Doorway (Wayward Children, #1) by Seanan McGuire, recommended by The Worst Bestsellers podcast Best of 2016

11. An anthology - Not That Bad: Dispatches from Rape Culture by Roxane Gay

12. A book that passes the Bechdel test - Pachinko by Min Jin Lee

13. A book with the same title as a movie or TV series but is unrelated to it -- The Wedding Date (The Wedding Date, #1) by Jasmine Guillory

14. An author with flora or fauna in their name -- The Cruel Prince (The Folk of the Air, #1) by Holly Black

15. Book published the month you were born - The Boyfriend Project by Farrah Rochon, published June 2020 (changed from original list)

16. A book about or by women in STEM - The Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America's Shining Women by Kate Moore

17. A book that won an award in 2019 - Dear Girls: Intimate Tales, Untold Secrets, and Advice for Living Your Best Life by Ali Wong, winner of a 2019 Goodreads choice award

18. A book on a subject you know nothing about - The Beekeeper: Rescuing the Stolen Women of Iraq by Dunya Mikhail

19. A book with only words on the cover - A Very Large Expanse of Sea by Tahereh Mafi

20. A book with a pun in the title - High Achiever: The Incredible True Story of One Addict's Double Life by Tiffany Jenkins

21. A book featuring one of the seven deadly sins - A Woman is No Man by Etaf Rum (changed from original list)

22. A book with a robot, cyborg or AI character - Starsight (Skyward #2)  by Brandon Sanderson

23. A book with a bird on the cover - Late for Tea at the Deer Palace: The Lost Dreams of My Iraqi Family by Tamara Chalabi

24. A fiction or nonfiction book about a world leader - The Other Queen by Philippa Gregory, a fictional account of Mary Queen of Scots

25. A book gold, silver or bronze in the title - The Golden Son by Shilpi Somaya Gowda (changed from original list)

26. A book by a woman of color - Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

27. A book with at least a four-star rating on Goodreads - Corazon by Yesika Salgado

28. A book you meant to read in 2019 - The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

29. A book involving social media - The Right Swype (Modern Love #1) by Alisha Rai (changed from original list)

30. A book that has a book on the cover - One True Loves by Taylor Jenkins Reid

31. A medical thriller -  The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides (changed from original list)

32. A book with a made up language - Shadow and Bone (The Grisha, #1) by Leigh Bardugo

33. A book set in a country beginning with C - Ayesha at Last by Uzma Jalaluddin (changed from original list)

34. A book picked because the title caught your attention - Fruit of the Drunken Tree by Ingrid Rojas Contreras

35. A book with a three-word title - My Old Faithful by Yang Huang

36. A book with a pink cover - Red, White, & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

37. A western - The Cold Dish (Walt Longmire #1) by Craig Johnson

38. A book by or about a journalist - The Seven Husbands of Evenlyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid (changed from original list)

39. Read a banned book during Banned Books Week - Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson (changed from original list)

40. Your favorite prompt from a past PopSugar Reading Challenge - bone by Yrsa Daley-Ward, from the 2016 Challenge: A Book That's Under 150 Pages (changed from original list)

Advanced:

1. A book written by an author in their 20s - The Mermaid's Voice Returns in This One (Women Are Some Kind of Magic #3) by Amanda Lovelace (28)

2. A book with 20 or twenty in the title - Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda

3. A book with a character with a vision impairment or enhancement - The Murmur of Bees by Sofía Segovia (changed from original list)

4. A book set in Japan - Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden

5. A book by an author who has written more than 20 books - The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

6. A book set in the 1920s - Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (changed from original list)

7. A book with more than 20 letters in the title - The Dark Descent Of Elizabeth Frankenstein by Kiersten White

8. A book published in the 20th century - The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro (changed from original list) 

9. A book from a series with more than 20 books - Naked in Death (In Death #1) by J.D. Robb (changed from original list) 

10. A book with a main character in their 20s - The Hating Game by Sally Thorne (changed from original list)

----

Any of these are subject to change! I’ll also be reading other books not included on this list, so hopefully I can reach over 50 books this year. 

Happy reading!